Chapter 7 - The Blood Gala
The Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel was a sea of black tuxedos, glittering diamond necklaces, and flowing champagne. The elite of New York—senators, judges, Wall Street titans, and underworld royalty—mingled beneath the towering gilded ceilings and crystal chandeliers.
Vivien was in her absolute element. She floated from circle to circle, accepting congratulations with an intoxicating blend of aristocratic modesty and royal poise. Every time she laughed, her eyes drifted toward the perimeter of the room, checking the positions of her newly placed guards.
At seven-forty-five, the heavy double doors opened, and Julian Moretti walked in.
Julian was thirty-two, sharp-featured, with slicked-back dark hair and an arrogant smirk that made every man in the room reach instinctively for his jacket pocket. Behind him walked three bulky men whose silhouettes were unmistakable to anyone with eyes: armed muscle.
Julian caught Vivien’s gaze across the room. A subtle, almost imperceptible nod passed between them. A signal.
*The trap is set.*
Julian made his way toward the private bar where I stood alone, sipping club soda.
"Lorenzo," Julian drawled, offering a hand with a heavy signet ring. "Quite an evening. Never thought I’d see the day the Duca family invited a Moretti to share their champagne."
I didn't shake his hand. I merely raised my glass. "Times change, Julian. Old wars cost money. Peace costs less."
Julian chuckled, leaning against the polished marble bar. "Carmine was pleased with your offer. Twenty percent of the Brooklyn piers in exchange for a non-aggression pact. My father said you were going soft since Isabella passed away. Looks like he was right."
"Did he say that?" I asked, my voice calm, almost polite.
"He did. But hey—marrying a Vance will do that to a man. Soft women make soft men." Julian glanced toward Vivien, who was now stepping onto the elevated orchestra stage, taking a microphone from the master of ceremonies.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Vivien’s voice echoed through the high-powered sound system, commanding instant silence across the five hundred guests. "If I could borrow your attention for just a few moments."
The chatter faded. Waiters froze in place with silver trays. The room turned toward the stage.
"Tonight is about unity," Vivien began, her voice radiating warmth and emotion. "The Duca name has stood for strength and resilience in this city for over a century. When Lorenzo’s beloved mother, Isabella, left us four months ago, a light went out in our lives."
She paused, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of her eye. Several elderly socialites sighed with sympathy.
"Before she passed, Isabella took my hands and asked me to ensure that this family remained strong. She gave me her blessing to stand by Lorenzo’s side, to heal old wounds, and to build a bridge toward a peaceful future for all of us."
Julian Moretti smirked into his glass, preparing to step forward for the public toast that would cement their orchestrated alliance.
"And so," Vivien continued, smiling directly at me, "I would like to call my future husband, Lorenzo Duca, to the stage."
Applause rippled through the room.
I set my glass down on the bar. I didn't rush. I buttoned my jacket, adjusted my cufflinks, and walked toward the stage. With every step, the tension in the room seemed to mount.
As I climbed the three wooden steps onto the platform, Vivien extended her hand to me, her eyes shining with absolute victory.
I didn't take her hand.
I took the microphone directly from her fingers.
The silence that followed was immediate, thick, and suffocating.
"Vivien spoke of my mother," I said, my voice echoing across the ballroom with chilling clarity. "She spoke of Isabella’s blessing. She spoke of unity."
I looked across the crowd, my eyes locking onto Julian Moretti, whose smirk had begun to fade into a look of cautious confusion.
"My mother was indeed a woman of great wisdom," I continued. "And she left a message for this exact room. A message she wanted all of you to hear before I announced who will be sharing the Duca name."
I turned my head toward the projection booth at the back of the ballroom.
May you like
"Rocco. Play the tape."
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