chapter 2
1464 Words
Serena
I had just slipped into the dress when I heard my father’s voice downstairs.
He wasn’t yelling this time. He was ushering people in.
Multiple people.
My stomach tightened.
A few seconds later, there was a knock on my bedroom door. Before I could respond, it opened. Makeup artists. Hair stylists.
Assistants carrying cases and garment steamers.
Oh. My glam squad.
Right. I internally rolled my eyes.
Of course my father wouldn’t risk me looking anything less than perfect.
If I was going to represent the De Luca name tonight, I would look the part.
I turned slowly toward the mirror as they adjusted the dress.
And for a moment— I forgot how to breathe.
The gown was deep sapphire silk, rich and fluid, clinging to my waist before falling in elegant waves to the floor. A daring slit ran from mid-thigh downward, revealing just enough leg to be intentional.
The neckline dipped modestly but the fabric hugged my chest in a way that highlighted curves I usually tried to hide.
My body had always attracted attention I didn’t want.
Stares lingered too long.
Comments disguised as compliments. Whispers.
I preferred loose clothes. Oversized sweaters. Anything that let me disappear.
But tonight…
Tonight the dress refused to let me shrink, It celebrated every inch of me.
I smoothed my hands down the silk.
Maybe I should live a little.
Maybe for one night, I shouldn’t apologize for taking up space.
“You have such a beautiful shape,” the makeup artist said warmly.
I felt heat rise to my cheeks.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
They began working.
Foundation blended seamlessly into my skin. Soft contours sculpted my cheekbones. My eyes were dusted in deep blue shadow that brought out the grey in my irises.
When they moved to my hair, I spoke up quickly.
“I don’t want it fully down.”
The stylist smiled. “Of course.”
They pinned the top half back in a delicate twist, allowing the rest to fall in soft curls down my back. Two curled strands framed my face, intentional but effortless.
By the time they finished, it was nearly seven.
The ball started at eight.
My father was probably pacing.
“Miss, we’re done.”
They helped me stand fully and guided me toward the mirror.
I froze.
The girl staring back at me didn’t look like the one who scrubbed marble floors.
She looked…
Powerful.
My waist looked smaller. My hips fuller. The slit revealed smooth skin that caught the light with every small movement. My eyes seemed brighter, sharper.
My lips were glossed in a subtle shade that made them look soft.
I looked like I belonged in this world.
And that scared me a little.
“Wow,” I breathed.
Even the artists looked proud of their work.
“You’re stunning,” one of them said.
“Thank you,” I whispered again, still staring.
A sudden knock didn’t come.
The door simply opened.
“What’s taking so long—”
My father stopped mid-sentence.
His eyes landed on me.
For a moment, something flickered across his face that I hadn’t seen in years.
Pride.
Real pride, he was happy.
“Wow,” he said quietly. “My daughter looks beautiful.”
My throat tightened.
“Thank you, Dad.”
He nodded once, composed again.
“You’ve done well,” he told the stylists.
They left quickly, excited and whispering to each other.
My father always paid upfront for services like this. Emergencies, appearances, alliances — he liked control over details.
He gestured for me to follow.
Downstairs, even the bodyguards straightened when they saw me. One of them actually removed his sunglasses.
I pretended not to notice.
I knew I looked good.
Too good.
The night air was cool as we stepped outside. The car door opened smoothly, and I slid in beside my father.
As we drove, he began listing rules.
“Be polite. Smile when necessary. Speak clearly.”
I nodded.
“Don’t say anything unnecessary.”
Another nod.
“When I introduce you to potential partners, you either stand beside me quietly… or engage intelligently. Nothing foolish.”
“Yes, Dad.”
He studied me briefly.
“Just be yourself.”
That confused me more than all the other instructions.
The car slowed.
When the gates opened, my breath caught.
The building ahead was massive.
Ancient.
Grand columns stretched toward the night sky, balconies carved in intricate stonework, windows glowing with golden light. It looked like something out of aristocratic history old money, old power.
I had heard whispers.
This estate belonged to the Moretti family. The Morettis weren’t just another mafia house. They were the mafia house.
I had never met any of them. Very few people did.
And the son—
Alessandro Moretti.
The rumors about him were darker than most.
He was ruthless.
He didn’t blink before ordering a killing.
If you disobeyed him, you suffered.
If you talked too much, you suffered.
If you lied, you suffered.
Someone once said he had obsessive tendencies — that he hated disorder. That one time, a waitress accidentally spilled wine on him during a private event…
No one ever saw her again.
Whether that was true or exaggerated, I didn’t know.
But I knew one thing. He rarely attended public events.
So if he was here tonight—
That meant this wasn’t just a ball.
The car door opened.
My father stepped out first. Then a guard extended his hand to me.
The moment my heel touched the ground, I felt it.
Eyes.
The massive doors opened.
And the ballroom fell quieter than it should have.
Music still played.
Glasses still clinked.
But conversations slowed.
Heads turned.
Whispers rippled.
“Is that…?”
“She’s beautiful…”
“Isn’t that De Luca’s daughter? The quiet one?”
“She looks unreal…”
I hated attention. It crawled under my skin.
But my father—
He loved it.
He straightened slightly, a small satisfied smile touching his mouth as we walked arm in arm.
The chandelier above us glittered like a thousand diamonds. Marble floors reflected the lights. Gold accents lined the walls. The air smelled like champagne and expensive perfume.
Every step felt amplified.
I heard someone behind me whisper, “She’s perfect.”
Another said, “She smells incredible.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
Men were strange.
I tightened my grip on my father’s arm as nerves fluttered in my stomach.
He led me toward a group of men near the center of the room.
“Mr. De Luca,” one greeted smoothly. “You made it.”
“Of course,” my father replied. “And this is my daughter.”
All eyes turned to me.
I smiled politely.
“Hello. I’m Serena De Luca.”
They nodded approvingly.
“Very obedient,” one murmured to another. “And beautiful.”
I pretended not to hear.
They began discussing shipments and investments. Numbers. Routes. Percentages.
I stepped back subtly.
The noise felt suffocating.
Excusing myself with a small nod, I drifted toward a marble fountain near the far wall.
Water trickled softly. It was quieter there.
I exhaled.
For a moment, I allowed myself to observe instead of being observed.
Couples danced, Men negotiated. Women evaluated each other’s worth in diamonds.
I reached into my purse to check my phone—
And felt it. A shift in the air.
The subtle awareness of being watched, Not admired.
Assessed.
Every movement I made suddenly felt calculated.
My fingers paused over my phone.
Footsteps approached slowly and Measured.
Expensive leather against marble.
A shadow fell over me.
“Well,” a low voice said smoothly, “if it isn’t the De Luca principessa.”
The accent was refined. Controlled. Amused.
My pulse skipped.
I turned slowly.
And my breath caught.
Oh.
My.
God.
He was taller than I expected.
Broader.
Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that fit like it was stitched onto him. Dark hair combed back neatly. Sharp jawline. Eyes—
His eyes Cold, Not empty, Not cruel.
Just intensely aware.
Like he saw everything.
Like he missed nothing.
And right now—
They were locked on me.
Alessandro Moretti.
The man from the rumors, The devil in a tailored suit, He studied me without blinking. Not like the others had, Not with lust, With calculation.
Interest. Dangerous interest.
The faintest corner of his mouth lifted.
And suddenly—
I understood why people whispered about him.
Because he didn’t need to raise his voice to command a room.
He simply existed.
And everything shifted around him.
My heartbeat quickened.
And for the first time that night— I felt like I wasn’t the only one being evaluated.
- Writer
