Chapter 7 - The Trap at the Gala
Three weeks later, the annual Chicago Maritime Gala was held at the Navy Pier Ballroom.
It was the premier social event of the season—a glittering, high-society spectacle where the city's elite, politicians, law enforcement brass, and wealthy industrialists gathered to drink champagne, bid on auction items, and pretend that the underworld didn't control half the docks in the harbor.
For Salvatore, attendance was mandatory. It was the public face of his legitimate logistics empire.
And for the first time, he was bringing a date.
I stood before the full-length mirror in the penthouse suite, staring at a stranger.
I was wearing a floor-length dress of deep emerald velvet that hugged my curves and flared out softly at the floor. My dark hair was styled in an elegant, soft updo, revealing the curve of my neck and a pair of teardrop emerald earrings that Salvatore had given me that morning.
I looked like a princess. But inside, my nerves were frayed to a thin wire.
Salvatore walked up behind me in the reflection. He wore a traditional black tuxedo, looking impossibly broad, regal, and dangerous.
He slid his hands around my waist, pulling my back against his chest. He leaned down, kissing the sensitive spot beneath my ear.
[YOU ARE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN THIS CITY,] he signed in the mirror, his thumbs stroking my hipbones through the velvet.
[I AM TERRIFIED,] I signed back, smiling nervously. [WHAT IF I SAY SOMETHING WRONG? WHAT IF THEY LOOK AT ME AND SEE A WAITRESS?]
Salvatore turned me around to face him. He took my chin gently in his fingers.
[LET THEM LOOK,] he signed with absolute pride. [THEY WILL SEE THE ONLY WOMAN POWERFUL ENOUGH TO STAND BESIDE ME.]
When we arrived at Navy Pier, the flashbulbs of the paparazzi were blinding.
Reporters shouted questions as Salvatore led me down the red carpet, his hand firm and possessive at the small of my back. He ignored them completely, his eyes fixed straight ahead, navigating the crowd with effortless majesty.
Inside the ballroom, the atmosphere was suffocatingly opulent. Crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, casting a brilliant light over hundreds of guests in tuxedos and evening gowns.
As we moved through the room, I noticed the subtle shifts in the crowd. People parted before Salvatore like the Red Sea. Whispers followed in our wake like ripples on water.
"Is that Marquetti?"
"Who is the girl?"
"I heard she's a nobody... a server from L’Éclipse..."
"Look at the way he looks at her..."
I kept my chin up, my posture regal, anchoring myself to the solid warmth of Salvatore’s presence.
For the first hour, everything was perfect. Salvatore navigated the corporate handshakes with effortless lip-reading, while I subtly backed him up, using graceful, natural body language to signal when someone was speaking behind him or out of his field of vision. We were a seamless, unbeatable team.
Then, the trap sprung.
Salvatore was called away to a private corner of the mezzanine by the Port Authority Chairman—a crucial meeting regarding a forty-million-dollar dock lease. He gave my hand a gentle squeeze, signaling that he would be five minutes, and left Viktor with me.
I stepped toward the champagne fountain to grab a glass of water.
Suddenly, a voice boomed over the ballroom’s main public address system.
"Ladies and gentlemen! May I have your attention please!"
I turned. Standing near the central stage, holding a microphone, was Dominic Vance.
He had a glass of scotch in one hand and a cruel, triumphant smile on his face. Beside him, standing near the sound mixing board, was Brett—wearing a cheap tuxedo, looking nervous but intensely eager.
My stomach dropped into a abyss of ice.
"Tonight, we celebrate progress in our great city!" Dominic shouted into the microphone, his voice echoing loudly through the massive ballroom. Every conversation in the room ground to a sudden halt. "And speaking of progress, I want to propose a special toast to our great leader, Salvatore Marquetti!"
The crowd clapped politely, looking confused by the sudden breach of protocol.
On the mezzanine balcony, Salvatore heard the sudden shift in the room's energy and walked to the railing, looking down. His eyes caught mine, filled with instant concern.
Dominic smiled up at Salvatore, then turned back to the microphone.
"Salvatore is a man of few words!" Dominic continued, his voice dripping with venomous sarcasm. "In fact, some might say he's a man of no words at all! Isn't that right, Salvatore?"
Dominic suddenly turned his back to the mezzanine, lowered his voice slightly, and shouted a question directly at the ceiling toward a corner of the room:
"Salvatore! The Mayor just asked if you're ready to sign the harbor deal! What's your answer?!"
The room went dead silent.
Everyone turned to look up at Salvatore on the balcony.
Salvatore stood at the railing. Because Dominic was facing away from him, and because the acoustics of the vaulted ceiling scrambled the sound, Salvatore couldn't read Dominic’s lips. He didn't know what was being asked. He didn't even know a direct question had been put to him in front of three hundred of the most powerful people in the city.
He sat there, completely silent, staring down with his usual cold, impassive mask.
Snickers began to break out among the crowd.
"Why isn't he answering?"
"Is he arrogant, or just crazy?"
Dominic raised his hands in mock confusion. "What's the matter, Boss? Can't hear me? Or are you just hiding behind your pretty little waitress because you can't run this family anymore?!"
It was a masterstroke of humiliation. In ten seconds, Dominic had exposed Salvatore’s weakness to the entire city, framing it not as a disability, but as incompetence and vulnerability.
May you like
I looked up at the balcony. I saw the realization dawn in Salvatore’s hazel eyes as he registered the mocking faces of the crowd. I saw the sudden, agonizing shadow of humiliation cross his face—the same horror he had suffered as a twelve-year-old boy being shouted at by his brutal father.
No, I thought, a fire bursting to life in my chest. Not tonight. Not ever again.
