Chapter 11 - The Gala of Wolves
He didn't kiss me.
Not because he didn't want to—I saw the absolute agony of restraint in his eyes before he pulled his hand away—but because Gabriel Hart was a man who lived by rules of iron and discipline. He would not take what was not freely surrendered, and he would not compromise the safety of the woman holding the key to his survival.
“Tomorrow night is the winter gala at the Chicago Cultural Center,” Gabriel said, stepping back, his voice returning to its cool, executive cadence, though his eyes remained stormy. “The five families will be there. Dominic will be there.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to show them the 1482 charter,” Gabriel said. “Restored. Intact. Legible.”
“It’s not completely stabilized yet,” I warned him, my professional instincts kicking in. “The binding is still fragile. If it’s exposed to fluctuating humidity in a public hall, the parchment could curl again within hours.”
Gabriel looked at me. “Then you will accompany the folio.”
I blinked. “Me?”
“You will be my guest, Clara. You will carry the preservation case, you will present the historical analysis to the council arbiters, and you will stand at my side.”
Panic seized my chest. “Gabriel, I’m a restorer. I’m a broke girl from Humboldt Park who was wearing a server’s uniform six days ago. I don’t belong in a room with the rulers of Chicago’s underworld!”
“You are Arthur Vance’s daughter,” he said, his tone leaving zero room for doubt. “You carry more dignity in your little finger than all the Moretti daughters combined. And with me at your side, no one in that room will dare question your place.”
***
The next evening at seven o'clock, a knock sounded at the carriage house door.
When I opened it, two women stood on the porch carrying three garment bags and a series of velvet jewelry cases.
“Mr. Hart’s compliments, Miss Vance,” the lead stylist said with a polite bow. “We have an hour and a half.”
What followed was a whirlwind. My wild auburn hair was swept up into an intricate, elegant chignon, secured with discreet diamond pins. My makeup was kept natural, accentuating the high curve of my cheekbones and the dark green of my eyes.
And then, they unzipped the primary garment bag.
The dress was emerald green silk velvet—deep, rich, and cut with devastating precision. It had long, fitted sleeves, a high, elegant boat neckline in the front, and a dramatic, plunging cowl back that exposed the pale curve of my spine. It hugged my waist and flowed into a heavy, pooling skirt that whispered against the hardwood floor as I walked.
When I looked in the full-length mirror, I didn't recognize myself.
The exhausted mother who had scrubbed linoleum with lemon juice and counted pennies for bus fare had vanished. In her place stood a woman who looked like she belonged in a Renaissance painting—proud, luminous, and untouchable.
A soft knock came at my bedroom door.
Eli stood there, wearing a tiny black suit and bowtie that Mrs. Gable had procured for him. He looked like a miniature diplomat.
“Mom,” he breathed, his eyes wide. “You look like a queen.”
I knelt down, the velvet pooling around my knees, and smoothed his lapels with a trembling smile. “You look pretty sharp yourself, Mr. Vance.”
“Mrs. Gable said we’re having pizza and watching *Star Wars* in the big library while you’re gone,” he said excitedly. “And Leo gave me a walkie-talkie!”
“Leo gave you what?”
“He said if anyone approaches the gate, I’m supposed to call him on channel four.”
I shook my head, half-terrified, half-amused. “Just eat your pizza, bug. I’ll be home before midnight.”
I walked downstairs to the foyer.
Gabriel was waiting by the front door.
He wore an impeccably tailored black tuxedo with a satin shawl collar. When he turned and saw me coming down the stairs, every line in his body went rigid.
His slate-gray eyes swept over me from the emerald velvet at my neck down to the pooling hem of my skirt, and for three long seconds, the most feared man in Chicago forgot how to speak.
“Clara,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration.
“Do I look the part?” I asked, nervous despite my appearance.
Gabriel walked to the base of the stairs and offered me his arm.
May you like
“You look,” he said softly, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my knees weak, “like the only thing in this city worth fighting for.”
***