The handwritten note was still fresh in my mind.

The Sforza family had burned my life to the ground.

Sofia unzipped the garment bag with a long, metallic hiss.

The wedding dress was a masterpiece of heavy satin and handmade Venetian lace.

To me, it looked like a beautiful shroud.

“We must begin the fitting,” Sofia said.

She gestured for me to step onto the low wooden platform near the mirror.

I stood up, my legs feeling like lead.

As I moved, I felt the small piece of scrap paper I had slipped into my pocket press against my thigh.

I had managed to pocket the handwritten note before hiding the folder.

“Don Alessandro expects everything to be perfect for tomorrow,” Matteo said.

His voice was flat, devoid of any real emotion.

“Is he always this meticulous?” I asked.

I tried to sound casual as Sofia began unbuttoning my day dress.

“My uncle does not tolerate mistakes,” Matteo replied.

He walked over to the window, keeping his back to me as I stripped down to my undergarments.

The breeze from the window smelled of dry dust and jasmine.