Chapter 19 - The Ball of Broken Masks
Matteo froze, his dark eyes snapping back to the terminal screen where a progress bar was filling rapidly.
"What did he send?" Matteo demanded, stepping back beside me.
"It's a high-frequency video feed," I said, my fingers flying across the keys to decrypt the incoming stream.
"It's broadcasting from an encrypted server inside the Plaza Hotel."
The screen flickered twice before resolving into a crystal-clear image of the Grand Ballroom at the Plaza.
Beneath the glittering crystal chandeliers, dozens of masked patrons in black-tie attire were mingling over champagne flutes.
"The annual Autumn Masquerade," Marco muttered in disbelief.
"Half the state supreme court and every major banking CEO is in that room right now."
The camera shifted, zooming in on the private mezzanine overlooking the ballroom floor.
Sitting at the corner table was Dominic Castiglione, sipping red wine from a crystal goblet.
Sitting directly across from him, looking thoroughly defeated yet completely complicit, was my mother, Eleanor Vance.
"My mother..." I whispered, the air leaving my lungs as if I had been punched.
"She didn't run home after the Union Club; she ran straight to Castiglione."
"Eleanor was the one who introduced Julian to Dominic five years ago," Matteo said grimly, piecing together the timeline.
"Arthur was just a political puppet; your mother was the syndicate's true liaison in Manhattan."
"She let Julian beat me," I cried, the fury and agony clashing violently inside my ribs.
"She visited Kane Street every Sunday for tea, saw the makeup smeared over my black eyes, and she smiled while discussing opera!"
Matteo's hands came down gently but firmly on my shoulders, anchoring me in place.
"Look at me, Alexandra," he commanded softly.
I forced my tear-filled eyes to meet his unyielding gaze.
"You are going to finish this tonight," Matteo promised, his voice carrying the weight of a sacred vow.
"We are going to that ballroom."
"You will take the mask off your mother's face in front of the entire city, and I will put Castiglione in the dirt where he belongs."
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"They think they own the shadows," I whispered, wiping the cold moisture from my cheeks.
"Let's show them who controls the light."
