In Love With The Mafia Kings Son

Chapter 16

With Isabella's meticulous attention, the aggressive beauty routine concluded. Isabella turned her attention to Letty's hair, pulling the damp strands into a sophisticated, loose updo. Soft pieces were left to frame Letty's face, accentuating her cheekbones and those striking eyes. The makeup was phenomenal: the classic black wing eyeliner dramatically pulling up the corners of her eyes, giving them an exotic, sharp look, and the rich, cherry-red lipstick transforming her shy mouth into a provocative focal point.

Isabella stepped back, tossing her own hair with a laugh. "f*****g genius," she scoffed, calling herself.

While Isabella moved to her own dressing area, Letty turned to the full-length mirror. She didn't recognize the girl staring back. The simple, timid scholarship student was gone, replaced by a seductive, high-fashion figure in the shimmering gold and tight black minidress. The garment, combined with the extreme makeup, made her curves feel emphasized, not hidden. It was beautiful, terrifying, and exactly the kind of exposure she had spent years avoiding.

A short while later, Isabella returned, fully transformed. She was wearing a provocative, deep wine-red outfit—a two-piece set featuring a cropped, tie-front top and a ruffled miniskirt, emphasizing her confidence and figure. Her own makeup was sharp and flawless, a dramatic, bold line of black liner and sculpted brows, radiating an assertive, aggressive glamour.

Just as Isabella was checking her reflection, the door burst open, and the rest of the inner circle poured in: Dylan, Marcus, Chloe, and Lisa, Isabella's close.

The group was laughing and talking loudly, but they abruptly fell silent when their eyes landed on Letty.

Dylan was the first to recover, his face breaking into a wide, impressed smile. He quickly eyed her up and down, his gaze possessive. "Holy s**t, Nicolette," he whistled, "You look beautiful."

Chloe, however, remained unimpressed. She was stunning in her own right, but her face was set in a hard, resentful mask. Her eyes narrowed at Letty, the silent hatred of a territorial rival making the air thick with menace.

"Let's go," Isabella commanded, grabbing a small, glittering clutch. "Dante will be waiting for us."

They walked downstairs, their heels clicking against the marble floor of the foyer. Just as they reached the grand staircase, they ran directly into Rosa and Antonio.

Antonio was magnificent, dressed in a sharp, dark suit that enhanced his formidable presence. Rosa was equally refined, her beauty effortless.

"Ah, Isabella," Rosa said, kissing her daughter on the forehead. "Tell your brother we said good luck."

Antonio smiled, giving the twins a knowing look. "And tell him to behave himself tonight. You all behave yourselves. Try not to party too hard." He gave them a conspiratorial wink.

Then, his eyes landed on Letty. He stopped, his gaze sweeping over her transformed figure—the confident makeup, the exposed curves, and the metallic sheen of the dress.

Antonio raised his eyebrows, a look of profound, approving admiration on his face. He chuckled softly. "Magnifico," he murmured in Italian. Then he added, "You look beyond beautiful, little one. I can see why Dante wants to be around you."

Letty felt her stomach clench and shifted slightly, uncomfortable under the sheer weight of his explicit approval. She was exposed, but now she was also publicly stamped with the family's interest. Chloe’s eyes narrowed further, confirming the King's words had sealed Letty's fate as a threat.

Rosa and Antonio gave their final farewells, kissing Isabella on the forehead and telling her they would see her and her brother on Sunday morning for church.

Isabella grinned, unapologetic. "No promises on the party level."

The group turned and walked out the front doors, where a sleek, black stretch limo was waiting to transport them to Dante's fight.

The group flowed out of the mansion and into the sleek, black stretch limo waiting silently at the curb.

The interior was a cavern of black leather and mood lighting, scented with the collective cloud of expensive perfumes.

Chloe was the last to climb in, and she moved with the practiced, aggressive allure of a woman who knew she was a visual weapon. Her dress was a scandalous display of silk and cuts—a very revealing garment that left little to the imagination and was clearly chosen to remind everyone, especially Dante, of her established place.

Letty took a seat against the far window, pulling her shimmering miniskirt down slightly in a futile gesture of modesty. Dylan immediately moved toward the seat next to her, a lazy, flirtatious smile on his face, but Isabella was faster. She slid onto the seat beside Letty first, her eyes snapping to Dylan with a raised, territorial eyebrow that warned him off. Dylan simply shrugged and settled opposite them.

