Dressed to Kill

Nadia.

I twirled slowly in front of the full-length mirror, marveling at the stunning reflection staring back at me. The red velvet bodycon dress hugged every curve of my body like a second skin. It was a masterpiece of a garment. Cassian had instructed Petra to pick this out for me, which was still a shocking fact to process. Petra harbored a seething dislike for me. She made it painfully obvious every time we breathed the same air. I expected her to choose something hideous, a shapeless rag that would make me look like a pauper next to the glittering elite. Instead, she had delivered this dangerous weapon of a dress.

The daring, incredibly high slit rode all the way up my thigh. It showed off significantly more bare skin than I was ever used to displaying in public. I felt a flush of heat creeping up my neck just looking at the exposed expanse of my leg. But I made the conscious choice to wear it. I did not care if Petra was going to be at the gala too, silently judging my every move. I did not care about the judging whispers of the ruthless mafia wives we would undoubtedly encounter. I secretly wanted Cassian’s dark, intense eyes fixed completely on me tonight. I wanted his undivided attention.

Martha dropped a pair of diamond-studded black platforms right beside my bare feet. "That dress looks incredibly good on you."

I slipped my feet into the towering heels, testing my balance on the expensive footwear. "What about Cassia?"

Martha offered a warm, reassuring smile, picking up a discarded clothing tag from the floor. "I put her to bed already. She seemed really tired after playing all afternoon in the garden."

I nodded slowly, trying my hardest not to think about the overwhelming amount of luxury currently suffocating me. I grew up in a wealthy household under Vito and Camilla, but I was nothing more than a convenient prop to them. I only ever watched my abusive foster family members drown in luxury. I never got to have a single taste of it myself. Now, I was dripping in diamonds and wearing a designer dress that likely cost more than my entire life's expenses combined. The weight of this new reality was still jarring.

Martha gave my bare shoulder a gentle, encouraging squeeze. "Go and have fun. Cassian is waiting downstairs."

I grabbed my matching red clutch from the polished vanity table. Fun. The concept felt alien to me tonight. The Crestmont Art Gallery gala was not going to be a fun party with innocent dancing. It was a calculated gathering of criminals. The venue would be crawling with rich, dangerous people who built their empires on dirty money, extortion, and blood. Alliances would be forged, and enemies would be sizing each other up. If Cassian was attending to assert his dominance, I had to stand by his side.

I stepped outside the massive front doors and into the cool night air. The sprawling estate driveway was brightly lit by glaring security spotlights. I spotted my husband immediately. Cassian was leaning casually against the polished hood of his luxury black car. He looked absolutely devastating. He wore a perfectly tailored black tux that accentuated the broad lines of his shoulders and his narrow waist. His pristine black dress shoes gleamed under the overhead lights. His dark hair was slicked back flawlessly with gel, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw. My breath hitched in my throat. I tightened my trembling grip on my red clutch. The man was dangerously handsome. It still felt like a surreal fever dream that a ruthless underworld kingpin like him was actually my husband.

I was blatantly ogling his physique, and I did not realize how obvious it was until his head snapped up. His piercing dark eyes locked directly onto mine. A hot rush of embarrassment flooded my cheeks. A cocky, knowing smirk curved his lips. He pushed off the car and let his intense gaze sweep slowly down my body. He scrutinized every single inch of the red velvet, trailing from my exposed collarbones down to the high slit revealing my bare thigh. The burning heat in his eyes made my stomach clench tight. All the fake confidence I had built up in the dressing room began to melt away under his predatory stare.

Instantly, the teasing smirk vanished from his face. His expression hardened into a sharp, territorial scowl. His jaw ticked in visible annoyance.

He demanded abruptly, his voice a low, rough gravel in the quiet night. "Do you have to wear that?"

I frowned in genuine confusion, gesturing to the expensive fabric clinging tightly to my waist. "Why? You picked it for me."

