Mafia's Surrogate Bride Chapter 74

Aria’s POV

"You're hurting me!" I jerked my wrist away from Damian's iron grip, my skin already beginning to bruise under his fingers.

He released me immediately, his dark eyes flashing with something that might have been surprise.

I knew I couldn't win against him in any real confrontation. He held all the cards, all the power, all the leverage. But I still had something he needed, and that gave me just enough courage to make my demand.

"Fine," I said, straightening my shoulders despite the throbbing in my wrist. "I'll attend your dinner. But I have conditions."

His eyebrow arched with that infuriating mixture of amusement and condescension. "You're hardly in a position to make demands, piccola."

"The dinner ends, and you arrange for a doctor to examine me. I need that appointment scheduled immediately." My voice remained steady despite the way his presence seemed to fill the room with dangerous energy. "I need to know if that fall into the lake caused any... complications."

"Agreed."

The next morning, the army of stylists and makeup artists arrived at the house like an invasion force, transforming the master suite into a temporary salon. Boxes of gowns, shoes, and accessories filled every available surface while I sat in the center of it all like some reluctant doll being prepared for display.

"Bellissima," the makeup artist murmured as she worked, her brush dancing across my cheekbones with practiced precision. "Mr. Cavalieri has exquisite taste."

I almost laughed at that. Damian's taste ran toward control and possession, not beauty. This elaborate preparation wasn't about making me look stunning—it was about ensuring I wouldn't embarrass him in front of Florence's criminal elite.

When the stylist presented me with the jewelry, my breath caught despite myself. The necklace was a masterpiece of diamonds and sapphires that caught the light like captured starfire.

"This is from Mr. Cavalieri," she explained, handling the piece with reverent care. "He acquired it specifically for tonight's occasion."

A gift, I thought bitterly. More like a collar to mark his territory.

The dress they'd chosen was breathtaking—midnight blue silk that hugged every curve before flowing into an elegant train. It was the kind of gown that belonged in museum displays or royal portraits, not on the body of an orphaned bar girl playing at being a lady.

"This is too much," I complained to my reflection, feeling ridiculous in all the finery. "I look like I'm wearing a costume."

"You look absolutely radiant, Miss Aria," Jennifer said warmly from the doorway.

I turned to study myself in the full-length mirror, trying to recognize the woman staring back at me. The girl from the orphanage had disappeared entirely, replaced by someone who looked like she belonged in the pages of a fashion magazine.

When Damian appeared in the doorway, I caught a flash of something unreadable in his dark eyes—appreciation, perhaps, or surprise. But it vanished so quickly I might have imagined it, replaced by his usual mask of cold authority.

"Good," he said with clinical detachment. "This should ensure you don't bring shame to the Cavalieri name tonight."

The words stung more than they should have, a sharp reminder that this was all performance, all pretense. I was being polished and presented not because I mattered, but because I reflected on him.

The Montrosso estate was a testament to old-world grandeur, all marble columns and crystal chandeliers that cast rainbow fractals across walls adorned with priceless art. As our car swept through the gates, I felt increasingly like an impostor about to be exposed at any moment.

Antonio Montrosso greeted us personally at the entrance.

"Damian, my boy," he said, embracing him with paternal affection before turning to me . "And here is our dear Aria again. How lovely you look tonight, cara mia."

He took my hand in both of his with the same gentle reverence he'd shown before.

To my amazement, he escorted me personally into the dining room and seated me at the high table, in a position of honor typically reserved for family members and the most distinguished guests. The arrangement placed me directly in the spotlight, visible to every important person in the room.

I caught the sharp looks from several elegantly dressed women, their eyes assessing and finding me lacking. Whispered conversations started immediately, hands raised to hide moving lips while gazes dissected everything from my dress to my posture.

"Who is she?" I heard one woman ask in a voice pitched to carry.

"Some nobody Damian's taken up with," another replied with barely concealed malice. "How embarrassing for the family."

Adriana Montrosso appeared at the table with predatory grace. "How fascinating that grandfather has seated our mysterious guest so prominently," she said.

I felt the weight of dozens of pairs of eyes waiting for my response. My heart hammered against my ribs as the silence stretched, filled with barely concealed judgment and curiosity.

Just as I opened my mouth to stumble through some inadequate explanation, Damian's voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"She is here as my guest," he said. His dark eyes swept the table with lethal precision. "Questioning my choice of companion is questioning the judgment of the Cavalieri family itself."