Chapter 6 - The Blood Line
The kiss was dark, possessive, and electric. It tasted of expensive whiskey, dangerous promises, and an absolute, unyielding possession that consumed me from the inside out.
When Michael finally pulled back, his heavy thumb stroked my lower lip, his gray eyes burning like hot ash in the dim light of the study.
"Tomorrow," Michael said, his voice raspy and thick, "we host the regional captains at the estate."
I blinked, still dizzy from the force of his kiss. "What?"
"Gianni was a scout," Michael explained, his expression hardening back into the cold demeanor of a boss. "The Commission thinks I'm weak because I've been quiet since my wife died. They think they can squeeze me for your father's bonds. Tomorrow night, I am calling a formal summit of all five East Coast families here. And I am announcing our engagement."
A gasp escaped my lips. "An engagement? Michael, no! If you announce that, you're locking yourself into a war with the entire mob!"
"If I announce you are my fiancée, you become off-limits under the ancient laws of the Commission," Michael countered sharply. "To touch you would be a direct declaration of war against the entire Moretti network. It buys us time to find where your father actually hid those bonds and neutralize the threats."
"And what happens when they realize it's a fake strategy?"
Michael leaned in close, his lips brushing against mine once more, sending a sharp spark straight down my spine. "Who said anything about it being fake, Aurora?"
The next evening, the estate was transformed into a glittering, high-security fortress.
Dozens of sleek black luxury cars lined the driveway. Men in three-piece Italian suits and women draped in diamonds filled the grand ballroom, their laughter ringing out under crystal chandeliers while armed guards watched every corner with concealed submachine guns.
I stood at the top of the grand staircase, wearing a stunning floor-length emerald silk dress Michael had had delivered to my room hours earlier. The rich fabric hugged every curve of my waist, while a delicate platinum necklace dusted with small diamonds rested against my collarbone.
Beside me stood Zach, looking impossibly handsome in a tiny black tuxedo and velvet bow tie.
"You look like a real princess, Aurora," Zach whispered proudly, holding my hand tightly.
"And you look like a prince, sweetie," I smiled, bending down to fix his collar.
"Ready?" a deep baritone asked behind us.
I turned. Michael stood there in a bespoke charcoal tuxedo, looking overwhelmingly powerful. His eyes swept over my emerald dress, a raw, darkened hunger flashing across his face before he offered me his arm.
"Ready," I whispered, slipping my hand through his elbow.
As we descended the grand staircase together, the loud chatter in the ballroom below slowly dissolved into a dead, suffocating silence. Hundreds of eyes—capos, hitmen, rival bosses, and wealthy fixers—fixed upon us.
Michael led us to the center stage of the ballroom, stopping beside a microphone. He didn't wait for quiet; his presence alone demanded it.
"Thank you all for coming," Michael announced, his voice reverberating through the heavy speakers with absolute authority. "Many of you have heard rumors over the past week regarding Lorenzo Vance's estate and the status of his daughter."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. I caught sight of several old, dangerous-looking mob bosses near the front row exchanging dark glances.
Michael wrapped his large arm securely around my waist, pulling me flush against his side.
"Let me make the position of the Moretti family crystal clear," Michael declared, his gray eyes sweeping over the crowd like a razor. "Aurora Vance is under my permanent protection. As of tonight... she is my official fiancée."
A collective gasp echoed across the ballroom.
"And to anyone who believes they have a claim on her, her father's past, or her future..." Michael's voice dropped into a chilling, blood-curdling promise that made every man in the room stiffen. "...you can come collect it from me directly."
Silence hung in the air for three terrifying seconds.
Then, from the back of the room, a tall, elderly man with silver hair and a silver-headed cane began to clap slowly.
May you like
Don Carmine—the head of the Commission.
"A touch of romance in dark times, Michael," Don Carmine said smoothly, stepping through the parting crowd with a sinister, icy smile. "A beautiful bride. A lovely son. But tell me... does your new fiancée know that it was your orders that killed her father?"
