Chapter 106 Fiorella
The boutique was scented with roses and silk, too soft, too refined for me. Even so, as I came out from the fitting room and glanced at myself in the mirror, even I had to stop.
The dress was a vibrant, killer red, the color of wine and vengeance. It hugged my curves, nipped my waist, the silk shimmering like liquid flame. The neckline was low, scandalously near indecent, and the slit high enough to drive Rocco crazy.
Rosalia's gasp hung in the air.
"Madonna mia, Fiorella, Rocco will be dazzled."
Aria, Rafael’s cousin’s the loudest of us all, whistled, tossing her brown curls. “Dazzled? He’s going to forget how to breathe. You’re not just going to walk down the red carpet; you’re going to cause cardiac arrests.”
I turned, letting the fabric swish around my legs, and smirked. “That’s the plan.”
The stylist clapped, twirling around me like an artist before a masterpiece. "Red suits you, Signorina D'Angelo. Danger and power, you embody it."
Rosalia grinned, her eyes sparkling. "Perfect. Classic Fiorella, classy with the suggestion she might kill someone in it."
The room burst into laughter. Aria doubled up, clutching her stomach.
"She's not wrong," I teased, tilting my head at the mirror. "I like it better. The color hides bloodstains."
That set them off in a new round of laughter, laughter that even caught me smiling. For a moment, it seemed easy, uncomplicated. Like we were just women preparing to go out and put our glamour on, but I was a woman with blood on my hands and enemies waiting for me to make a mistake.
We picked up the dress and I was thinking we could go for lunch now.
"Come on," she said, slipping her arm into mine. "We have lashes, nails, hair, the full royal treatment. You're not escaping."
"Rosalia," I grumbled, "I've survived ambushes with fewer steps than your beauty rites."
"Then consider this survival training," she said graciously.
Aria snorted. "She's right. You've conquered empires, Fiorella. You can withstand a manicure."
I rolled my eyes but allowed them to haul me along.
The spa itself was white marble and gentle music, calm and relaxing. Rosalia was already resigned to a chair, cucumber slices on her eyelids, while Aria was bickering with the stylist over what shade of pink best represented "chaotic feminine energy."
When the technician approached me with a color scheme, I waved a hand. "Black. Always black."
Aria threw a towel at me. "You're impossible. It's an engagement, not a funeral."
"Alright, I’ll do burgundy," I shot back, lips curving.
Rosalia poked her head out from under her cucumbers, shaking her head. "You're so dramatic. And to think I used to think Rocco was the dark one in the family."
That made me laugh, a sound that felt strange but freeing. “You’re mistaken. He’s just quiet about his storms. I’m the thunder.”
We talked through the rest of the treatments, laughter ringing off the marble walls. Rosalia laughed about Rafael's efforts to learn how to knit with her. Aria complained about her boyfriend’s obsession with matcha. They teased me about how Rocco would react to the dress, to my nails, to it all, that he'd likely call off the engagement party so that he could have me to himself.
"He's going to lose his composure," Aria declared dramatically. "The Don, utterly undone by his queen."
I sighed, leaning back as the stylist pulled out my black hair. "Good. He's been too in control lately."
Rosalia laughed, poking me. "You say that like you don't melt the moment he so much as glances at you."
My sneer faltered for a breath, because she was correct. Rocco's eyes could shrivel me up. No matter how resilient I held myself up to the world, one look from him and I couldn't recall how to breathe.
Rosalia noticed the doubt and smiled softly. "You love him."
I didn't argue with her. "With all that's still within me."
"Then that's enough," she said bluntly.
By the time the sun was lower in the sky, we were sitting side by side in the relaxation lounge, hair wrapped in towels, nails gleaming, skin aglow. It was almost unbelievable, this peace. This laughter.
Rosalia's fingers wrapped over mine. "You know," she breathed, "you're not quite so terrifying as everyone thinks."
I murmured a laugh. "Don't tarnish my reputation."
Aria sat up and tossed a pillow at me. "Too late. You're one of us now. Girly spa days and all."
I smiled, a tiny, unguarded smile that they could only ever get from me. For a moment, I forgot the letters, the threats, the blood. For a moment, I was just Fiorella, not the queen, not the survivor, just a woman among laughter and warmth.
Maybe, I thought, that was what being strong was. to let yourself have moments like this, even though the world kept burning outside the door.
Rosalia turned her head to mine. "You know," she whispered, "you don't have to be so guarded all the time. You can just… be."
"I don't know if I know how," I confessed softly.
She smiled. "Then we'll remind you."
Aria stretched out like a cat. "To the chaos queens of the D’Angelo and De Luca women," she announced dramatically. "May our men survive the engagement party."
Rosalia laughed. "Just barely."
We all clinked our glasses of champagne, the bubbles fizzing like laughter.
I felt something near to peace for the first time in a long time.
As night came, the three of us stepped out of the spa, heels clicking on the sidewalk. City lights glinted off wet pavement, gilding every gold and crimson. Rosalia was talking party decorations; Aria was texting her boyfriend something that made her smile and I had just texted Rocco that we were finally done and already on our way.
I should have felt comfortable. But halfway to the car, a cold shiver crept up my back.
I froze.
"Fiorella?" Rosalia turned and glanced at me. "You’re okay?"
I took in my environment , the street was deserted, too deserted. A car was parked down the block, its headlights dim. A person could've been inside. Waiting.
"Yeah," I said after a second, smiling. "Just thought I heard something."
Aria slipped her arm through mine again, pulling me along. "Probably nerves. Tomorrow's a big day."
"Right," I said under my breath. Like I could be bothered by that but I didn’t want to scare them.
But as we unlocked the car, I could not shake it. That feeling.
As if a shadow had split off from the shadows and followed us back home.
And with Rosalia's laughter ringing in the car, and Aria singing along with the radio, I glanced out the tinted glass for the final time.
The car on the street did not budge.
It remained, engine humming. Waiting.
Something made me remember that whatever the next day had in store, the party, the lights, the celebration, it would not be champagne and love only.
It would be survival.