Chapter 7 - The Brother's True Face
By seven o'clock that evening, the grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel was packed with five hundred of the most powerful people in the country. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen waterfalls from the gilded ceiling, casting brilliant light across oceans of black tuxedos and couture evening gowns.
Whispers rippled through the room the moment the heavy double doors opened.
“Mr. and Mrs. Gabriel Moretti,” the master of ceremonies announced.
I walked into the ballroom with my head held high, my hand resting gently on Gabriel’s arm.
I wore an emerald-green silk backless gown that hugged every curve, paired with a vintage Cartier diamond necklace that Gabriel had sent to my suite an hour earlier. My blonde hair was swept up into an intricate, elegant chignon, exposing the sharp, proud line of my neck.
Beside me, Gabriel looked formidable. In his tailored black tuxedo and crisp white shirt, leaning lightly on his silver wolf’s head cane, he commanded the room with an effortless, predatory elegance.
Every camera flash illuminated the unbroken calm on his face.
The whispers were deafening.
“Look at her… she was supposed to marry Luke yesterday…”
“Did Gabriel steal his brother’s bride?”
“I heard her father was bankrupt… she sold herself to the devil…”
I kept a serene, untouchable smile on my face, walking in lockstep with Gabriel as high-society matriarchs and corporate executives parted before us like the Red Sea.
“You’re doing exceptionally well,” Gabriel murmured softly, his lips barely moving as we stopped near the central fountain.
“I spent four years running corporate PR for my father’s firm, Gabriel,” I whispered back, maintaining my dazzling smile. “I know how to smile at hyenas while they wait for me to bleed.”
A faint, deep chuckle rumbled in Gabriel’s chest. It was a rich, captivating sound that sent a strange, unexpected shiver down my spine.
Before I could process it, a tall, impeccably groomed man with slicked-back dark hair and a sharp, cruel smile approached us, holding a champagne flute.
It was Dante Marcone.
Behind him stood two large men with bulges beneath their jackets—underworld muscle dressed in high-end suits.
“Gabriel,” Dante greeted, his voice dripping with smooth, venomous charm. “Congratulations on your sudden nuptials. The whole city was shocked to hear the elder brother took the prize.”
Gabriel’s posture didn't change, but the air around him grew instantly lethal.
“Dante,” Gabriel said flatly. “I wasn't aware the guest list included syndicate errand boys.”
Dante’s smile tightened, a flash of murderous anger darting across his eyes before he turned his predatory gaze onto me.
“And you must be Claire Bennett… or should I say, Mrs. Moretti,” Dante purred, his eyes raking over my dress in an insulting, possessive sweep. “Your father spoke very highly of you during our negotiations. It’s a shame Luke intervened. You would have looked stunning in my penthouse.”
My blood ran cold, but I didn't flinch.
Before I could speak, Gabriel stepped forward.
He didn't yell. He didn't draw a weapon. He simply planted his cane on the floor and stepped between Dante and me, completely cutting off Dante’s view of my body.
Gabriel looked down at Dante from his towering height, his dark eyes dead, cold, and utterly terrifying.
“If you look at my wife again, Dante,” Gabriel said in a low, terrifyingly calm whisper that made the surrounding guests freeze in terror, “I will seize every shipping container tied to your father’s shell companies at the Port of Chicago by midnight. By morning, your entire northern distribution network will be ashes. Do not test my patience in my own city.”
Dante’s jaw twitched. For a brief second, true fear flickered across the mobster’s face. He knew Gabriel wasn't making an empty threat. Gabriel had the wealth and the federal connections to destroy his family’s empire with a single phone call.
Dante raised his hands in mock surrender, backed away, and melted into the crowd.
Gabriel turned back to me. His dark eyes softened slightly, a look of genuine concern breaking through his iron mask.
“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.
I looked up at him—at the man who had just risked a multi-million-dollar corporate war just to shield me from a mobster’s gaze.
“Yes,” I whispered, my heart racing for an entirely different reason. “Thank you, Gabriel.”
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For the first time since this nightmare began, I realized that the cage Gabriel had built around me wasn't designed to keep me trapped.
It was designed to keep the monsters out.
