Chapter 15 - The Masquerade of Malice and the Ghost of the Patriarch
The grand ballroom of the Moretti estate was once again filled with light,
but this time,
the guest list was very different.
This wasn't a party for the elite;
it was a gathering of the city’s true power brokers.
The heads of the five families,
the corrupt judges,
and the silent partners who ran the city from the shadows.
I wore a gown of crimson red,
the color of blood and victory.
I stood at the top of the grand staircase,
watching as the men who had once looked down on me now whispered my name in hushed,
fearful tones.
"The Crimson Queen,"
they called me.
I walked down the stairs,
my brothers following in a formation of silent strength.
As I reached the floor,
the crowd parted like the Red Sea.
I made my way to the center of the room,
where a large portrait had been draped in black silk.
"Tonight,"
I said,
my voice carrying to every corner of the room,
"we celebrate the end of the old guard.
The Coles are gone.
The Volkovs have retreated."
I reached out and pulled the silk away,
revealing the portrait of my father,
Lorenzo Moretti.
The man who had built this empire,
and the man whose death had never been fully explained.
"But as we look forward,"
I continued,
"we must also look back.
My father died in a 'car accident' ten years ago."
I looked at the heads of the other families,
watching their faces for the slightest flinch.
"But Gabriel has recently found some interesting financial records,"
I said.
"Records that show a large payment made to a certain construction firm shortly before the 'accident.'"
The room went deathly silent.
"The Coles didn't just hurt me,"
I said,
my voice turning into a blade.
"They helped kill my father."
I looked at my brothers,
and for the first time,
I saw a flicker of genuine shock on their faces.
Even Dominic hadn't known this.
"And tonight,"
I said,
turning back to the crowd,
"I’m going to find out who gave the order."
Just as the words left my mouth,
the lights in the ballroom flickered and died.
A single spotlight hit the balcony above us.
Standing there,
holding a glass of champagne and smiling like a demon,
was someone who shouldn't have been there.
Someone who was supposed to be in a prison cell.
Adrian Cole.
But he wasn't wearing an orange jumpsuit.
He was wearing a tuxedo.
And beside him,
looking more beautiful and more lethal than ever,
was my mother.
The woman who had supposedly died with my father ten years ago.
"Hello,
Elena,"
she said,
her voice a haunting melody in the darkness.
"Did you really think you were the only one who knew how to play this game?"
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The betrayal wasn't just in the blood.
It was the foundation of the house itself.
