Then the wedding coordinator called. The gown my mother had ordered for me—commissioned from the finest seamstress in Little Italy, paid for with years of her modest savings—had been altered to fit. It was ready.
It was the last gift she left me before the Marconis let her die. I had to pick it up.
But when I stepped into the boutique, the bell above the door chiming softly, I froze.
There stood Piper—twirling in my gown.
"Anneliese… you came." She spun in front of the gilded mirror with a saccharine smile, her voice dripping with venom disguised as honey.
"I just had to make sure it fits, you know. Trying to help you out."
She tugged the neckline lower with deliberate provocation, revealing fresh red marks scattered across her chest like a constellation of sin. Her tone turned mockingly bashful.
"Oh no, it's Colino's fault—he's just too passionate. I told him to be gentle…"
I stared at her performance, cold and unblinking as a statue carved from marble.
"You really did inherit your mother's talent for stealing other women's men."
Her smile twitched, then curved into something crueler—the mask slipping to reveal the predator beneath.