Cassian took a slow, menacing step forward, invading my personal space until I could smell his expensive cologne. "Well, I didn't know it would look so fucking good on you. I may have to put a bullet into a man's eye tonight."

The raw possessiveness in his deep voice hit me like a physical blow. A massive swarm of butterflies erupted in my stomach. The sheer dominance radiating off him was intoxicating. He did not give me a single second to process his dark threat. He turned on his heel, pulled the passenger door open, and ushered me protectively into the leather interior of the luxury car.

The ride to the Crestmont Art Gallery was thick with heavy, unspoken tension. The silence in the car was suffocating, broken only by the low hum of the powerful engine. I stole quick, sideways glances at his striking profile the entire way, my heart racing with a mix of fear and anticipation. We arrived at the venue in less than thirty minutes. The opulent building practically screamed of dirty money and elite corruption. Expensive sports cars lined the valet drop-off. Men in bespoke suits and women in dazzling jewelry flooded the brightly lit entrance. I recognized a few faces from my childhood—brutal men who used to visit my foster father's study late at night to discuss illicit trades. The place was crawling with dangerous underworld figures, corrupt politicians, and cartel bosses.

As soon as we walked through the grand entrance doors, the ambient chatter died down. All eyes instantly glued to us. Cassian possessed a terrifying, magnetic aura that commanded absolute submission the second he entered a room. Every predator in the gallery paused to assess the apex predator walking among them.

Cassian possessively snaked a large, warm hand around my bare waist. He pulled my back flush against his solid side. Electric currents raced right through my skin at the sudden, burning contact. He was marking his territory for every single man in the room to see.

Jaxon and Petra approached us near the coat check.

Jaxon flashed a teasing grin, checking his luxury watch. "You are here late. That is highly unusual for you. Did someone keep you waiting again?"

Cassian shot him a lethal glare that instantly wiped the grin off Jaxon's face. Jaxon cleared his throat, suddenly finding the marble floor very interesting as he stood at strict attention.

Petra did not bother to hide her deep disdain. She raked her critical, hostile gaze up and down my red dress, clearly displeased that her attempt to dress me had backfired so spectacularly. I met her eyes head-on. We immediately exchanged cold, disdainful glares. I refused to back down or show weakness in front of her, especially not after Cassian’s fierce, possessive reaction in the driveway.

Petra dragged her hostile gaze away from me and looked at Cassian. "Some of Dominic's heavily armed lackeys will be here tonight. I will notify you the second we sight any of them."

Cassian gave her a curt, dismissive nod and steered me away by my waist, pulling me deeper into the crowded gallery.

We barely made it five steps before a sickeningly familiar voice called my name, cutting through the classical music playing in the background.

I turned around to find my abusive foster parents standing right behind us. Vito wore a tailored grey suit that could not hide his nervous energy, and Camilla draped herself in obnoxious, heavy fur. Vito darted his calculating eyes between me and my powerful husband.

I placed a steady hand on Cassian's chest. "I will talk to them."

Cassian let go of my waist, but he did not step back. He leaned in, closing the distance between himself and Vito. His voice dropped into a dark, terrifying promise that only the four of us could hear. "I'll be watching. I don't care if they're your parents. I'll kill them if they try anything funny."

A shiver of dark thrill ran down my spine. His violent protectiveness was an immense turn-on. I bit the inside of my lip to suppress my reaction.

Vito swallowed hard, taking a quick, nervous step back. I walked a few feet away with them, putting a small buffer between us and my lethal husband.

Camilla immediately crossed her arms and scoffed loudly, her face twisting in pure disgust. "Ungrateful bitch. You must feel entirely untouchable now that you are Cassian Thorne's wife. Why were your parents not informed about this marriage?"

I stared at her with dead, emotionless eyes. "My parents? Who are those?"

Vito raised a hand to silence his vicious wife. He feigned a sickening paternal warmth, pasting a fake, strained smile on his face. "This isn't the right place to talk about this family matter. Nadia, why don't we meet up another day and have a good talk?"

