Chapter 8 - The Gala
The crystal ballroom of the Grand Plaza Hotel was a sea of black tuxedos, designer ballgowns, and diamond jewelry. The elite of the city’s high society and underground royalty mingled under towering ice sculptures.
A sudden murmur rippled through the crowd as the double mahogany doors swung open.
Luca Moretti entered. He looked devastatingly handsome in a custom-tailored black tuxedo. But all eyes immediately drifted to the woman on his arm.
Emily was breathtaking. She wore an emerald silk evening gown that hugged her graceful curves, perfectly complementing the antique Moretti necklace glowing at her throat. Her dark hair was swept up in an elegant chignon, her natural beauty outshining every heiress in the room.
And between them, walking proudly without crutches, holding both their hands, was Sofia.
The little girl took graceful, steady steps, her chin held high, beaming with pride. Gasps of shock echoed through the ballroom. Rumors had circulated for months that the Moretti heiress was an invalid who would never stand again. Yet here she was, radiating health and joy.
In the corner of the room, standing beside the imposing figure of Lorenzo Corsetti—a scarred, middle-aged mafia boss with cold, reptile eyes—stood Vanessa Bellini.
Vanessa’s champagne flute shattered in her grip as she stared at Emily. Her face twisted with pure, venomous jealousy. Emily was wearing the Moretti emeralds—the very jewels Vanessa had dreamed of wearing for three years.
“Look at her,” Vanessa hissed to Corsetti. “That filthy little servant stole my life! She’s parading that crippled brat in front of everyone!”
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“Calm yourself, Vanessa,” Corsetti rumbled, his voice low and dangerous. “Let Luca have his little public victory tonight. He doesn't know that while he’s smiling for the cameras, his private shipping docks in New Jersey are already surrounded by my men.”
Corsetti grinned, signaling his bodyguards. “Tonight, we take everything.”
