Chapter 6 - The Lioness Returns
The Grand Ballroom of the Bellagio was a sea of black tuxedos, diamonds, and flowing silk. The air was rich with the scent of orchids, expensive champagne, and the quiet, predatory hum of extreme wealth.
Dante Moretti stood near the private terrace entrance, a crystal glass of bourbon in his hand. He was dressed in a bespoke black Tom Ford tuxedo, but his eyes never stopped moving. Beside him, Lily wore an emerald green gown that was slightly too tight, her jewelry slightly too loud, smiling an anxious, brittle smile whenever casino executives passed by.
Eleanor Bennett hovered nearby, nursing a martini, her eyes darting greedily over the high-rollers, trying to convince herself that she was still royalty in this town.
"Dante," Eleanor purred, stepping closer to him. "Have you spoken to Commissioner Higgins yet? He’s looking at Lily’s charity committee proposal—"
"Be quiet, Eleanor," Dante said without looking at her.
Suddenly, the ambient roar of the ballroom began to dip.
It started at the main entrance doors and rippled outward across the marble floor like a falling tide. Conversations snapped shut. Laughter died mid-throat. Men turned their heads; women lowered their champagne flutes.
The double mahogany doors had opened.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the master of ceremonies announced over the quiet murmur, "welcoming Mr. Julian Vance, Chairman of Vance Global, and his wife, Lady Claire Vance."
Dante froze. The name hit him like a shotgun blast to the chest.
*Claire.*
His head jerked toward the entryway.
Walking down the grand marble staircase, her arm securely tucked into the crook of a tall, impossibly handsome, aristocratic man with broad shoulders and tailored Savile Row elegance, was Claire.
Dante’s breath tore out of his lungs.
She wasn't the quiet, plain-dressed woman who had packed lunches and waited by the telephone.
Claire looked breathtaking.
She wore an off-the-shoulder gown of midnight-blue velvet that fell to the floor in liquid folds, hugging curves that had ripened with absolute, radiant maturity. Her dark hair was swept up in an intricate, regal twist, exposing the pale, flawless line of her throat, where a necklace of blue sapphires and diamonds caught the light with blazing intensity.
Her skin glowed with health, peace, and utter untouchability.
And resting against her right hip, carried effortlessly with maternal grace, was a one-year-old boy.
The child wore a miniature black velvet vest and a white silk shirt. He had thick, dark curls, golden skin, and bright, curious eyes that took in the glittering room without a shred of fear.
Julian leaned down, whispering something against Claire's ear. Claire threw her head back and laughed—a rich, musical, unburdened sound that Dante had not heard in four years. She kissed her husband's cheek before handing the baby to a discreet, impeccably dressed European nanny who stepped back toward the private VIP lounge.
"Oh... oh my God," Eleanor gasped behind Dante, her martini glass slipping through her fingers and shattering on the polished floor.
Lily let out a strangled, breathless squeak, her face draining of color until she looked like a corpse in an emerald dress. "Claire...?"
Dante couldn't move. His feet felt nailed to the floorboards. His heart was hammering with such violent force he could hear the blood roaring in his eardrums.
*She's here.*
*She's married.*
*She has a child.*
And as if feeling the suffocating weight of his stare, Claire slowly turned her head across the crowded ballroom.
Her eyes met Dante's.
Dante braced himself for the fury, the accusation, the pain he had imagined for three long years.
Instead, Claire’s gaze swept over him with the mild, fleeting curiosity of someone noticing a potted plant in a hotel lobby.
There was no hate.
There was no anger.
There was absolute, devastating nothingness.
May you like
She looked at him, dismissed him, and turned back to smile at the Governor of Nevada, who had rushed forward with both hands outstretched to welcome her husband to Las Vegas.
***