It was a pathetic, transparent play. Vito worked for a lesser crime boss. He was clearly trying to leverage my new, elevated status in the Mafia world for his own political and financial gain. I refused to play their twisted game for another second. I owed them nothing but contempt.

I gave them a hollow, empty smile. "Okay. I will give you a call when I am free."

I turned my back on them and walked away confidently, feeling Camilla’s hateful glare burning into my exposed skin like physical acid.

I scanned the sprawling, crowded hall for Cassian, but he was nowhere to be found. Jaxon and Petra had vanished into the sea of elites as well. Finding myself temporarily separated from Cassian's side, I flagged down a passing waiter. I grabbed a tall, chilled cocktail from his silver tray and retreated to an empty, secluded table near the back of the gallery.

I barely had a moment to catch my breath before the empty seat beside me was abruptly occupied. A man in an expensive three-piece suit practically threw himself into the chair. The overwhelming stench of hard liquor and stale cigar smoke rolled off him in waves. He was a complete stranger, his eyes glassy and deeply aggressive as they roamed over my chest.

He gestured pointedly at the half-empty glass in my hand. "Nadia Thorne, right? You almost done with your drink? Let me get you another one."

I kept my posture rigid and professional. "No. Thanks."

An ugly, annoyed look flickered across his flushed face. "I insist."

I stared straight ahead, refusing to give him my attention. "And I said no."

He went completely silent. The blunt rejection seemed to short-circuit his drunken brain. His face quickly twisted into an ugly, volatile rage. He leaned aggressively into my personal space, his liquor-soaked breath fanning over my face in a disgusting wave.

He growled, baring his teeth like a rabid dog. "Who the fuck do you think you are? You must think you're something because you are Thorne's wife, but let me tell you, you are nothing. He wouldn't even care if I kill you right on the spot."

I channeled every ounce of Cassian's chilling coldness. I took a calm, collected sip of my drink, swallowing the burning liquid before placing the glass deliberately on the solid wooden table. I turned my head to look the thug dead in his bloodshot eyes.

I spoke with lethal, unwavering calmness. "Just because you treat your women like trash doesn't mean Cassian does the same to me. He's a real man, a feat you clearly have trouble achieving. I'm only gonna say this once. Fuck off, stranger."

A vile string of violent curses exploded from his mouth. He lunged forward and forcefully grabbed my bare wrist. His thick fingers dug into my delicate flesh with a bruising, crushing grip. A sharp gasp of sudden pain left my lips as his fingernails bit into my skin. I tried to yank my arm away, but his hold was like an iron vice.

Before he could do anything else, before he could utter another threat, a deafening gunshot rang out through the elegant hall.

The explosion of sound shattered the ambient classical music. A spray of hot, wet liquid erupted across the side of my face and chest. The stranger’s brutal grip on my wrist vanished instantly, replaced by a sickening, wet thud.

I screamed in sheer horror.

Dark blood and chunks of grey brain matter spattered violently across my beautiful red velvet dress. The sticky, warm fluid soaked directly into the expensive fabric. The stranger's eyes rolled back into his ruined, blown-open skull. His lifeless corpse collapsed heavily, knocking over the small cocktail table in a chaotic crash of shattering glass. His bleeding, completely shattered head landed right at my high-heeled feet, pooling thick crimson blood onto the pristine white marble floor.

I scrambled backward, gasping frantically for air as the heavy metallic stench of fresh blood hit my nose, clogging my throat with pure nausea.

Just a few feet away, Cassian stood like a carved stone statue. The crowd around him had parted in screaming terror. His arm was fully extended, his smoking gun pointed precisely at the spot where the stranger’s head had just been.

Cassian slowly lowered his arm. He possessed a completely nonchalant, terrifyingly blank expression. His dark, soulless eyes held zero remorse for the life he had just extinguished. Without uttering a single word, he slid the lethal weapon back into its hidden shoulder holster, acting as if blowing a man's brains out in a crowded room simply for grabbing my wrist was the most normal thing in the world.