Chapter 4 - The charity gala
The grand ballroom of the Pierre Hotel was transformed into a cinematic dream of gold and white. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above hundreds of New York’s most powerful elites, politicians, and hidden crime lords. The charity gala was a neutral ground, a place where blood feuds were temporarily paused for the sake of public appearances.
Lorenzo stood near the grand staircase, a commanding presence in a flawless black tuxedo. He held a glass of champagne, his dark eyes scanning the room with the predatory calm of a man who owned the city. Beside him, clinging to his arm, was Vivien. She wore a breathtaking red silk gown that plunged at the back, dripping in millions of dollars of borrowed syndicate diamonds. She played the role of the devoted partner perfectly, laughing at the right moments and whispering in his ear.
But Lorenzo wasn't paying attention to the billionaires. His eyes were tracking a woman in a simple, elegant black serving uniform moving through the crowd.
Elena carried a silver tray of champagne flutes, her brunette hair pinned tightly back. She looked exhausted, her fair skin pale under the harsh ballroom lights, but there was an undeniable, tragic beauty to her that outshined every woman in a designer gown.
Oh, Lorenzo, look, Vivien said loudly, drawing the attention of the nearby council elders. The auction for the first dance is about to begin. It is tradition for the host to bid on his future wife.
The elders chuckled, nodding their approval. It was a blatant, highly public trap. If Lorenzo bid on Vivien, it was a tacit confirmation of their engagement to the entire underworld. If he refused, he humiliated her and insulted the council.
Lorenzo looked down at Vivien, his sharp jawline tightening. He saw the victorious, malicious glint in her eyes. She thought she had cornered him.
The auctioneer took the stage. Ladies and gentlemen, we begin the bidding for the honor of the first dance with our generous host, Mr. Lorenzo Duca. Do we have a starting bid?
Ten thousand dollars, a voice called out.
Twenty, another yelled.
Vivien squeezed Lorenzo’s arm, stepping forward slightly, waiting for him to drop a massive number and claim her.
Lorenzo smoothly detached his arm from her grip. He stepped forward, his deep, resonant voice echoing through the silent ballroom. One hundred thousand dollars.
The room gasped, then erupted into polite applause. Vivien beamed, turning to him with open arms, ready to step onto the dance floor.
But Lorenzo didn't look at her. He turned his imposing frame entirely away from the blonde socialite. He walked straight into the crowd, the sea of billionaires parting before him like water. He walked past the politicians. He walked past the council elders.
He stopped directly in front of Elena.
The maid froze, her tray of champagne trembling in her hands. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with absolute, breathless shock. The entire ballroom went dead silent.
Lorenzo gently took the silver tray from her shaking hands and handed it to a bewildered waiter nearby. He looked down at Elena, his expression devoid of its usual coldness, replaced by a fierce, undeniable intensity.
May I have this dance? Lorenzo asked, holding out his large, warm hand.
Elena couldn't breathe. She could feel the murderous glare of Vivien burning into her back from across the room. She could feel the dangerous weight of the syndicate's eyes on her. But looking into Lorenzo’s dark eyes, the rest of the world entirely vanished.
Slowly, hesitantly, she placed her small hand into his.
Lorenzo pulled her gently onto the center of the polished dance floor. The orchestra, missing a beat, quickly began to play a slow, sweeping waltz. Lorenzo placed one hand firmly on the small of her back, pulling her flush against his chest, holding her hand with the other. They began to move, gliding perfectly in sync.
What are you doing? Elena whispered frantically, her face flushed red. They are watching. She is watching. You are ruining everything.
I don't care who is watching, Lorenzo murmured, leaning down so his lips brushed against her ear. You are trembling, Elena. Why are you so afraid of her?
I am not afraid, Elena lied, refusing to meet his gaze. Please, let me go. You need to dance with Vivien.
Lorenzo’s grip on her waist tightened, a possessive, dominant move that sent a jolt of electricity down her spine. I don't want Vivien. I want to know why a woman with no past, no records, and no identity looks at my daughter like she is the center of the universe.
Elena stumbled, missing a step. Lorenzo caught her effortlessly, supporting her entire weight. She looked up at him, a single tear escaping and sliding down her cheek.
May you like
Because she is the center of the universe, Elena whispered, the truth slipping out in the safety of the music.
Across the room, Vivien gripped a champagne flute so hard the crystal shattered in her hand, cutting her palm. The blood dripped onto her red silk dress, but she didn't feel it. She stared at the maid in Lorenzo’s arms, realizing that blackmail was no longer enough. The maid had to die.
