Chapter 1
Sophia's POV
Five years ago, on my wedding day, my fiancé Vincent fucked my best friend in the bridal suite.
Five years later, I returned to New York with my husband—the most powerful Mafia boss in Naples. At Atelier Milano, my former best friend Bianca circled my custom gown like a vulture, pestering the staff about meeting the legendary Mrs. Salvatore.
She had no idea the woman she pitied as a pathetic nobody was the very person she was dying to impress.
"Mrs. Salvatore's car gets here in ten minutes."
"Oh my GOD, I can't wait! They say she's like a ghost—nobody EVER sees her!"
"Bianca, is the champagne ready? We need to make this perfect!"
I stood outside Atelier Milano as these voices drifted through the glass door.
Inside, a cluster of overdressed society women huddled near the window display. The woman at the center barked orders at the staff, directing the placement of champagne flutes and flowers.
Bianca Rossi.
My former best friend. My maid of honor. The bitch who screwed my fiancé on my wedding day.
I pushed the door open. The bell chimed. Every head swiveled toward me.
"Sorry, we're closed today—private event," the saleswoman said, clearly sizing me up.
I ignored her and walked straight to the dress rack by the window.
A silver gown hung there, shimmering under the lights. Swarovski crystals flowed across the silk like liquid starlight.
Lorenzo had it made for me. For the Five Families gala in three days.
I reached for it. Another hand shot out at the same moment.
Bianca froze, then turned. Her face cycled through confusion, shock, then settled on pure contempt.
"Oh my God... Sophia?" She jerked her hand back like I was diseased. "Sophia ROMANO?"
She looked me up and down—the understated navy coat, simple flats, small black clutch. No logos anywhere.
No wonder she looked at me like trash.
The other women stopped mid-conversation and turned to stare. When they took in my outfit, the same expression rippled across their faces—disdain mixed with vicious glee.
"What the hell are YOU doing here?" Bianca's voice shot up. "Did you come to clean the toilets?"
"Jesus, three years and THIS is what you look like?" Another woman didn't bother hiding her smirk. "Can't even afford a decent bag."
"How'd she even GET in here? We're expecting someone important. We can't have HER ruining everything."
Idiots. Every piece I wore came from Naples's most exclusive private ateliers. But these women wouldn't recognize quality unless it had a logo screaming in their faces.
I ignored them and spoke to the saleswoman. "Take that dress down, please."
Silence.
Then an explosion of shrill laughter.
"WHAT?" Bianca doubled over, actually wiping tears from her eyes. "Sophia, have you completely lost your MIND?"
She stepped between me and the gown, blocking my view. "That's CUSTOM COUTURE for Mrs. Salvatore! Do you have ANY idea what it costs? You couldn't afford it if you saved for TEN lifetimes!"
I kept my voice level. "I know exactly who it's for. So take it down."
Bianca stared at me for a beat, then burst out laughing again. She spun toward the other women. "Oh my GOD, did you hear that? She says she KNOWS!"
The pack dissolved into giggles.
"Sophia, wake the fuck up," one woman drawled. "Vincent dumped you at the altar in front of EVERYONE. You ran out of the Waldorf in your wedding dress, mascara running down your face. People STILL laugh about it at parties."
"Right? God, you must be desperate now. Why else would you dress like... THAT?"
Bianca moved closer, her eyes glittering with false sympathy that made my stomach turn.
"Sophia, sweetie." Her voice dripped honey laced with poison. "For old times' sake, let me throw you a bone. Vincent's family actually needs someone right now."
"We're hosting important dinners. We need a nanny—someone reliable to watch my son."
She paused, her smile turning razor-sharp. "You were always SO good at... taking care of Vincent, remember? Those back rubs, fetching his drinks, staying up late to make him comfortable. Kids are easier than grown men, right?"
"Room and board, uniform included. Better than whatever you're doing now—which clearly isn't working out."
More laughter erupted around us.
"A NANNY? Is she even qualified to walk through the Rossi front door?"
"At least she'd get a uniform. Though honestly? Looking at her now, what's the difference?"
"She's already dressed like the help."
"Bianca, you're way too nice. I wouldn't piss on her if she was on fire."
I thought of what Lorenzo had told me.
"If anyone disrespects you, tell me. I'll handle it."
He'd been cleaning his Beretta when he said it, his eyes flat and cold. Lethal.
Lorenzo's possessiveness bordered on pathological. If he knew these women were humiliating me right now, he'd kill them. Slowly. Creatively.
But I didn't need him to handle this.
I reached into my clutch and pulled out the card.
Matte black. The family crest embossed in the center—a black eagle's talons gripping a blood-red rose.
The Salvatore crest.
Below it: 1108.
Bianca's face changed. She lunged forward, nails raking across my hand as she tried to grab it.
"Where'd you STEAL that?"
I pulled back and calmly handed the card to the saleswoman, ignoring the red scratches on my skin.
"FAKE! That's obviously FAKE!" Bianca's voice hit a frequency that could shatter glass. "Sophia, you desperate bitch—you're forging Salvatore credentials now?"
She whirled on the other women. "Look at THIS! She's committing FRAUD just to play dress-up!"
"What even is that?" One woman squinted at it. "Plastic crap from Chinatown? Ten bucks?"
"Sophia, this is pathetic even for YOU. You think waving a fake card makes you Mrs. Salvatore?"
"Please. We all know what real Salvatore credentials look like. The actual family crest is solid gold, not... whatever THAT is."
Bianca's smile turned vicious. "Someone like you? You'll never even BREATHE the same air as people like that. Not in this lifetime or the next."
"SECURITY!" She raised her voice. "Get her OUT of here! Someone call the cops—forging family credentials is a FELONY!"
But the saleswoman had the card now.
She stared at it. Her eyes went wide. Wider.
Then she looked at me. Every drop of color drained from her face.
Her hands started trembling so violently the card nearly slipped from her fingers.
"M-Mrs..." The word came out strangled, barely audible.
She bowed so low I thought her spine might snap.
"Please—please wait right here. I'll get your dress immediately."
