Chapter 5 - The Snake in the Garden
The ballroom at the Drake Hotel was glittering with crystal chandeliers, champagne fountains, and hundreds of Chicago’s most dangerous power players.
When the heavy doors swung open and Adrian Vale walked in—flawless, commanding, radiating absolute power with Emma Brooks on his arm—the entire room fell completely silent.
Whispers erupted like wildfire.
*“He’s alive?”*
*“I thought he was on his deathbed!”*
*“Who is that woman with him? She’s stunning!”*
Marco Vale stood near the bar, his champagne glass freezing halfway to his mouth. Next to him stood Senator Hayes, one of the corrupt officials bought by the Vale syndicate. Marco’s face drained of color as Adrian glided across the floor toward them, his arm securely wrapped around Emma’s waist.
“Marco,” Adrian greeted smoothly. “You look surprised to see me.”
“Adrian!” Marco stammered, forcing a grotesque smile. “Not at all! Rumors said you were terribly unwell. I was merely concerned.”
“Rumors fabricated by cowards,” Adrian replied coldly. “Allow me to introduce Miss Emma Brooks. My personal advisor. And the reason our logistics division will be undergoing a complete audit starting tomorrow morning.”
Senator Hayes chuckled nervously. “A personal advisor? Come now, Adrian, she looks more like a prize than an auditor.”
Before Emma could speak, Adrian stepped forward, his eyes turning to black ice. “Speak of her with disrespect again, Senator, and I will pull my funding from your reelection campaign and release the offshore bank slips your wife knows nothing about.”
The Senator’s face turned gray. He excused himself immediately.
Marco’s jaw tightened. “You brought a common café girl into our world, Adrian? You’re making a fool of our family!”
“This ‘common café girl’ has more honor in her little finger than you possess in your entire bloodline,” Adrian said ruthlessly.
He turned away from Marco, taking Emma onto the center of the dance floor as an orchestral waltz began to play.
Emma’s heart raced as Adrian pulled her flush against his chest. One of his large hands rested firmly on the small of her back, the other clasping her fingers.
“I don’t know how to waltz,” she whispered nervously.
“Just follow my lead,” Adrian murmured, his lips brushing near her ear. “Look at me, Emma. Only me.”
She looked into his dark eyes, and the entire ballroom vanished. They moved together effortlessly, the cold mob boss and the soft-hearted barista moving as one. For the first time in her life, Emma felt desired, protected, and seen.
Across the room, Marco stepped out onto the balcony, dialing a burner phone.
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“The rat is still breathing,” Marco snarled into the receiver. “Hit them on the drive home. Kill the girl first. Adrian won't survive the night.”
***