Chapter 6 - Blood on Velvet
The Grand Ballroom of the Drake Hotel glittered like a diamond chandelier. Hundreds of Chicago’s elite—governors, hedge fund billionaires, old-money socialites, and high-ranking syndicate figures dressed in bespoke black tie—mingled beneath the gilded ceilings.
When the double doors opened and Julian Vance entered, the ambient hum of three hundred conversations dropped by half.
And when they saw the woman on his arm, the room went completely still.
Olivia wore an emerald-green silk gown with an asymmetrical neckline that clung elegantly to her curves, pooling at the floor in a subtle train. Her hair was swept up into an intricate, loose chignon, exposing the delicate line of her neck and the faint, fading shadow of the bruise along her cheekbone, which had been masterfully softened by cosmetics. Diamond teardrop earrings—borrowed from Julian’s vault—caught the chandelier light with every step she took.
She had been terrified in the limousine. Her palms had been clammy; her stomach had been tied in knots.
Then Julian had taken her hand. He hadn't squeezed it. He had simply turned his palm upward, allowing her to rest her trembling fingers in his broad, scarred hand.
*“Breathe,”* he had told her in the dark of the car. *“You are with me. No one in this room has the right to breathe the same air as you unless I permit it.”*
Now, walking across the marble floor of the ballroom, Olivia felt the weight of Julian’s forearm beneath her gloved hand. He moved like an emperor inspecting his legions. Every man they passed offered a respectful nod; every woman offered a strained, polite smile.
“Julian,” a voice purred from the edge of the champagne fountain.
An older man stepped out from a circle of suited lieutenants. He had slicked-back silver hair, cold reptilian eyes, and wore an immaculate tuxedo adorned with a red pocket square.
Marco Moretti.
Beside Moretti stood Raymond Burke, the corrupt CPD detective who had sold Olivia’s location to Felix. Burke looked thoroughly miserable in his rented tuxedo, his eyes darting frantically between Julian and the exits.
“Marco,” Julian said smoothly, stopping three feet from his rival.
“I didn't think you’d attend tonight,” Moretti said, his gaze sliding insolently over Olivia’s face. “Especially after the unfortunate... industrial accidents that occurred at your Gary rail yard yesterday.”
Olivia felt Julian’s bicep go rock-hard beneath her hand, but his expression didn't change by an inch.
“A minor disruption,” Julian replied, his voice a cool, dangerous purr. “The rail yard is fully operational. The four saboteurs your cousin sent were returned to your South Side warehouse an hour ago. In three distinct shipments.”
Burke swallowed hard, wiping a sheen of sweat from his upper lip.
Moretti’s eyes narrowed into slits. “You play a dangerous game, Vance. Harboring runaways. Shooting the sons of our associates. You’re getting emotional in your old age.”
“There is nothing emotional about my ledger, Marco,” Julian said softly. He stepped forward, forcing Moretti to take half a step back to maintain personal space. “Miss Marshall is under my personal protection. Let me make this abundantly clear for you and the badge-wearing mongrel standing behind you.”
Julian’s eyes flicked to Detective Burke. Burke visibly flinched.
“If any man associated with your family looks in Miss Marshall’s direction,” Julian continued, his voice dropping into a lethal, low frequency that only the immediate circle could hear, “I will dismantle the Moretti shipping lines bolt by bolt. I will pull Burke’s pension and hand his off-shore accounts to the Department of Justice before midnight. And then, Marco... I will come to your house.”
The silence around them was absolute. The clinking of champagne glasses ten yards away sounded like gunshots.
Moretti’s jaw worked silently. He knew Julian wasn't making an empty mobster boast. Julian had the federal contacts, the capital, and the ruthless firepower to execute every single word.
“Enjoy the gala, Julian,” Moretti hissed through clenched teeth. He turned sharply and vanished into the crowd, dragging the trembling Detective Burke with him.
Olivia exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she’d been holding. Her fingers tightened around Julian’s sleeve.
“You just threatened to start a war in the middle of a charity ball,” she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Julian looked down at her. In the warm golden light of the ballroom, his severe features softened by an imperceptible degree.
“I didn't threaten a war, Olivia,” he murmured, his fingers gently covering hers where they rested on his arm. “I prevented one. Bullies only understand overwhelming force. Once they see that your protector will burn the world down to keep you safe, they run back into the shadows.”
“And what if they don’t run?” she asked.
May you like
Julian’s eyes burned with cold, unyielding fire. “Then they burn.”
***
