Mother tugged at the hem of my dress—Father's choice for the occasion, or as Savannah so eloquently called it, the "meat show." But no matter how much she adjusted the fabric, the dress refused to lengthen.
I stared at my reflection, unease curling in my stomach. I had never worn anything this revealing before. The black dress hugged my waist and hips, ending at my upper thighs, while the top was a glittering gold bustier with delicate black tulle straps. It was meant to make me look desirable, but all it did was make me feel exposed.
"I can't wear this, Mother."
Mother met my gaze through the mirror, her own expression unreadable. Her blonde hair, pinned in an elegant twist, was a few shades darker than mine. She wore a floor-length evening gown—modest, refined. Everything I wished I had been allowed.
"You look like a woman," she whispered.
I cringed. "I look like a hooker."
"Hookers can't afford a dress like that."
I scowled but didn't argue. Father's mistress probably owned an entire wardrobe of designer dresses. Mother stepped behind me, smoothing her hands over my waist, adjusting where there was nothing left to adjust.
"You have a wasp waist, and the dress makes your legs look long. I'm sure Liam will appreciate it."
I swallowed, staring at my own reflection. Even the push-up design of the bustier couldn't change the fact that I had little to show. I was fifteen—just a girl, forced to look like a woman.
"Here." Mother handed me a pair of five-inch black heels. I slipped them on, wobbling for a second before catching my balance. Maybe now I'd at least reach Liam's chin. She smoothed my golden hair down my back, forcing a reassuring smile.
"Hold your head high. Vincent Sullivan called you the most beautiful woman in Chicago. Show Liam and his entourage that no woman in New York can compare. After all, he's been with almost all of them."
There was bitterness in her voice. She had read the same articles I had—the stories of Liam Romano's conquests, his reputation as a ruthless womanizer. Or perhaps Father had told her himself, like a warning.
"Mother—" I hesitated, but she stepped back.
"Now go. I'll come after you, but this is your moment. You should enter alone. The men are waiting. Your father will present you to Liam, and then we'll gather in the dining room for dinner."
She had repeated these instructions a dozen times before, but now, the weight of them pressed down on my chest. For a fleeting moment, I wanted to reach for her hand, to beg her not to make me do this alone. Instead, I straightened my spine and walked out of the room.
My heels clicked against the marble floors as I approached the double doors leading to the fireplace lounge. My heart pounded, each beat drowning out my thoughts. Male laughter drifted from inside—the deep voices of Father and Vincent. A room filled with the most powerful and dangerous men in the country, and I was about to walk in alone.
A lamb stepping into a den of wolves.
I had already hesitated too long. I gripped the handle, pressed down, and slipped inside before I could change my mind. The door clicked shut behind me. Silence fell.
Every conversation ceased.
My father's gaze locked onto me, his expression smug, victorious. Like he had already won. But my attention shifted, drawn to Liam Romano. He sat at the bar, fingers curled around a crystal glass filled with dark amber liquid. His gaze held me captive—unblinking, heavy, assessing.
He set his glass down with a deliberate clink.
If no one spoke soon, I was going to run.
My eyes flickered around the room. The New York contingent included Liam, Rafael, Marcus Romano, and two bodyguards—Jace and another man I didn't recognize. On Chicago's side stood Father, Vincent, and Ethan Sullivan, along with Salvatore, my cousin Rico, and—
Leo.
My five-year-old brother stood stiffly in his miniature black suit, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His wide eyes darted to me, the way they always did when he was scared. I saw the way he fought the instinct to run to me, to cling to my side. But he knew better. He knew what Father would say.
I lifted my chin, ignoring the heat prickling my skin under Liam's gaze. I had entered the lion's den. Now, I had to survive it.