The silence of the master suite was heavy, charged with the kind of electricity that precedes a devastating storm. I stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror, staring at the woman looking back at me. She was a stranger, draped in the armor of the elite. Luciano had chosen my attire—a floor-length gown of midnight-black silk that clung to my curves like a second skin, with a slit that reached dangerously high up my thigh.
I reached for the black diamond necklace, but my fingers were trembling too much to work the clasp. Suddenly, a pair of large, warm hands replaced mine. Luciano was standing behind me, his reflection dark and imposing. He wore a tailored black suit, his white shirt crisp against the bronze of his skin, looking every bit like the King of the Underworld.
"Let me," he raspe
