My breath formed clouds as it escaped my lips, a testament to the bitter cold of Chicago's winter. Despite my thick coat, the chill still pierced through. Along the pavement, I followed my mother toward the brick building housing the most luxurious wedding store in the Midwest. Enrique trailed closely behind, a constant shadow in my life. Another of my father's soldiers followed behind my sisters.

As we stepped through the revolving brass doors, the brightly lit interior welcomed us, and the owner, accompanied by her two assistants, greeted us warmly. "Happy birthday, Ms. Pearce," she said with a lilting voice.

Forcing a smile, I acknowledged her well wishes. Today was my eighteenth birthday, a day that should be filled with celebration. Instead, it only brought me closer to the inevitable marriage with Gio. It had been thirty months since I last saw him, the night he severed Spencer's finger. Since then, he had showered me with extravagant gifts, but our interactions were limited to those gestures. I had seen pictures of him with other women on the internet, but today, our engagement would be leaked to the press, and at least publicly, he wouldn't flaunt his affairs anymore.

I had no illusions about him being faithful; I knew he continued to sleep with other women. Strangely, I didn't care. As long as he had distractions, he might not think about me in that way.

The shop owner chimed in, breaking my thoughts. "Only six months until your wedding, if I'm not mistaken?" Her excitement was evident, knowing she stood to make a substantial profit from our union-the final union between the Chicago and New York mafia families. Money was of little concern.

I nodded, knowing that in 166 days, I would be exchanging one golden cage for another. My younger sister, Harper, shot me a disapproving look, but she wisely held her tongue. At sixteen and a half, she had learned to control her outbursts, mostly.

We were led into the fitting room, with Enrique and the other man waiting outside the drawn curtains. Sienna and Harper settled on the plush white couch, while my mother began browsing the wedding gowns on display. I stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by all the white tulle, silk, gossamer, and brocade, each piece symbolizing a life I wasn't sure I wanted. I would soon be a married woman, but the quotes about love adorning the walls felt like taunts, given the harsh reality of my life. What was love but a foolish dream?

I felt the scrutinizing gazes of the shop owner and her assistants, so I squared my shoulders and joined my mother. I couldn't allow anyone to see the truth-I wasn't a happy bride-to-be but a pawn in a dangerous game of power.

The shop owner, eager to assist, presented us with her most expensive gowns. "What kind of gown would your future husband prefer?" she inquired cheerfully.

"The naked kind," Harper blurted out, earning a stern look from our mother. I blushed

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