Chapter 6 - The Poisoned Gala
Two weeks passed.
The storm inside the Moretti estate had settled into a heavy, watchful quiet. Silvio was locked deep in the subterranean vaults beneath the mansion, his syndicate empire being systematically disassembled by Mateo's loyal lieutenants.
Bianca’s father, Don Lucchesi, had tried to cut off the shipping lines in Genoa, but Mateo had retaliated with ruthless precision—seizing Lucchesi’s bank accounts through the very financial evidence Julian had gathered two years ago.
Tonight was the annual Solstice Ball at the Villa d'Este on Lake Como—the biggest gathering of Northern Italy's aristocracy, business tycoons, and syndicate leaders.
For the first time in my life, I wasn't entering through the kitchen doors.
I stood before the full-length mirror in the master suite dressing room. I wore a fitted crimson silk gown that hit the floor in soft waves, exposing my collarbones and framing my pale skin. My hair was swept up into an elegant chignon, secured with silver pins.
Lily was asleep down the hall, guarded by four elite tactical officers and a private nurse Mateo had hired specifically from the city's top hospital.
The door behind me opened.
Mateo stepped in, wearing a sharp black tuxedo that broad-shouldered him like a king ready to claim his throne. He stopped behind me, looking at my reflection in the mirror.
"You look breathtaking, Clara," he said, his voice low and raspy.
"I feel like an intruder," I admitted, turning around to face him. "These people... they know who I am. They know I was sweeping their floors a month ago."
Mateo reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a velvet box. He opened it, revealing a stunning teardrop diamond necklace that caught the light like frozen fire. He stepped behind me, lifting the heavy chain and fastening it around my neck. His warm fingers brushed against the back of my neck, sending a shiver straight down my spine.
"Let them look," Mateo whispered into my ear, his lips almost touching my skin. "Tonight, they learn that the maid they looked down on is the woman standing at my side."
An hour later, our black limousine pulled up to the grand marble steps of Villa d'Este.
Flashbulbs popped instantly as guards opened the door. Photographers lined the red carpet, shouting questions in Italian.
Mateo stepped out first, offering his hand to me. I took it, holding my head high as we walked into the grand ballroom under the glow of fifty crystal chandeliers.
The room gasped as we entered.
Dozens of elite family heads, dressed in tuxedos and designer gowns, froze in place. At the center of the room stood Bianca Lucchesi, wearing a dramatic black dress, her eyes blazing with pure hatred as she saw me walking arm-in-arm with Mateo.
"Don Moretti!" Don Lucchesi—a fat, angry man with graying hair—marched toward us, flanked by four armed guards. "You have nerve showing your face here after freezing my accounts! And bringing her? A servant?"
The entire ballroom went dead silent.
Mateo didn't even slow his pace. He walked right up to Lucchesi, his hand resting comfortably over mine.
"Don Lucchesi," Mateo said, his voice echoing clearly across the high ceilings. "You stand in the presence of Clara Vance. The woman who exposed the embezzlement in your shipping company... and the woman who holds the title to your docks."
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Lucchesi’s face turned white as sheet paper. "What?"
Mateo smiled—a cold, terrifying smile. "While you were planning to have her killed, my lawyers finalized the acquisition of your assets. You don't own Genoa anymore, Lucchesi. Clara does."
