Chapter 6 - The Velvet Trap
The Founders Gala was a breathtaking display of unimaginable wealth and deeply buried sins. Held in the grand ballroom of the city’s oldest museum, the room was bathed in bright, cinematic light from towering crystal chandeliers. Men in immaculate black tuxedos and women in glittering evening gowns mingled around ancient statues, drinking vintage champagne. These were the bosses, the politicians, the judges—the architects of the city’s corruption.
Vivienne stood at the top of the grand marble staircase, looking down at the crowd. She had discarded the ruined ivory dress for a stunning, dramatic crimson gown that made her look like royalty. Standing next to her, looking uncomfortable in a stiff tuxedo, was Julian.
She clinked her champagne glass with a silver spoon. The sharp ringing sound cut through the ambient chatter. The music stopped. Hundreds of faces turned to look up at her.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Vivienne projected, her voice echoing perfectly off the marble walls. "Friends, partners, and family. We have operated under a cloud of secrecy for too long. For years, you have followed a man who hijacked this empire. A man who ignored the sacred bloodline of our founders."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. The syndicate bosses exchanged uneasy glances.
Vivienne placed a hand on Julian’s shoulder. "I present to you Julian Russo. The true, biological son of my late husband, Marco Russo. The rightful, bloodline heir to the throne."
She pulled the stolen ledger pages from a velvet folder and held them high. "I have the original bylaws right here! The law states that the empire must pass to the firstborn son of the bloodline. Damian has hidden the truth from you all. He plans to hand our legacy to a random orphan he bought off the street!"
The crowd erupted into chaotic whispers. Several of the older, traditional capos nodded slowly, their eyes fixing on Julian with newfound respect. Vivienne smiled, her heart soaring with absolute victory. She had done it. She had completely stripped Damian of his power in a single, brilliant move.
Then, the massive brass doors at the back of the ballroom slammed open.
The noise was so violent it silenced the entire room instantly. The bright lights caught the polished leather of Damian’s shoes as he stepped into the ballroom. He wore a flawless, midnight-black tuxedo that fit his muscular frame like armor. He looked completely unharmed, effortlessly powerful, and devastatingly calm.
Vivienne’s smile vanished. Her heart stopped. Why isn't he looking for his daughter?
Damian walked down the center aisle, the crowd naturally parting for him out of sheer, instinctual fear. He didn't look at the capos. He didn't look at the politicians. He kept his dark, intense eyes locked entirely on Vivienne.
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He reached the bottom of the staircase and stopped.
"You talk too much, Vivienne," Damian said smoothly, his voice carrying effortlessly across the silent room. "But you never read enough."
