Chapter 4 - The Gala of Shadows
Three weeks passed.
The removal of the Vale family created a massive shockwave throughout the New York underground. Without the Vale alliance, rival families assumed Vincent Moretti was vulnerable, exposed, and weakened.
To prove his absolute dominance, Vincent organized the Annual Moretti Winter Gala at the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan—a high-stakes gathering of every major syndicate leader, politician, and billionaire on the East Coast.
Inside the grand ballroom of the Plaza, crystal chandeliers cast brilliant golden light over hundreds of guests in tailored tuxedos and designer evening gowns.
Standing near the grand staircase, wearing a floor-length dress of deep midnight-blue silk with diamonds woven into her hair, was me.
I looked down at my hands. Three months ago, these hands were scrubbing kitchen floors and washing grease from copper pans. Tonight, I wore a five-carat diamond ring on my index finger—a gift from Vincent—and held a glass of vintage champagne.
Beside me stood Lily, looking like a little princess in a matching velvet dress, holding Enzo’s hand as the baby sat safely in his custom leather stroller, guarded by Marco and six under-cover enforcers.
“You look breathtaking, Maya.”
I turned. Vincent stepped up beside me. He wore a flawless black tuxedo, his dark hair brushed back, his gray eyes burning with an intensity that made my pulse race.
He reached out, slipping his arm comfortably around my waist, pulling me close against his side in front of three hundred elite guests.
Gasps echoed through the room. Whispers broke out like wildfire among the high-society women and syndicate bosses.
“Is that the housekeeper?” “The girl who saved his son?” “He canceled the Vale contract for her?”
Vincent ignored the whispers entirely. He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. “Are you comfortable, my sweet?”
“I feel like everyone is staring at us,” I whispered back, my face flushing warm.
“Let them stare,” Vincent murmured, his hand tightening possessively on my waist. “They are looking at the future queen of the Moretti family.”
My heart skipped a beat. Queen?
Before I could ask him what he meant, the heavy brass doors of the ballroom slammed open with a violent bang.
A cold wind swept into the room as ten armed men in dark leather coats burst through the entrance, automatic weapons raised.
The crowd screamed in terror, dropping to the floor, knocking over champagne towers and crystal glassware.
Stepping through the center of the gunmen was a man with a heavy scar across his throat—Julian Vale, Cassandra’s father and the head of the Vale Shipping Syndicate.
“MORETTI!” Julian bellowed, his voice filled with mad, unhinged rage. “You destroyed my family! You took my ports! You humiliated my daughter!”
Julian raised a heavy silver pistol, pointing it directly at Vincent’s chest.
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“If I’m going to hell tonight,” Julian screamed, “I’m taking you and your bastard son with me!”
Julian pulled the trigger.
