Chapter 6 - The Gala of Wolves
To permanently assert his dominance and send a message to the rival families that he was not weakened, Lucian announced the annual Vance Commission Gala—a lavish gathering of New York’s elite, corrupt politicians, and high-ranking mafia bosses at a grand hotel in Manhattan.
It was a dangerous move, but a necessary display of power. And this year, Lucian declared that Emma and Sophie would attend by his side.
"I don't belong in a room like that, Lucian," Emma protested standing in front of the full-length mirror in her suite. "I’m a baker, not a socialite."
"You belong wherever I decide you belong," Lucian said softly, stepping into the room behind her.
Emma turned, catching her breath. She was wearing a custom dark emerald velvet gown that swept the floor. The dress was designed specifically for her body, accentuating her waist, hugging her hips, and showcasing her soft curves with breathtaking elegance. Around her neck hung a teardrop emerald necklace—a Vance family heirloom worth millions.
Lucian moved behind her, resting his hands lightly on her waist. His eyes met hers in the mirror.
"You look like a queen," he murmured, his voice rich with sincere admiration. "Let the wolves look at you tonight. Let them see who holds the key to my empire."
When they arrived at the grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel, the room fell completely silent.
The media and rival bosses had expected Lucian to arrive with a supermodel or a daughter of a corrupt senator. Instead, he walked in with his chin held high, holding the hand of a radiant, full-figured woman who walked with the grace of royalty, while his deaf daughter held her other hand tightly.
The high-society women whispered behind their silk fans, throwing judgment toward Emma’s size and unknown background. But Emma ignored them. She kept her posture straight, signing casually with Sophie, sharing secret jokes that made the little girl light up with joy.
Midway through the evening, Don Mateo Moretti approached their table, flanked by two heavy-set bodyguards. Mateo was an older man with a pockmarked face and sneering eyes.
"Lucian," Mateo drawled, sipping his champagne. "I see you brought your new charity case. A baker, isn't she? I suppose she keeps you well-fed."
The air around the table froze. Victor moved his hand toward his jacket, but Lucian raised a single finger, stopping him. Lucian’s face remained an unreadable mask of ice, but his eyes were pure fire.
Before Lucian could speak, Emma wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin, stood up calmly, and faced the dangerous mafia boss directly.
"Mr. Moretti, is it?" Emma asked, her voice clear and carrying over the quiet chatter nearby. "I may be a baker, but I know the value of honest work. Unlike men who hide behind cheap suits and send cowards to shoot at little girls in the middle of the night."
The entire vicinity of the ballroom went dead silent. Nobody spoke to Mateo Moretti like that.
Mateo’s face turned bright red, his jaw twitching with rage. "You arrogant little bitch—"
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In a flash, Lucian was standing between them. He grabbed Mateo by the throat, his massive hand tightening until the older man’s face turned purple, forcing him down onto his knees in front of the entire elite of New York.
"Speak to my future wife like that again," Lucian hissed into Mateo’s ear, his voice carrying the promise of absolute death, "and I will tear your syndicate down brick by brick, and feed you your own tongue."
