Chapter 15 - The Ball at the Drake
The intelligence arrived in fragments over the next forty-eight hours.
Julian Moretti-Bellandi had not grown up in poverty or exile. Raised in the shadows of private European banking empires, backed by the remnants of the Bellandi fortune and financed through international cartels, he had returned to the United States under the guise of an offshore venture capitalist.
More dangerously, he had made his official debut not in the alleys of the underworld, but in high society.
"He purchased a minority stake in the Drake Hotel consortium last week," I reported, laying several surveillance photographs on Luca’s mahogany desk in his private study.
The photos showed a tall, handsome man with striking dark hair and aristocratic features—bearing an undeniable, eerie resemblance to Luca, though his eyes carried a predatory, serpentine chill.
"He’s hosting the Annual Winter Gala there tomorrow night," I continued, pointing to a formal invitation sitting beside the photos. "He sent this directly to the estate this morning. Addressed to Mr. Luca Moretti and Guest."
Luca leaned back in his leather chair, studying the photograph of the cousin he never knew existed. "A public challenge. He knows the Syndicate rules. In public society, under the gaze of the city’s political elite and foreign ambassadors, no blood can be drawn without triggering a federal crackdown."
"He thinks he’s safe behind champagne glasses and black-tie etiquette," I said, leaning over the desk, my hands planted firmly on the polished wood. "He wants to see if you have the stomach to face him without a gun in your hand."
Luca looked up from the photo, his gaze locking onto mine. The tension in the room shifted, warming from icy calculation into an unspoken, smoldering intimacy.
"He wants to see if the rumors about me are true," Luca murmured, his hand reaching out to encircle my wrist, his thumb gently stroking my pulse point. "He wants to know if taking a former housemaid into my bed and placing my empire's security in her hands has made me soft."
"Let him think that," I whispered, leaning in closer until I could feel the heat of his breath against my lips. "Underestimating me was the last mistake Vanessa ever made."
A slow, wolfish smile touched Luca’s lips. "Then we attend the ball, my love. We dress you in silk and diamonds, and we show Chicago that the Moretti family does not cower before ghosts."
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"And if he steps out of line?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Luca’s grip tightened slightly, his dark eyes flaring with absolute, unyielding possession. "Then the Drake Hotel will need new carpets before sunrise."
