The Night That Remembers
She was digging through racks with an intensity that was almost comical, like she was hunting down a state secret buried in a hanger.
And then she stopped.
Her gaze froze.
Her fingers brushed the champagne fabric of a tight, outrageously short, backless dress with a slight neckline.
I frowned.
“Hope…”
“It’s the one,” she breathed. “It’s the same.”
I understood instantly.
The club dress. The one that had started everything.
The one she was wearing when she’d turned to Alessandro and whispered for him to fuck her.
She grabbed it. Tried it on.
And when she stepped out of the fitting room, the breath was knocked right out of me.
It was her. The real Hope. Confident. Sensual. Dangerously alive.
I smiled, throat tight.
“You’re going to kill him.”
“That’s the goal,” she said with a wink.
After buying it—and a few salty comments from Lorenzo about my habit of only picking dresses designed to trigger cardiac arrest—he took me to a high-end salon.
“Because no, your post-coma hair is not it. You look like a mermaid that escaped a rock.”
“Isn’t that supposed to be sexy?”
“You don’t want to know what drowned sailors think.”
I laughed again. That guy was my lifeline.
We trimmed the ends. Just that. I wanted to keep the length. My hair now fell down to the small of my back. And I loved it that way. Wild. Untamed. Like me.
I walked out of the salon transformed. On the surface… and inside.
In the car on the way back, I turned to Lorenzo.
“You know I love you, right?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You need money or what?”
“No. Seriously. Thanks for being here.”
He held his hand out. I took it.
And right then, in the silence, I knew that no matter what happened tonight… I wasn’t alone anymore.
I had rarely seen her like that.
Even in New York, even at her sexiest, most provocative moments… she had never radiated that kind of aura.
It wasn’t just Hope anymore.
She was a femme fatale. A queen. A promise.
She stepped out of the bathroom, the champagne dress clinging to every curve with insolence, the open back revealing a dangerously perfect line down her spine.
And those heels… fuck. Those heels.
“You’re really going to kill him,” I whispered.
She gave me a pout, red lips slightly pursed.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
“You helping me or passing out?”
“I’m helping you not cause a mass fainting downstairs.”
We tried several hairstyles. Nothing worked.
Then I let her loosen that wild mane, and I styled it into natural, cascading waves pulled over one shoulder. The result was lethal.
On top of that, a nude makeup with intense feline eyes, a perfectly drawn mouth—
The Hope staring back at me in the mirror was irresistible.
“It’s time, babe,” I said softly. “Time to show them.”
She took a deep breath, looked at herself one last time—
And went down.
I didn’t hear anything anymore.
Not the guests. Not Matteo. Not even the soft music floating in the background.
Everything stopped when I saw her appear at the top of the staircase.
Hope.
Every step she took was a slap to the face.
The dress, the hair, that look… that fucking look.
She was incendiary. Hypnotic. Undeniable.
She came down slowly, her gaze locked on mine.
And I knew.
I knew this was the moment.
That I could never live without her.
That she was the only thing worth losing my soul for.
She reached the last step.
Silence.
Then she held out her hand. Without a word.
I took it.
And the evening could finally begin.
When he led me to the bar, his hand in mine, I felt like I was walking in a dream.
The kind of dream that smells like vanilla, danger, and intoxication.
The bar was lit with small golden lights, discreet, elegant.
He sat me on a high stool as if I were a fragile work of art.
I crossed my legs, pulling the dress up a little more. His eyes didn’t miss a thing.
“A drink?” he asked, his voice deeper than usual.
“White wine. Very cold.”
He nodded without looking away. Opened a bottle, poured, and handed me the glass with deliberate slowness.
I smiled, amused by his barely contained tension.
“You’re looking at me like I’m about to disappear.”
“No,” he murmured. “I’m looking at you like I just remembered something.”
I frowned. He leaned closer. Looked me up and down, then whispered near my ear:
“That dress.”
A shiver slid down my spine.
“What about it?”
“It’s the one from Milan,” he breathed. “The one you wore that night… the night you looked me dead in the eyes and told me to fuck you.”
I slowly raised the glass to my lips, a smirk forming.
“It was a good night, wasn’t it?”
His gaze darkened.
“It was the beginning of the end. And the beginning of everything.”
“You planning to top that memory tonight?”
He leaned in again, his hand resting on my bare thigh.
“Wait and see. The night’s just getting started.”
I laughed softly, nervous without knowing why.
There was something in the air.
Something suspended. Charged.
And I was about to find out how much.
I may have chosen medicine, but I have a sharp instinct for what goes unsaid.
And tonight, around me, no one would meet my eyes.
The sly glances. The restrained smiles.
Lorenzo vanishing then reappearing out of nowhere.
Matteo changing the playlist and “improvising” a speech when no one in an ironed shirt improvises anything.
And Alessandro… Alessandro not taking his eyes off me.
Not for a second.
“Tell me,” I murmur, stepping closer to him. “What’s with this weird vibe?”
He frowned a little too fast.
“What vibe?”
“The ‘either I’ve inherited an empire or someone is about to launch a missile at me’ vibe.”
He laughed. Really laughed. And it disarmed me.
But I knew something was coming. Something big.
He grabbed my hand and led me to the center of the terrace.
The guests went quiet without being asked.
The lighting shifted.
And I understood. My heart froze.
He stopped. Turned toward me. Looked at me like he could set me on fire with just his eyes.
“Hope Jones… or whatever name you feel like using,” he began, his voice soft but firm.
“You crashed into my life with your bad attitude, your coldness, your locked-up past, and that infuriating way you had of thinking you could resist me. You wrecked all my bearings. My structure. My control. My logic. You stole everything from me. And I thank you for it. Because through every night, every look, every scream, every silence between us… I knew. I knew that if I were ever to lose everything one day — my empire, my weapons, my men — the only thing I wouldn’t want to lose is you. And if I’m still in one piece today, it’s because you’re alive.”
He knelt.
Hope didn’t move. She was frozen. Hands trembling. Breath uneven.
“So… Hope. My fire, my storm, my light.
Will you marry me?”
Silence.
Then a tear. Just one. Rolling down her cheek.
“You bastard,” she whispered. “You’re not allowed to do this in front of everyone.”
He looked up at her. Smiled.
“I have every right when it comes to you. Especially the right to love you.”
She couldn’t speak. But her hands came up to his face. She pulled him toward her.
And kissed him.
“Yes. Obviously, yes.”