Attached to it was a small card with my name written in elegant, sharp cursive.

I opened the bag to find the midnight-blue silk gown.

It was beautiful, expensive, and felt heavy in my hands.

When I put it on back at the hotel suite, I barely recognized myself in the mirror.

The dress clung to my curves, the dark blue fabric contrasting with my pale skin.

I pulled my hair back, leaving a few strands to frame my face.

I looked like a woman who belonged in Dante Russo’s world.

But inside, I felt like a fraud.

I felt like a mother who had sold her soul to keep her child fed.

I walked into the adjoining room where Mrs. Patel was bottle-feeding Lily.

“You look like a princess, Sophia,” the old woman said, smiling warmly.

“Thank you, Mrs. Patel,” I said, leaning down to kiss Lily’s forehead.

Her skin was warm and smelled of baby powder.

“Keep the door locked,” I whispered to Mrs. Patel. “Do not open it for anyone except Dante’s men.”

“I will, dear. Don’t worry so much. Enjoy your evening.”