Chapter 5 - The Empress in Crimson
At precisely seven o'clock, Naomi stood before the full-length mirror in her suite, barely recognizing the woman staring back at her.
The dress Luca had chosen for her was an architectural masterpiece of deep crimson silk. It hugged her curves gracefully, cascading to the floor with a subtle slit on the left side, while the off-the-shoulder neckline highlighted her elegant collarbones. Her chestnut hair was pinned up in loose, romantic curls, with delicate strands framing her face. Around her neck hung a vintage diamond pendant—a family heirloom Isabella had personally sent up to her an hour earlier.
When Naomi walked down the grand curved staircase into the foyer, the entire ground floor went dead silent.
Guards stationed along the corridor straightened their postures, their eyes widening in awe. At the base of the staircase, Luca stood waiting in a bespoke midnight-black tuxedo, tailored to perfection across his broad shoulders. As he watched her descend, his breath audibly caught in his throat.
For several heartbeats, the feared Don of the Moretti family stood utterly speechless.
"You look..." Luca began, his voice gravelly and thick with raw admiration, "...magnificent."
Naomi blushed, stepping off the final stair onto the polished marble. "Thank you. Miss Isabella gave me this necklace. I promised to take care of it."
Luca stepped forward, his eyes never leaving hers. "My father gave that pendant to my mother when they conquered their first territory together. She has never let another soul touch it." He reached out, his knuckles brushing against her bare shoulder, sending a delicious shiver through her entire body. "She gave it to you because she knows who you are."
"Who am I, Luca?" Naomi breathed, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"A queen who hasn't claimed her throne yet," he answered without hesitation.
He offered his arm, and Naomi slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. Together, they walked through the grand double doors into the cool night air, where a convoy of black armored SUVs waited.
Thirty minutes later, the convoy pulled up to the Grand Metropolitan Hotel, where the city’s annual Foundation Gala was underway. Flashes of paparazzi cameras illuminated the red carpet like a thunderstorm of lightning. Hundreds of elite guests—politicians, billionaires, judges, and high-ranking syndicate leaders—were milling near the entrance.
When the lead car door opened and Luca Moretti stepped out, the reporters and socialites swarmed forward.
"Don Moretti! What is the status of the Valenti alliance?"
"Is it true the engagement with Vivian Valenti has been called off?"
Luca ignored them completely. He turned around, reached back into the car, and gently took Naomi’s hand. As Naomi stepped onto the red carpet, a collective gasp rippled through the gathered crowd.
Her crimson dress was a blazing contrast against the black-and-white sea of guests. Her beauty was undeniable, radiant and untouchable.
Luca did not walk ahead of her. He kept her right beside him, his large hand resting protectively against the small of her back as they ascended the carpeted stairs. The cameras clicked frantically, capturing every intimate gesture, every protective glance Luca cast her way.
Inside the grand ballroom, classical music played softly under the glow of crystal chandeliers. But the moment Luca and Naomi crossed the threshold, the room fell dead silent.
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At the center table stood Vincente Valenti, a ruthless mob boss with silver hair and cold, reptilian eyes. Beside him stood Vivian, wearing an expensive designer gown, though her face was twisted with fury and humiliation.
"Luca," Vincente's voice cut through the quiet room, icy and venomous. "You dare bring Isabella’s little kitchen servant to our table?"
