Chapter 5 - The Gala of Wolves Where Blood Meets Vintage Champagne
The Rainier Club looked like an ancient Gothic fortress draped in velvet and ice.
Snow had begun to fall over Seattle, dusting the black limousines lining the private cobblestone driveway. Men in bespoke tuxedos and women dripping in millions of dollars of diamonds stepped through the grand bronze doors under the watchful eyes of armed private security guards.
When Dante’s Maybach pulled up to the red carpet, the whispers began immediately.
Paulie opened the passenger door. Dante stepped out first, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored black velvet tuxedo jacket. He turned, offering his hand to Khloe.
Khloe took a deep breath, slipped her small, trembling hand into his large, warm palm, and stepped into the flashing lights.
She was wearing a custom midnight-blue silk gown with an off-the-shoulder neckline that accentuated her elegant collarbones. A delicate diamond choker glittered at her throat, matching the massive emerald on her finger. As she walked beside Dante, her head held high, the murmurs in the grand ballroom grew to a deafening hush.
“Is that... Dante Varga?”
“Who is the woman on his arm?”
“Look at the ring... that’s the Varga heirloom!”
Dante walked through the crowded ballroom like a monarch inspecting his court. Men of immense wealth and power bowed their heads as he passed, offering nervous greetings that Dante acknowledged with barely a nod. He kept one heavy arm firmly wrapped around Khloe’s waist, pulling her flush against his side.
“You’re doing beautifully, little mouse,” he murmured into her ear, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine. “Keep smiling.”
“I’m trying,” Khloe whispered back through a radiant smile. “Half the men in this room look like they want to shoot you.”
“Only half? I must be losing my touch.”
Before Khloe could reply, a tall, silver-haired man with a cruel, hawk-like nose and cold gray eyes stepped into their path, blocking the way to the VIP lounge. He was flanked by three broad-shouldered enforcers wearing discreet earpieces.
Marco Falcone.
“Dante,” Falcone drawled, raising a crystal flute of champagne in mocking toast. “We were beginning to think you wouldn't show. The Commission was preparing to discuss the reallocation of the northern shipping docks.”
“The docks belong to the Varga family, Marco,” Dante replied, his voice dropping into that chilling, effortless baritone. “As they have for three generations. And as they will for the next three.”
Falcone’s gray eyes slid slowly over to Khloe, lingering on the emerald ring with undisguised venom. “And who is this charming creature? You’ve kept her quite hidden, Dante. One might think you plucked her from obscurity just to satisfy the council’s marriage requirement.”
Khloe felt Dante’s fingers tighten protectively against her hip, but before he could speak, she stepped forward half an inch, meeting Falcone’s predatory gaze with unyielding poise.
“I assure you, Mr. Falcone, there is nothing obscure about my place by Dante’s side,” Khloe said, her voice clear, musical, and completely steady. “A man of his stature doesn't flaunt his greatest treasures before swine. Surely an elder of your experience understands the value of discretion.”
A sharp, collective gasp rippled through the surrounding circle of onlookers.
Falcone’s face darkened to a mottled crimson. He took an aggressive step toward her, but before his foot could touch the floor, Dante stepped directly into his space.
The shift in energy was instantaneous. Dante didn't draw a weapon, but the sheer, suffocating menace radiating from his frame forced Falcone’s bodyguards to instinctively reach beneath their tuxedo jackets.
“If you speak to my future wife again without her express permission, Marco,” Dante whispered, his tone quiet enough that only Falcone could hear, “I will personally drown you in Elliott Bay before the dessert course is served. Test me.”
For five agonizing seconds, nobody moved. The tension in the grand ballroom was thick enough to choke on.
Finally, Falcone forced a tight, hideous smile, stepping back and raising both hands in mock surrender. “Enjoy the evening, Dante. But remember... Seattle is a very cold city in the winter. Tragedies happen every day.”
Falcone turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd with his guards.
Dante watched him leave, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched beneath his scar. Then, he looked down at Khloe, an undeniable glint of admiration blazing in his dark eyes.
“Swine?” Dante murmured, the corner of his lips curling into a genuine, breathtaking smile. “You called the most dangerous cartel boss on the West Coast swine.”
Khloe let out a shaky breath, her heart hammering against her ribs. “He insulted you. And he looked at me like Jared used to look at me.”
May you like
Dante’s expression softened, his thumb gently stroking the curve of her hip through the silk dress. “You were magnificent, Khloe. Absolutely magnificent.”
Before she could process the warmth flooding her chest, the ballroom lights suddenly flickered once, twice, and plunged the entire mansion into pitch-black darkness.
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