Chapter 3 - The Gala at Galleria Vittorio
The threat Matteo warned her about materialized sooner than expected.
A month into the construction, the city of Milan hosted its annual Architectural Preservation Gala inside the magnificent glass-domed Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II—the very building Elena had restored two years prior.
Elena had initially planned to skip the event. She had no desire to deal with the whispers of Milan’s fake elite. But Alessandro had insisted.
"You are the finest architect in Italy, Elena," Alessandro had told her as they sat in her studio the night before. "You will not hide in the mountains while mediocre men take credit for your city. You will go. And we will be beside you."
The night of the gala, the Galleria was a sea of glittering chandeliers, red carpets, flashbulbs, and black-tie tuxedos.
When the Moretti motorcade pulled up along the Piazza del Duomo, the photographers went wild.
Elena stepped out of the black armored Maybach looking like an absolute goddess. She wore a backless, midnight-blue silk gown that clung to her graceful curves, her dark hair swept up in an elegant vintage style, diamonds sparkling at her ears.
Beside her stood the three Moretti brothers, looking like dark kings in tailored black tuxedos. Alessandro walked on her right, Lorenzo on her left, and Matteo stepped behind them, his sharp eyes scanning the crowds with lethal efficiency.
The ambient noise in the grand hall dropped instantly as the four of them walked down the red carpet.
"Look at her," whispered a prominent interior designer near the bar. "She vanished for a month, and now she’s backed by the Morettis?"
"She isn't just backed by them," replied a corporate lawyer. "Look at the way Alessandro holds her waist. She owns them."
Elena walked with her head held high, a serene, confident smile on her face. For the first time in years, she didn't feel the crushing weight of trying to please Marco or protecting her ungrateful sister. She felt strong. She felt untouchable.
Then, across the marble floor near the main fountain, she saw them.
Marco Vance stood holding a glass of cheap prosecco, wearing a tuxedo that looked slightly rumpled. Beside him stood Sophia, wearing an overly tight red dress that looked cheap compared to the haute couture in the room.
Marco’s business had clearly taken a massive hit since Elena walked out. His primary investors had pulled out, and his firm was facing bankruptcy.
When Marco’s eyes landed on Elena, his jaw dropped. He stared at her dark blue dress, at her radiant skin, and then at the three massive, dangerous men surrounding her.
Sophia’s face flushed with violent green envy. "Elena?" she hissed loud enough for nearby guests to hear. "What are you doing here?"
Marco stepped forward, abandoning Sophia entirely as he marched toward Elena. "Elena! Where have you been?! You blocked my calls! You left the firm in chaos!"
Before Marco could get within five feet of Elena, Matteo stepped smoothly into his path like a brick wall.
Marco slammed to a halt, looking up at Matteo’s scarred jawline and dark, lethal eyes. Marco swallowed hard, terror flickering across his face. "Get out of my way. I need to speak to my fiancée."
"She is not your fiancée," Alessandro’s deep, cold voice resonated from beside Elena.
Alessandro stepped forward, placing his hand gently on the small of Elena’s back, pulling her close against his side in a clear, public declaration of ownership.
"Marco Vance," Alessandro said smoothly, his voice quiet yet terrifyingly clear across the silent room. "You are standing in front of the master architect of the Moretti estate. If you take one more step toward her, I will buy your bank loans by midnight and declare your firm insolvent before breakfast."
Marco went pale as a sheet. "Alessandro... please. She stole my firm's proprietary designs when she left!"
"That is a lie!" Elena said, her clear voice cutting through Marco’s pathetic attempt to save face. "I designed every blueprint in that office with my own hands. You couldn't draft a straight line if your life depended on it, Marco."
Sophia pushed her way past Marco, glaring at Elena with pure hatred. "You think you're so special, Elena?! You're just sleeping your way to the top! You couldn't keep Marco, so you ran to three gangsters!"
PAK!
The sharp sound of a slap echoed through the grand rotunda.
It wasn't Elena who had struck Sophia.
It was Lorenzo. He hadn't hit her hard, but his open palm had clipped Sophia’s cheek, sending her stumbling back into Marco’s arms in complete shock.
"Speak to Ms. Rossi with respect," Lorenzo said coldly, wiping his hand with a silk handkerchief as if he had touched dirt. "Or my brother will not just destroy your finances, Ms. Rossi. He will ensure you are exiled from Lombardy entirely."
The crowd gasped. Photographers snapped dozens of photos of Sophia crying, her lipstick smudged, while Marco stood paralyzed with fear, unable to defend her just as he had failed to defend Elena a month prior.
"Security," Alessandro commanded smoothly, without turning his head.
Four venue guards rushed over immediately. "Yes, Mr. Moretti?"
"Remove these two peasants from the building," Alessandro ordered flatly. "They are ruining the ambiance."
"Right away, sir!"
As Marco and Sophia were publicly humiliated and dragged out of the gala under the flashing lights of fifty cameras, Elena looked up at the three brothers standing around her.
May you like
Alessandro looked down at her, his dark eyes filled with absolute devotion. "Are you alright, mia cara?"
Elena smiled, a deep, genuine laugh bubbling up from her throat. "I have never been better, Alessandro. Never better."
