Chapter 5 - The Gala of Wolves
The grand ballroom of the Ferrara estate was draped in black velvet and crystal chandeliers, a spectacle of obscene wealth and masked brutality. Men in bespoke Italian tuxedos and women in shimmering evening gowns moved across the polished marble floor, champagne flutes in hand, smiling with teeth as sharp as daggers.
This was the Ferrara Family Summit—a gathering of every underboss, captain, and allied syndicate on the coast. And I was the centerpiece of the evening.
I stood beside Matteo in an emerald green gown of heavy silk, its empire waist gracefully concealing the slight swelling of my lower belly. Diamonds glittered against my collarbone, cold and heavy, a gift from Matteo’s private vault. But nothing felt heavier than the weight of a hundred pairs of eyes assessing me like a prize animal.
Matteo stood tall beside me, looking devastatingly handsome in a custom midnight-black tuxedo. His left hand never left the small of my back, his thumb rubbing comforting strokes against the silk of my dress. He looked like an emperor surveying his empire, untouchable and supreme.
"Keep your chin up, Sera," Matteo murmured, leaning his head down so his lips brushed my ear. The warmth of his breath sent a thrill through me despite the terror. "You don't bow to anyone in this room. They bow to you."
"They're staring at me like they want to execute me," I whispered through a tight, polite smile.
"They're staring because they know that you hold my world in your hands," he replied softly. "And that terrifies them."
A man with slicked-back gray hair, sunken cheeks, and cold, reptilian eyes approached our table, accompanied by two hulking bodyguards. Don Salvatore.
"Nephew," Salvatore said, his voice grating like dry leaves. He looked at me, his gaze lingering insolently on my waist. "And this must be the miraculous Ms. Park. A lovely creature. It's a shame she looks so fragile. The Ferrara family needs strong mothers, not delicate flowers."
Matteo’s grip on my waist tightened instantly, his shoulders squaring as a dangerous shadow fell over his handsome face. "Salvatore. Choose your next words with extreme care."
"I am merely offering my congratulations," Salvatore sneered, raising his glass. "And a toast. To the future of our family. May the blood run true, and may those who betray the Ferrara name meet the fate they deserve."
He signaled a waiter, who stepped forward with a silver tray bearing two glasses of sparkling cider for me and vintage red wine for Matteo.
Salvatore picked up one of the cider glasses and offered it to me with a venomous smile. "Drink, my dear. To the child."
I reached out to take the glass, my hand trembling slightly.
Just as my fingers brushed the crystal, Matteo’s hand shot out like a striking viper. He caught my wrist, stopping me in midair.
The entire ballroom seemed to hold its breath. The orchestra’s music faltered.
"Matteo?" I breathed, looking at him in confusion.
Matteo didn't look at me. His eyes were locked entirely on the waiter holding the tray. The young man's eyes were darting toward the exits, a bead of cold sweat running down his temple.
"Drink it," Matteo commanded, his voice cold as a winter grave, looking directly at the waiter.
The waiter went pale as a sheet. "S-sir?"
"You heard me," Matteo said smoothly, taking the glass from Salvatore’s hand and holding it out toward the servant. "Drink the cider you prepared for my wife."
The word wife slammed into my chest, but before I could process it, the waiter dropped the silver tray. Crystal shattered across the marble with an explosive crash. The waiter spun on his heel and bolted toward the service doors.
Panic erupted instantly. Women shrieked, men reached for concealed holsters, and the ballroom dissolved into utter chaos.
Matteo didn't shout. He pulled a compact Beretta from inside his tuxedo with chilling grace, aimed, and fired a single round. The waiter collapsed to the floor forty feet away, clutching his shattered kneecap with a scream of agony.
Salvatore stepped back, his eyes widening in panic.
Matteo lowered the weapon, turning his icy, murderous gaze onto his uncle. "You tried to poison my child in my own house."
May you like
"I know nothing of this!" Salvatore stammered, raising his hands. "A rogue servant! A spy from the rival families!"
"We will find out what he knows," Matteo whispered, stepping between me and the entire room, his presence filling the space like an impending apocalypse. "Lock the doors. Nobody leaves this estate tonight."
