SOLD TO THE MAFIA BOSS TO PAY HER FATHER'S DEBT, BUT HER SIX WHISPERED WORDS MADE THE DEADLIEST MAN IN CHICAGO DESTROY HER FAMILY INSTEAD

Back at the Lake Shore penthouse, the tension of the morning’s ambush slowly dissolved into a quiet, focused determination.

While Gabriel had his minor graze treated by his private physician in the study, Mrs. Gable brought four large rolling racks of designer clothing into Claire’s suite.

Claire stood in the middle of the room, stunned.

On the racks hung tailored wool trousers, silk blouses, cashmere tunics, structured blazers, and breathtaking evening gowns in deep jewel tones—emerald green, midnight sapphire, rich burgundy, and obsidian black. Every single piece had been cut from the finest Italian fabrics, specifically tailored for a woman with curves, broad shoulders, and a full figure.

“Mr. Vale had these brought over from the Magnificent Mile boutiques an hour ago,” Mrs. Gable said with a warm, approving smile. “He gave strict instructions: nothing flimsy, nothing cheap, and nothing designed to hide you. He said you deserve clothes that command the room.”

Claire reached out with trembling fingers and touched the sleeve of a deep emerald velvet evening gown. The fabric was heavy, luxurious, and soft as liquid moonlight.

For ten years, Evan and her father had dictated what she wore. They bought her cheap, oversized shapeless gray sweaters from discount outlets, constantly telling her that trying to dress well at her size was an embarrassment to the family.

She stepped in front of the full-length mirror and, with Mrs. Gable’s assistance, slipped into the emerald gown.

The dress fit like a second skin. It had a structured bodice that supported her waist, an elegant off-the-shoulder neckline that accentuated the graceful curve of her collarbones, and a flowing skirt with a dramatic slit that revealed just enough of her legs.

Mrs. Gable expertly pinned Claire’s thick, chestnut curls into an elegant updo, allowing soft tendrils to frame her face, and applied a touch of classic crimson lipstick.

When Claire looked at her reflection, she barely recognized the woman staring back at her.

The bruised, broken girl from the concrete warehouse floor was gone. In her place stood a woman who looked striking, formidable, and breathtakingly regal.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” Claire said, her voice trembling slightly.

Gabriel stepped into the suite. He wore a bespoke midnight-blue tuxedo that made his broad shoulders and towering frame look even more imposing.

When his eyes fell upon Claire, he stopped in mid-stride.

For five long seconds, the most feared man in Chicago was utterly speechless. His dark eyes traveled slowly from the emerald velvet clinging to her curves, up to the exposed porcelain skin of her neck, and finally to her hazel eyes.

A slow, profound warmth ignited in his gaze.

“You look magnificent, Claire,” Gabriel said, his voice dropping into a low, husky register that sent a delicious shiver straight down her spine.

Claire felt a blush rise to her cheeks, but for the first time in her life, she didn't look away. She held his gaze. “I’ve never worn anything like this.”

Gabriel walked slowly toward her, stopping a single pace away. He reached into his pocket and produced a velvet jewelry box. Opening it, he revealed a vintage platinum necklace set with a teardrop-shaped Colombian emerald surrounded by diamonds.

“Turn around,” Gabriel commanded softly.

Claire turned, her heart hammering against her ribs. She felt the cool metal settle against her throat, followed immediately by the heat of Gabriel’s fingers brushing against the bare skin of her neck as he fastened the clasp. The contact made her breath hitch.

Gabriel leaned down slightly, his lips hovering inches from her ear. “Tonight is the Annual Port Authority Charity Gala at the Drake Hotel. Dante Moretti will be there. The city’s political elite will be there. And everyone who ever laughed at you while you worked in that basement will be in that ballroom.”

He turned her gently to face him.

“You are not going there as a victim, Claire. You are going as my partner. You walk beside me, you hold your head high, and you never apologize for taking up space in this world. Do you understand?”

Claire looked into Gabriel’s unyielding, protective eyes. She felt the weight of the emerald against her chest and the strength of the man standing before her.