Chapter 6 - Public Execution of Reputation
The Grand Ballroom of the Drake Hotel was bathed in crystal light and filled with Chicago’s elite—politicians, billionaires, and the old-money families who pretended they didn't know where the mafia’s blood money came from.
When Roman entered the room with Vanessa on his arm, the chatter dipped noticeably.
Roman was projecting supreme confidence, his arm tightly hooked around Vanessa, who looked terrified beneath an overdone coat of designer makeup and an ill-fitting silver designer dress. Whispers rippled through the crowd like wind through dry grass. Everyone had seen the video. Everyone was watching the lion limp while pretending he wasn't bleeding.
Then the double doors opened again.
The room fell dead silent.
I walked in beside Dante Vale.
I wore a floor-length crimson gown of heavy silk, cut low in the back with a high slit up the side that revealed silver stiletto heels. My dark hair was swept up, pinned with antique diamond combs that had belonged to my mother. Around my neck hung a simple, breathtaking choker of black diamonds.
Beside me, Dante looked towering, dark, and utterly untouchable in a custom tuxedo. He held out his arm, and I took it with the grace of a queen returning to claim her throne.
Across the crowded room, Roman caught my eye. The color drained from his face, replaced instantly by a suffocating, violent flush of crimson. His hand gripped Vanessa’s shoulder so hard the girl winced in pain.
“Keep your chin up,” Dante whispered in my ear, his hand tightening gently over mine. “You own this room.”
We glided across the floor, straight past the city council members and shipping magnates who immediately nodded in Dante’s direction. Roman broke away from Vanessa, leaving her standing alone by the champagne fountain, and stormed toward our path.
“Evelyn,” Roman snarled, cutting us off near the auction display cases. His voice was a tight hiss, barely containing the volcanic fury behind his eyes. “Get the hell away from him and come back to the car.”
I paused, looking at him with genuine pity. “Mr. Castellano. I believe all communications between us are to be conducted through my attorney, Mrs. Vance.”
“You think this is a game?” Roman stepped closer, his chest heaving. He ignored Dante entirely, focusing his wild glare on me. “You’re my wife! You took an oath before God and our families!”
“And you broke it on my birthday in front of two hundred people,” I said smoothly, my voice clear enough for the surrounding patrons to hear every syllable. “An oath broken by betrayal is no longer binding. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re here for the auction.”
“Evelyn, don't test me!” Roman reached out to seize my wrist.
Before his fingers could even graze my skin, Dante’s hand struck like a coiled viper.
Dante caught Roman’s wrist in a vise-like grip, twisting it just enough to force the larger man onto the balls of his feet with a muffled groan of agony.
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“Touch her again,” Dante murmured, his voice so terrifyingly quiet that it carried more weight than any gunshot, “and I will snap your arm in front of the mayor, Roman. Try me.”
***
