Chapter 6 - The Transformation
Grace stood in the center of Matteo’s vast, luxurious master bedroom, staring at the bed.
Lying on the silk duvet was a stunning, dark emerald-green evening gown made of heavy, liquid silk. Beside it sat a pair of simple, elegant black leather pumps and a velvet box containing a simple gold necklace with a single diamond pendant.
Dolores stood by the door, holding a pair of silver hairbrushes.
“Mr. Moretti ordered it three days ago from a designer in Milan,” Dolores said softly, a rare, genuine smile touching her lips. “He gave them your measurements himself.”
“Dolores... I can’t wear this,” Grace whispered, her hands trembling as she touched the soft silk. “I don't belong down there with those people. I’m not built for dresses like this. I’m... I’m chubby, I’m plain—”
“Grace,” Dolores interrupted gently, walking over and placing a hand on her shoulder. “In thirty years of working for the Moretti family, I have watched dozens of beautiful, thin, powerful women walk through those gates trying to catch Matteo’s eye. And he looked through every single one of them like glass.”
Dolores looked into Grace’s eyes. “He doesn't see a maid when he looks at you. He sees the only person who brought warmth into this cold house.”
An hour later, Grace stepped out of the bedroom.
The dark emerald silk gown hugged her curves perfectly, flattering her waist and flowing gracefully down to her ankles. Her thick dark hair had been styled into soft, elegant waves falling over one shoulder, and the diamond pendant rested gently against her collarbone. She looked radiant, strong, and stunningly beautiful.
Titan and Nero were waiting outside the door. The moment she stepped into the hall, both dogs let out soft, happy whines, stepping up to nudge her hands with their wide snouts.
“Thank you, boys,” Grace smiled, her heart hammering against her ribs as she walked toward the grand staircase.
As she reached the top of the stairs, the music in the ballroom below faded to a quiet whisper.
Matteo was standing at the foot of the stairs, holding a glass of scotch. He raised his head—and froze.
His amber eyes locked onto Grace. His grip tightened on the glass so hard the crystal almost cracked. He stared at her as she walked down the stairs, his breath completely catching in his chest.
He stepped forward, extending a hand to help her down the final step.
“Grace...” he breathed out, his voice thick with raw emotion. “You are... breathtaking.”
Grace felt her cheeks turn bright pink, but she didn't look down. She looked directly into his dark eyes, placing her hand gently into his large, warm palm.
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“Thank you, Matteo,” she whispered softly.
Beside them, Bianca Vance looked as though she had swallowed poison. She glared at Grace with pure, unadulterated hatred, but Grace barely noticed. Because for the first time in her life, standing beside the feared syndicate boss and his two loyal pitbulls, Grace Donovan felt like she truly belonged.
