Chapter 5 - Whispers and Wolves
The Metropolitan Club was a fortress of old-money luxury and mafia aristocracy. Built in the late nineteenth century, its limestone facade and soaring stained-glass windows concealed decades of bloodshed, high-stakes treaties, and ruthless executions.
Tonight, the grand ballroom was lined with men in black tuxedos—captains, dons, and consiglieres representing the five controlling syndicates of the eastern seaboard.
And walking through the double brass doors, on the arm of Don Luca Moretti, was me.
I barely recognized myself in the gilded mirrors that lined the grand entrance. Luca had arranged for a private atelier to arrive at the estate that afternoon. I wore an emerald-green silk gown with long sleeves and an open back, falling in heavy, elegant folds to the marble floor. My hair was swept into an intricate updo, secured with pearl pins, and around my neck rested a delicate platinum chain with a single teardrop emerald—a piece from Luca’s personal family vault.
Benjamin walked between us, dressed in a sharp black miniature tuxedo, his small hand holding mine tightly.
As we entered the ballroom, the hum of fifty conversations died instantly.
Heads turned. Whispers rippled through the crowd like wind through dry leaves. The titans of the underworld stared in shock. Luca Moretti had not arrived flanked by a dozen heavily armed hitmen; he had arrived with his son and the woman who was, until three days ago, a housemaid.
“Hold your head high, Claire,” Luca murmured, his hand resting warm and heavy over mine on his forearm. “You answer to no one in this room. You are with me.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, straightened my spine, and looked directly ahead.
Across the ballroom, standing near the grand marble fireplace, was Antonio Bellini, surrounded by his lieutenants and a scowling Vanessa. Vanessa wore an extravagant scarlet dress, dripping in diamonds, but the moment her eyes locked onto me, her face contorted with pure, unadulterated hatred.
At the center of the room sat the Syndicate Council—three ancient, white-haired men whose word was law in our city.
The eldest, Don Bernardo, leaned forward on his silver-topped cane, his rheumy eyes studying the three of us.
“Luca Moretti,” Bernardo’s raspy voice carried over the silent hall. “You were summoned here to answer for an insult to the Bellini bloodline. Antonio claims you broke an engagement without cause, threatened his life, and disgraced his daughter in front of his peers.”
Luca stepped forward, bringing Benjamin and me with him into the center of the ring.
“I broke the engagement because Vanessa Bellini violated the first and most sacred law of our brotherhood,” Luca declared, his voice ringing like a brass bell through the vaulted ceiling.
A murmur broke out.
Antonio stepped forward, his fists clenched. “Lies! She was preparing his heir for leadership! He broke the alliance because he took this scullery girl into his bed!”
The room gasped. My cheeks burned with fury, but before I could react, Luca moved.
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In a blur of lethal motion, Luca drew a black matte automatic pistol from inside his tuxedo, leveled it directly between Antonio Bellini’s eyes, and cocked the hammer.
The sound of fifty weapons being drawn simultaneously echoed through the ballroom. Guards shouted, men reached for holsters, but Luca didn't even blink. He kept the barrel pressed three inches from Antonio’s sweating