Chapter 9 - The Ambush at the Metropolitan Gala of Vipers
Two days later.
Victor Vance had slipped through the Gowanus raid, but his financial empire was bleeding out. In a desperate bid to reassert legitimacy, Vance had called an emergency conclave of the five syndicate families at the annual Metropolitan Winter Ball—a high-society charity gala held at the Plaza Hotel.
The grand ballroom was a sea of black ties, diamonds, and covert security details.
Sienna Vale and Julian Vale—out on multi-million dollar bail secured by Vance’s remaining funds—stood near the grand marble staircase, surrounded by gossiping Manhattan aristocrats.
"Dante Marcel has lost his mind," Sienna sneered loudly, sipping champagne. "He threw away our family’s alliance for a nameless, illiterate servant girl who cleans toilets. The man is completely unhinged. The council will strip him of his territory tonight."
"She’s probably back in the Bronx where she belongs," Julian scoffed, his bruised jaw covered in heavy foundation. "A filthy nobody."
At precisely 9:00 PM, the heavy mahogany doors of the Plaza ballroom were thrown open.
The room fell into stunned, breathless silence.
Two lines of eight-foot-tall guards in black tailored suits lined the red carpet.
Down the center walked Dante Marcel.
He looked every inch the ruthless underworld emperor, draped in a custom double-breasted tuxedo of midnight silk.
And on his arm was Mara.
The ballroom collectively gasped.
Mara was breathtaking beyond description. She wore a bespoke emerald-green velvet evening gown that draped flawlessly over her curves, plunging into an elegant backless silhouette. Her chestnut hair was styled in an opulent Hollywood cascade, pinned with antique diamond brooches. Around her neck sat the legendary Blood of Carthage—a fifty-carat raw ruby necklace owned exclusively by the Marcel dynasty for two hundred years.
On her left hand, the billion-dollar flawless pink diamond burned under the crystal chandeliers like a captured star.
She did not walk like a housekeeper. She walked with the poise, grace, and terrifying majesty of a queen who had conquered empires.
Sienna’s glass shattered on the floor, red wine pooling around her designer heels. "No... that's... that's impossible..."
Mara stopped directly in front of Sienna and Julian.
Dante remained half a step behind her, his arms folded, allowing Mara to command the entire room.
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Mara looked down at Sienna with cold, effortless pity.
"You always complained about the temperature of the dressing room, Sienna," Mara said, her voice smooth, melodic, and terrifyingly clear. "You should be careful. Where you and your brother are going... the temperature is going to be far, far hotter."
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