At 9:17 P.M., I was the only waitress brave enough to approach table four, where Boston’s most feared mafia boss was slowly dying in front of everyone.

At three o'clock the following afternoon, three women arrived at the estate carrying garment bags of black velvet, accompanied by two armed guards.

They transformed my bedroom into an haute couture salon.

I stood before the full-length mirror as Elena zipped me into an emerald-green silk crepe gown. The dress was a masterpiece: it hugged my waist, draped down to the floor with a subtle slit up the left leg, and featured an off-the-shoulder neckline that exposed my collarbones. Diamond drop earrings hung from my lobes, catching the late afternoon sun.

I barely recognized the woman staring back at me. The tired, overworked waitress with dark circles under her eyes had been replaced by someone regal, elegant, and striking.

A soft knock came at the door.

"Come in," I called.

The door opened, and Dominic stepped inside. He wore a custom midnight-blue tuxedo that emphasized his broad shoulders and commanding presence. When his eyes swept over me, he stopped dead in his tracks.

The silence stretched between us, thick with tension.

"Is it... too much?" I asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I'm not used to wearing anything that costs more than forty dollars."

Dominic crossed the room slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. He stopped a foot away, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a velvet box.

"You look stunning, Chloe. Breathtaking."

He opened the box. Resting on the satin was a delicate platinum chain suspending a single, radiant emerald pendant surrounded by micro-diamonds.

"It was my mother's," Dominic said, his voice dropping. "She wore it the night my father officially took leadership of the five families. No woman has worn it since."

My breath caught. "Dominic, I can't. It's too valuable. It’s family history."

"You are wearing it because tonight, you are under my personal protection. To every don, captain, and politician in that ballroom, this necklace signals that touching you is declaring war on me."

He stepped behind me. I swept my hair over one shoulder, exposing the nape of my neck. His fingers were warm against my skin as he fastened the clasp. His lips brushed the soft skin behind my ear—a fleeting, electric touch that sent a pulse of desire directly to my core.

"Keep your head high tonight, Chloe," Dominic murmured against my hair. "Let them see that we fear nothing."

He offered his arm. I slid my hand into the crook of his elbow, feeling the coiled strength beneath his sleeve.