Page 49 of Tower of Temptations

"There." Finally, they stepped back.

I almost didn't want to look, but the mirror couldn't wait forever. The woman who looked back at me was... me. Just me. Hair falling in soft waves just past my shoulders, framing my face in a way that made me look more alive. Freer.

"I love it," I whispered, touching the ends in wonder. Something tight in my chest had loosened.

"Beautiful," Luca said softly, and the others murmured agreement.

Angelo shifted, that protective tension creeping into his shoulders. "Vittorio's going to?—"

"Oh please," I grinned, turning to face them. "I've got my story all ready. 'Oh Daddy,'" I pitched my voice higher, playing up the helpless princess act, "'these terrible, brutal men held me down and cut my hair. I fought so hard but there were seven of them...'" I pressed the back of my hand to my forehead like an old-time movie star from the silent era.

Rocco choked on his coffee. Even Nico's worried expression cracked slightly.

"'They said it was punishment for trying to escape,'" I continued, enjoying their reactions. "'The scary one with the long hair did it.'"

"Hey!" Luca protested. "When did I become the scary one?"

"Have you seen yourself before coffee?" Enzo drawled.

"I'm going straight to hell for laughing at this," Angelo muttered, but his shoulders had relaxed.

"You know what you really look like?" Vincenzo said quietly, his eyes soft. "Like yourself. Strong. Free."

"Like a warrior queen," Enzo added with that devastating smile of his. "Ready to take back her kingdom."

Something warm bloomed in my chest at their words. I touched my shortened hair again, loving how light it felt. How right.

"Not funny," Giuliano said, but his lips twitched. His hands settled on my shoulders, eyes meeting mine in the mirror. "Wehave to get serious. We need to go over the plan. Everything has to be perfect."

I nodded. Tomorrow I'd go back to Vittorio's world of rigid control, but I'd be going back changed. Stronger.

Time to plan how to bring his empire down.

25

PEARL

My fingers trembled as I stared at the payphone, the memorized number burning in my mind.

Four weeks. It felt like a lifetime since they'd brought me to the compound, since everything I thought I knew started to change.

This morning's goodbye was still in my heart—the way they'd surrounded me with warmth one last time before I stepped out of the SUV. No words needed, just their touches grounding me: Giuliano's fingers tangled with mine, Enzo's kiss against my temple, Angelo's steadying hand at my waist. Even now, I could feel the ghost of Luca's fierce hug, hear Vincenzo's soft "We've got you", sense the twins' protective energy as they'd checked my wire one final time. Seven different ways of saying what we couldn't risk speaking aloud: Come back to us.

The street corner they'd chosen was perfectly ordinary: the kind of place a scared girl might end up after escaping her captors. I tugged the borrowed sweater closer, playing up my vulnerability while scanning for any sign we'd been spotted. Every detail had been planned. The scuff marks on my shoes from "running." Theslight tear in my sleeve that Rocco had insisted made it look more authentic. Even my messy hair and smudged makeup had been carefully crafted to tell a story.

I picked up the receiver, the plastic cold against my palm. Nico's words echoed in my head:Do what your father would do.

I fed quarters into the phone before I could lose my nerve, the coins clicking like tiny gunshots in the quiet street.

"Salvatore residence." The butler's voice, crisp and familiar.

"Please..." I didn't have to fake how my voice caught. "I need to speak to my father. It's Pearl."

A pause, then rustling. When Vittorio's voice came through, it carried that practiced warmth that had fooled so many people over the years. "My dear girl. Thank God you're safe. Are you hurt?"

For a moment, I was sixteen again, desperate for that approval he dangled like poison honey. But then I thought of those blueprints. Of Alessandro's clinics. Of everything they planned to do.

I let real tears fall—not from fear, but from rage at everything he'd stolen. "You were right," I whispered. "About everything. Everything out here is so... harsh. I just want to come home."

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