Chapter 4 - The Gala of Vipers
The interrogation had yielded a name, and that name demanded a public confrontation.
Giancarlo Moretti had organized the annual Winter Solstice Charity Gala at the Drake Hotel—an elite gathering where Chicago's highest society, corrupt politicians, and underworld nobility drank champagne under truce.
"You shouldn't come," Damian had told me that morning in the conservatory. "It will be a den of wolves."
"They tried to kill me, Damian," I replied, standing firm. "If you hide me away, they think you're afraid. And they think I'm weak."
He had stared at me for a long, heavy moment before a dark, prideful gleam lit his eyes. "Then you wear gold. Let them see what royalty looks like."
That evening, I stepped into the grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel clad in an emerald silk gown that clung to every curve, its high back gracefully concealing the pale line of the scar healing over my ribs. Damian walked beside me in a bespoke midnight-black tuxedo, his arm firmly wrapped around my waist, his presence commanding the entire ballroom into instant, breathless silence.
Murmurs rippled across the crowd like a wave of locusts.
*"Is that her?"*
*"The server from Bellamy House?"*
*"He brought her here as his guest?"*
Before we could take ten steps, the crowd parted, and Julianna Moretti stepped forward.
Daughter of Giancarlo Moretti, Julianna was draped in diamonds and crimson satin, her platinum blonde hair coiffed to perfection, her eyes dripping with venomous amusement. Behind her stood two hulking men whose hands rested suspiciously near their suit lapels.
"Damian, darling," Julianna purred, her gaze raking over me with blatant disgust. "We all heard you had taken in a charity case, but bringing the help to the Solstice Gala? Truly, your standards have dropped since your wife died."
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. Several socialites backed away instinctively.
"Julianna," Damian said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "I see your father still allows you to speak in public. A grave tactical error on his part."
Julianna's painted smile tightened. She turned her venom squarely on me. "Tell me, Miss Carter, does wiping tables prepare one for wearing silk? Or do you still smell like dishwater and desperation?"
A few sycophants in the back let out nervous titters.
I didn't flinch. I looked Julianna dead in her cold blue eyes, standing tall beside Damian. "Wiping tables taught me how to spot cheap glass, Miss Moretti. And no matter how many diamonds you hang around your neck, you will always look like shattered fragments of an imitation."
A sharp collective gasp echoed through the ballroom.
Julianna’s face turned an ugly, mottled red. "You insolent little tramp—"
She raised her hand to strike me.
Before her fingers could move an inch, Damian’s hand shot out like an iron vise, grabbing Julianna’s wrist mid-air. The sound of her bones grinding under his grip made her cry out in genuine agony.
"Listen to me very carefully, Julianna," Damian whispered, leaning in, his voice audible only to our immediate circle, yet carrying the weight of an executioner's blade. "If you or any dog carrying the Moretti name ever speaks to Emma Carter again, I will not merely kill your father. I will wipe your entire bloodline from the historical registry of this city. Do you understand me?"
Tears of pain and genuine terror spilled from Julianna's eyes. "Damian... please..."
He released her wrist with a flick of disgust. Julianna stumbled back into her guards, cradling her bruised arm, sobbing as she was hurried out of the ballroom.
Damian turned back to me, the darkness in his face evaporating as his hand settled warmly, protectively against the small of my back.
"Are you all right?" he asked softly.
"I'm fine," I whispered, breathless from the sheer intensity of the confrontation. "You didn't have to do that."
May you like
"I did," Damian murmured, pulling me closer until our bodies touched, his eyes dark with an emotion that had nothing to do with violence. "Because the whole world needs to know who you belong to."
***