Chapter 4 - The Masquerade of the Vales
The battle for the estate had been won, but the war was far from over.
"We need to show them you are untouched," Dominic said two days later. He was standing in his study, looking at a gold-trimmed invitation that lay on his desk. "Calder wants the other families to think I am weak, that my home is vulnerable. We are going to show them the opposite."
"How?" I asked, sitting on the leather sofa, my arm still in its black sling.
"The annual winter gala of the Port Ash families," Dominic said. "It is held at the Obsidian Club on the waterfront. Every major player in the state will be there. We are going to walk through those doors together, Emma. You will wear the Sovereign, and you will stand beside me as my betrothed."
I stared at him. "Your betrothed? Dominic, I can't pretend to be your fiancée. I don't know how to act in front of these people. I’ll ruin it."
"You won't ruin it," Dominic said, walking over and sitting beside me. He reached out and took my left hand, his fingers tracing the outline of the sapphire. "You have something none of those women in that ballroom have, Emma."
"What’s that?"
"A heart," he said quietly. "They will see how I look at you. They will know it is not a performance."
I felt my breath catch in my throat. The intensity in his gaze was almost too much to bear. Over the last three weeks, the line between my captivity and my survival had blurred until I could no longer tell where the cage ended and where Dominic began.
On Saturday night, the Obsidian Club was a glittering jewel of light and dark glass against the black waters of the harbor.
The valet parking was filled with sleek, armored limousines and sports cars that cost more than a block of apartment buildings in Port Ash. Men in sharp, midnight-blue tuxedos walked beside women in silk gowns that dragged against the wet pavement.
I stepped out of Dominic’s limousine.
I was wearing a gown of deep emerald silk, designed to drape over my left shoulder to conceal the black sling, which had been replaced with a matching silk wrap. My dark hair had been pinned up in a delicate crown of curls, and on my finger, the Vale Sovereign caught the flashing lights of the photographers who stood behind the velvet ropes.
Dominic offered me his arm.
He looked magnificent. He wore a custom black tuxedo that made his shoulders look even wider, his dark hair slicked back, his jaw clean-shaven and sharp as a razor.
"Ready?" he whispered.
"No," I said honestly.
"Good," he smiled, his hand covering mine as we walked up the steps. "That means you’ll be brilliant."
The grand ballroom of the Obsidian Club was a sea of gold chandeliers, bubbling champagne, and low, conspiratorial murmurs. The moment we walked through the double doors, the room fell silent.
It was a slow, creeping silence, starting from the entrance and moving toward the stage like a wave.
Every eye in the room fixed on us.
More importantly, every eye fixed on my left hand, where the star sapphire gleamed under the thousands of crystal lights.
"Dominic," a voice purred from the crowd.
A tall, thin man with white hair and a face like a dried leaf stepped forward. He was flanked by three large men with their hands tucked inside their jackets.
"Vincenzo," Dominic said, his voice dropping into that cold, polite register. "I see you made it out of Chicago."
"I had to see it for myself," the old man said, his yellow eyes shifting to my face, then to the ring on my finger. "The Sovereign. I haven't seen that ring since your mother wore it at the cathedral in ninety-two. Who is the girl, Dominic? I hear she is a wait-staff from the waterfront."
"She is the woman who saved my goddaughter," Dominic said, his hand tightening over mine, his grip solid as iron. "And she is the future of the Vale family. If you have a problem with her pedigree, Vincenzo, you can discuss it with me in private."
The old man stared at Dominic for several long seconds, trying to find any hint of weakness behind the young Don's eyes. He found none.
Vincenzo slowly raised his champagne glass. "To the future," he said, though his voice held no warmth.
We moved through the ballroom, a sea of faces parting before us like the Red Sea. I felt like a queen who had been crowned in blood, walking through a court of wolves who were only waiting for the lights to go out to tear me apart.
Then, a voice cut through the music from the far end of the terrace.
"Well, well," the voice sneered. "The happy couple."
I turned.
Standing by the glass doors that led to the balcony was Grant Calder.
He was a short, thick man with a face like a bulldog, his red hair cropped close to his skull, his hands tucked into the pockets of a gray plaid suit that looked too loud for the room. He was holding a glass of amber liquid, his eyes fixed on my face with a look of pure, venomous hatred.
"Calder," Dominic said, his body shifting slightly to place himself between me and the rival boss.
"You look well, Dominic," Calder said, stepping into the ballroom. The security guards at the doors instantly reached for their holsters, but Dominic held up a hand to stop them.
"I hear you had some... remodeling done at the estate this week," Calder smiled, his gold teeth glittering in the light. "Such a shame. I always liked those old stone walls."
"The walls are still standing, Grant," Dominic said. "But the men who tried to climb them are currently at the bottom of the harbor."
Calder’s smile vanished, his eyes turning into two black slits. He looked at me, his gaze lingering on my shoulder.
"You’re a brave girl, Emma," Calder said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "But bravery doesn't keep you warm when the ground is six feet deep. You took three of my bullets in that diner. Next time, I won't miss."
Before Dominic could lunge, I took a step forward.
I didn't think about the rules. I didn't think about the mafia. I just looked at the man who had almost killed a five-year-old child for a piece of territory.
"You won't get a next time, Mr. Calder," I said, my voice clear, steady, and loud enough to be heard by the thirty people who stood around us.
"Because you are a coward. You send men with guns to kill little girls because you are too afraid to face Dominic yourself. You are not a boss. You are just a shadow that is waiting to be wiped away."
The ballroom went completely, utterly dead.
Calder’s face went from pale to red, then to a dark, purple fury. He took a step toward me, his hand reaching for his pocket, but before he could move an inch, ten of Dominic’s men stepped forward, their weapons clearing their holsters with a unified, metallic shrick.
"Touch her," Dominic whispered, his voice holding a cold, quiet rage that made even the seasoned killers in the room step back. "And I will skin you myself in front of your own men."
Calder looked at the guns pointed at his chest. He looked at the silent, watching faces of the other families. He knew he had lost.
He slowly pulled his hand out of his pocket, empty.
"Enjoy the party, Dominic," Calder spat, before turning on his heel and walking out through the terrace doors, his guards scurrying behind him like beaten dogs.
Dominic looked down at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of shock, pride, and something that looked suspiciously like adoration.
"I believe," Dominic murmured, "that is the first time anyone has called a mafia don a coward in his own ballroom."
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"He deserved it," I said, my heart finally starting to beat again.
"Yes," Dominic smiled, his arm wrapping around my waist as the music began to play again. "He did."
