Chapter 6 - The Traitor Unmasked
When Rosa led me into the dressing suite two hours later, I could barely recognize the person staring back at me from the full-length mirror.
The dress Victor had ordered was a masterpiece of midnight-emerald velvet. It had an off-the-shoulder neckline that accentuated my collarbones and fair skin, a corseted bodice that cinched my waist while celebrating the lush curve of my hips, and a skirt that pooled around my heels like liquid shadow. My unruly auburn curls had been pinned up into an elegant, sweeping updo, with soft tendrils framing a face expertly accented by subtle, smoky makeup and deep crimson lipstick.
Around my neck hung a platinum choker set with a single, flawless pear-cut emerald—a piece from Victor’s private family vault.
When I stepped into the grand foyer of the estate, Victor was waiting.
He wore a bespoke black tuxedo with satin lapels, looking like the absolute monarch of Chicago's underworld. When he saw me descending the stairs, his glass of scotch froze halfway to his lips.
He set the glass down slowly. He didn't speak for a full minute as he walked to the base of the stairs, offering me his arm.
"Breathtaking," he said, his voice husky and rough with raw emotion. "You will command every room you ever enter, Molly. Never forget that."
My hand trembled slightly as I rested it against the crook of his elbow. "Let's hope Vance is looking at the dress and not the syringe in my evening clutch."
Inside the Drake Hotel, the Grand Ballroom was a sea of black silk, diamond necklaces, and glittering crystal.
Chicago’s elite—corrupt judges, shipping magnates, politicians, and syndicate capos—mingled beneath the gilded arches, sipping vintage champagne while classical strings played from the balcony.
Vincent Morretti stood near the center dais. He was a silver-haired vulture in an expensive Italian suit, his eyes gleaming with triumphant greed. Standing beside him was Marcus Vance—tall, slick, and radiating smug satisfaction as he received congratulations from several corrupt port commissioners.
"They truly believe you are in the morgue," I whispered, keeping my head high as we approached the grand double doors of the ballroom.
"A mistake they will not live to repeat," Victor murmured.
The double doors swung open.
Victor did not sneak in. He did not skirt the edges of the room. He stepped through the threshold with me on his arm, radiating an aura of lethal power so suffocating that the string quartet literally lost their tempo and screeched to a halt.
A dead silence cascaded across the ballroom like a wave of ice water.
Glasses frozen at lips. Whispers choked off in throats.
Marcus Vance’s champagne flute slipped from his fingers, shattering across the marble floor. Vincent Morretti’s face went entirely ashen, his cigar tumbling from his trembling mouth.
"Hastings..." Vance choked out, stepping backward until he hit the edge of the stage. "It's... it's impossible. You were neutralized!"
Victor walked slowly toward the center of the room, escorting me with regal grace. Every guest parted before us like the Red Sea, terrified of being caught in the blast radius of his wrath.
"You should have verified the bodies, Marcus," Victor said, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling like rolling thunder. "A professional error. One of many you have made recently."
"Security!" Morretti roared, recovering his wits. "Kill him! Kill them both!"
Dozens of armed men in tuxedos reached beneath their jackets.
Before a single gun could clear leather, the service doors surrounding the ballroom were kicked open simultaneously. Elias led twenty heavily armed Hastings operatives into the room, their assault rifles raised, laser sights painting crimson dots across the chests of every guard in Morretti's payroll.
"Nobody moves," Elias bellowed, "or this ballroom becomes an abattoir!"
Panic erupted, but no one dared scream or run. The guests froze in absolute terror.
Victor stopped five feet from Vance. He turned to me, offering a polite, devastatingly cold smile.
"Molly, my dear," Victor said smoothly. "Would you be so kind as to explain to our esteemed guests what Mr. Vance and Don Morretti have been attempting to sell them tonight?"
I stepped forward, my voice ringing clear and steady through the cavernous hall.
"The proprietary formula being auctioned tonight is an illegal binary nerve agent," I announced, projecting my voice with the authority of the scientist I was born to be. "Manufactured using chemical precursors smuggled through Calumet Harbor under forged bills of lading. The same bills of lading Marcus Vance used three years ago to frame Arthur Higgins and destroy Higgins Trucking."
Morretti snarled, lunging forward with a hidden derringer from his sleeve. "You fat little bitch—"
Victor moved with blinding speed.
He grabbed Morretti’s wrist, twisted it until the bone splintered with a sound like snapping celery, and drove his knee directly into the old mobster’s sternum. Morretti hit the floor, gasping for breath, clutching his shattered wrist.
Vance turned to sprint toward the private vault behind the stage.
"The ledger!" I cried. "He's going to purge the servers!"
"Not tonight," Victor said, gesturing to Elias. "Molly—take the key."
May you like
I bolted toward the stage, lifting the velvet skirt of my gown, completely unbothered by anyone watching me. I was no longer the invisible, humiliated waitress from Lumiere. I was Arthur Higgins’s daughter, and justice was finally within my grasp.
***