Chapter 16 - The Siege at the Gala Pier
The Grand Ballroom of the Palmer House was a cathedral of gilded mirrors, crystal chandeliers, and toxic smiles.
Chicago's elite—judges, senators, corporate moguls, and high-ranking mob capos in tailored tuxedos—sipped vintage champagne as a string quartet played Vivaldi.
I wore an emerald green silk gown that accentuated every curve, my chin held high, the heavy diamond necklace Vincent gave me glittering against my collarbone.
Vincent walked beside me in a bespoke black tuxedo, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning every balcony and service entrance.
Nobody in the room suspected that beneath my silk skirt, a snub-nosed .38 revolver was strapped to my inner thigh.
A tall, strikingly handsome man with sharp cheekbones and pale gray eyes stepped away from the senator's circle, making his way toward us.
He looked unnervingly familiar; his jawline mirrored the shape of my own face in the mirror.
"Vincent," Julian Valenti greeted with a mock bow, holding a champagne flute between two gloved fingers.
"And my long-lost little sister, looking every bit the empress."
The air around our circle turned electric, several nearby guests instinctively stepping back without knowing why.
"You have five minutes to state your terms, Julian," Vincent said, his voice a low vibration of lethal intent.
"My men have your transport vans surrounded at the river docks. One word from me, and your entire Chicago landing party is wiped out."
Julian laughed softly, turning his gaze entirely upon me, ignoring Vincent's threat.
"Did he tell you how our mother died, Elena?" Julian asked, his voice dripping with venomous theatricality.
"Did he tell you she begged his father for mercy in the basement while Vincent stood on the stairs, watching the flames take her?"
I felt the blood drain from my face, but I refused to break eye contact.
"My husband was twelve years old, Julian," I said, my voice steady enough to cut glass.
"And whatever his father did, you are the one who left a bloody threat in my daughters' bedroom."
Julian's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, surprised by my venom.
"Still defending your master? How tragic," Julian whispered, leaning in closer.
"You carry Valenti blood, sister. By right of the old council statutes, half of the Moretti shipping corridor belongs to you."
"Sign it over to me tonight, or I release the evidence proving Vincent orchestrated the explosion at the municipal pier last winter."
"The FBI will have him in federal custody by sunrise, and I will take custody of your little girls."
Vincent’s hand slid inside his jacket, the silence between them turning deadly.
"You won't leave this ballroom alive, Julian," Vincent whispered.
Julian smirked, raising his glass.
May you like
"Look outside the ballroom terrace, dear cousin."
A sudden, deafening explosion rocked the historic hotel, shattering the tall stained-glass windows along the southern mezzanine.