As the limo accelerated smoothly down the hill, Dylan opened the minibar. He quickly retrieved a bottle of expensive champagne and began pouring generous glasses for everyone.

Letty’s glass was offered to her. She hesitated for a moment, staring at the bubbling, golden liquid. Her heart pounded with the sudden awareness that she was breaking Peter’s cardinal rule of safety: Never lose control.

Chloe leaned back, lifting her glass in a lazy salute that felt directed entirely at Letty. Her voice was casually condescending, a purr meant to deliver information rather than a direct threat.

“It’s fun that you’re coming tonight, Nicolette. It’s definitely a show.” She took a slow sip of champagne, her eyes sweeping over Letty’s transformed appearance before settling on Isabella. “Just a heads-up for the sleepover logistics: don’t worry about me grabbing a guest room. I usually just sleep in Dante’s bedroom after his fights, so it’s easier if I’m not tripping over anyone else’s stuff in the hall.”

Isabella scoffed, lifting her glass and taking a large, dismissive swallow. “We’ll see how the night takes us, Chloe. Things change.”

Letty looked down, her cheeks burning. Chloe's words were a cold, brutal reminder that her position next to Dante was built on a flimsy, temporary curiosity, while Chloe's was a proven, physical claim. She brought the glass to her lips and sniffed the champagne, the sharp, fruity aroma making her stomach twist.

Dylan chuckled, leaning toward her. “Relax. It isn’t poison, it’s just champagne. What, have you never drank before?”

Letty felt the heat creep up her neck. She shook her head, whispering, “No.”

Chloe let out a theatrical, mocking laugh.

Isabella rolled her eyes. “It’s not bad, Nicolette. Just try it.”

Letty forced herself to meet the challenge. If she was going to be an outsider, she wouldn't be a coward.

She lifted the small glass and took a sip. It was cold, fizzy, and burned slightly as it went down, but the sweet, fruity notes quickly followed. It was actually really good.

Letty swallowed the rest of the glass quickly. She felt a sudden, surprising warmth spread through her chest, momentarily dissolving the tension. Before she could set the empty glass down, Dylan quickly filled it again, his smile encouraging and slightly manipulative.

The smooth silence of the limo was only broken by the soft chatter of the squad and the aggressive click of Chloe leaning back and forth, reminding everyone of her presence. Letty, meanwhile, slowly finished her second glass of champagne.

The effect was subtle but profound. She wasn't drunk, but she felt a delightful shift in her rigid control. A wave of warmth spread from her chest, making her limbs feel lighter and her mind feel freer. The knot of anxiety that usually clenched her stomach had loosened. For the first time since arriving in California, she felt a momentary reprieve from the constant internal surveillance.

The limo slowed, pulling up to the venue. It was a massive, modern structure, sleek and intimidating—a high-society beacon of wealth and exclusive entertainment.

The group spilled out of the limousine. Letty, momentarily distracted by the brightness of the venue lights and the champagne's effect, was slightly uneasy on her feet.

Dylan, who had been watching her closely, saw his opportunity. He smoothly moved to her side and, with a casual gesture, gently placed his arm around her shimmering waist. The action was possessive and guiding, making her a public accessory to his entry.

Letty was ushered inside with the group. The interior was massive, a cavernous space throbbing with expensive music and the low, collective roar of a hungry crowd. The high society was seated closest to the action at luxurious, private tables, while the less affluent spectators filled the high, distant seats behind them.

In the center of the floor, dominating the space and surrounded by bright floodlights, was a massive steel cage—the ring where the violence was about to unfold.

Isabella led them to a prime private table covered in crisp white linen and glittering glassware. The group settled in, immediately drawing attention. Letty sat down, the noise and the opulence hitting her with a dizzying force.

A waiter in a sharp tuxedo immediately approached their table to take drink orders.

Letty’s mind went blank. She stared at the waiter, panic returning as she realized she didn't know what to ask for. She had never ordered a drink in her life; the only alcohol she knew was the beer her father drank.

Isabella, catching Letty’s paralysis and the waiter’s impatient stare, rolled her eyes and smirked.

“Stop holding up the line, scholarship girl,” Isabella commanded, snapping the decision away from Letty. She looked at the waiter. “Get her what I’m getting. And make them a double.”

“A Watermelon Margarita, very good, Miss Rossi,” the waiter confirmed, jotting down the order.

Letty felt her stomach drop. She had managed two small glasses of champagne, and now she was being escalated to a strong, high-proof cocktail. She was officially ceding control to the Mafia Princess.