He Called Me Nothing—Until I Became His Nightmare, the Mafia Queen

I had just finished dealing with a shipment of "cargo" down at the docks—cargo that had gotten a little too difficult to manage—when my mother called.

"Elvira. Go to Isabel right now, this instant. The gown for your engagement party arrived. You need to try it on today and confirm all the details—the ceremony is in two weeks."

This was my grandfather's arrangement, made in the final days of his life. He wanted me—the heir he had groomed to lead the family—to use this marriage as a doorway into the "normal" world. The plan was to wed Kyle Colin, the man everyone in our circles called the crown prince of the Colin business empire.

I respected my grandfather. I had agreed to the match. Now it was time to hold up my end of the bargain.

Half an hour later, I walked through the entrance of Isabel Haute Couture—the most prestigious bespoke bridal house on Fifth Avenue.

The interior was extravagant in that quietly overwhelming way: crystal chandeliers casting soft, refracted light across every surface. The engagement gown that had been called the master's final masterpiece was already on display—luminous, surreally beautiful.

"Miss Reed, right this way, please." The head attendant lifted the gown with practiced, almost reverential care.

I nodded and reached out to take it. That's when a sharp, thoroughly imperious voice cut through the air behind me.

"Wait."

I turned. A blonde woman in a Chanel suit and a Cartier necklace was staring at me, two assistants flanking her on either side, each of them loaded down with shopping bags.

"I want that gown," she announced.

She lifted her chin and gestured at the attendant to take it off the rack.

The attendant froze. "Miss Watson, this piece was reserved by Miss Reed—"

"Her? Reserved?" The woman let out a dismissive laugh, pulled a thick fold of cash from her bag, and tossed it at my feet. "Twenty thousand dollars. Go back to wherever it is you came from."

The bills scattered across the floor with a dry, papery hiss.

I looked down at them, then back up at her. "Did something eat your brain?" I asked, my voice perfectly calm. "Because you don't seem to understand plain English. This gown is mine. I made a reservation. Are we clear?"

"What did you just say to me?" The woman's face darkened. "You dare talk to me like that? Do you have any idea who I am?"

"I am Chloe Watson—Aiden Lane's fiancée."

I paused. "Aiden Lane? The Aiden Lane? From the Lane family?"

"That's right!" Chloe arched an eyebrow, clearly pleased with herself. "So you're not completely ignorant after all."

"You're his fiancée?" I frowned.

Since when had my betrothed gotten himself a new fiancée?

Chloe read my hesitation as astonishment and preened. She raised her voice to make sure everyone in the boutique could hear.

"What's the matter—scared? Let me tell you something: Aiden and I have known each other since we were children. The Watsons and the Lanes are equals in every way. Everyone on the Upper East Side knows how much he adores me."

She looked me up and down with naked contempt, her smile sharpening. "Look at yourself. I won't even bother holding a grudge. All you have to do is get on your knees and apologize to me properly, and I might consider letting you off the hook for that little outburst of yours."

The society women nearby began whispering, craning their necks, savoring the spectacle.

Who is this girl? Does she actually think she can take on Chloe Watson? I heard Aiden once destroyed an entire family for Chloe's sake.

She came in to try on a gown—do you think she's some nouveau riche's kept woman?

This is not going to end well for her…

The murmuring only inflated Chloe's confidence. She stepped closer to me, chin tilted, looking down from an imaginary height.

"You heard them, didn't you? Mess with me, and you mess with the Lane family." She pointed one manicured finger at the floor. "If you don't back off right now, the Lanes have more than enough reach to make sure you can't set foot in this city again."

I looked at her, and I felt—honestly—rather amused.

I took out my phone and dialed Aiden Lane's number.

It rang three times. Then he hung up on me.

I stared at the screen for a moment and raised an eyebrow.

Interesting.

Chloe had been watching. Now she burst out laughing—loud, theatrical, completely unrestrained.

"Oh my God! Did your sugar daddy just dump you? I thought you were about to pull something impressive, and it turns out you're just some pathetic little fool getting stood up by her own phone call!"

"No," I said, still unhurried. "I was simply checking whether Aiden Lane's fiancée is you—or me."