A knock interrupted my thoughts—sharp and precise, the sound of someone trained to announce their presence without requesting permission.
The door opened before I could respond.
Two young women entered, each carrying a towering stack of gowns. The fabric caught the candlelight with a cold, expensive sheen—ivory silk, silver-gray satin, midnight velvet. Each piece was perfectly tailored, clearly prepared for the union ceremony that loomed two days hence. The ceremony that would bind me to the Corleone Family with chains stronger than steel.
I glanced at the gowns once, then looked away.
"They were sent by Don Giorgio," one of them said, her voice carefully neutral—the tone of someone who had learned that showing too much emotion in this household was dangerous. "He requests that you choose whichever pleases you most."
I could not help the cold laugh that escaped my lips.
"Pick whichever one suits your fancy," I said, my voice steady as a blade. "Dispose of the rest. Burn them if you wish, or throw them into the harbor. Leave no trace."
The women exchanged a glance, their faces carefully blank but their eyes betraying shock.