Chapter 4 - Blood on the Velvet at the Midnight Gala
The tension in the ballroom was thick enough to choke on. The surrounding chatter ceased entirely as guests discreetly backed away, anticipating violence.
“My private life is not your concern, Santoro,” Dante replied, his voice lethal.
Rocco smiled a grotesque, yellowed smile and stepped closer, extending a gloved hand toward Sienna. “A lady as enchanting as this deserves a real man’s greeting. What’s your name, darling?”
Before Sienna could speak, Dante moved with blinding speed. He stepped between them, slapping Rocco’s hand away with a sharp crack that echoed through the ballroom.
“Touch her, and I will sever your hand at the wrist and feed it to my hounds,” Dante whispered, his face inches from Rocco's.
Rocco’s bodyguards immediately reached inside their coats, and Dante’s men drew their weapons beneath their jackets. The ballroom gasped. High society women shrank back in horror.
Sienna felt her heart hammer against her ribs, but she remembered Lucia’s words. She couldn't let them see weakness.
Stepping smoothly out from behind Dante, she placed her hand delicately on Dante’s arm, projecting calm elegance. “Darling,” Sienna purred, looking up into Dante’s blazing eyes, “let’s not waste our evening on bad company. The champagne is waiting.”
Dante looked down at her, his jaw clenching as he registered her composure. Slowly, the murderous tension eased from his shoulders. He covered her hand with his own.
“As you wish, my love,” Dante said loud enough for the room to hear. He turned back to Rocco with pure disdain. “Walk away, Rocco. While you still have feet.”
Rocco sneered, his eyes venomous. “Enjoy the dance, Moretti. Weddings can be so… tragic.”
As Rocco melted into the crowd, Dante guided Sienna toward the private balcony. The cold winter air hit their faces, snapping them out of the suffocating ballroom heat.
“You handled that well,” Dante said, leaning against the stone balustrade, studying her intently.
“I didn't want a bloodbath over a cocktail,” Sienna exhaled, her knees shaking now that the adrenaline was fading. “He knows, doesn't he? He suspects I’m not who you say I am.”
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Dante reached out, his fingers gently lifting her chin so she was forced to look into his piercing gaze. “It doesn't matter what he suspects. What matters is what I show him. And tonight, you proved you have the courage of a queen.”
His touch was warm, surprisingly tender against her cold skin. For a suspended moment, under the falling Chicago snow, the line between fake fiancé and real desire blurred into something intoxicatingly dangerous.
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