Chapter 3 - The Velvet TrapThe ballroom gala was supposed to be a celebration of power, but it felt more like a wake dressed in silk and diamonds.
Men in tailored Italian suits stood in clusters around marble pillars, nursing Scotch and discussing shipping lanes, union votes, and federal indictments. Women in glittering evening gowns laughed with glass-like perfection, their eyes constantly scanning the room for social advantage.
Sophia stood near the service doors, wearing her simple black maid’s uniform, holding a silver tray loaded with flutes of champagne. Her arms ached, but her mind was entirely on Emma, who was asleep in the small cot set up in the laundry room two floors down, watched over by a sleeping Mrs. Costa.
Then, the doors swung open, and Vivian Romano entered.
She looked breathtaking in a crimson silk gown that clung to her curves like liquid fire, her throat adorned with a heavy diamond choker—a gift from Dominic’s vaults. On her arm walked her father, Salvatore Romano, flanked by two towering bodyguards.
Dominic stepped forward to greet them, looking immaculate in his black suit. He kissed Vivian’s cheek with cold, mechanical precision.
"You look stunning, Vivian," Dominic said, his voice entirely devoid of warmth.
"Save the charm for the boardrooms, Dominic," Vivian murmured with a sharp smile, though her eyes flashed with irritation at his chilliness. "My father wants to talk about the port distribution rights in New Jersey. Before we walk down the aisle, I expect my family to hold fifty percent equity."
Dominic’s expression didn't change, but his eyes grew razor-sharp. "The terms of our engagement were discussed, Vivian. Fifty percent is off the table."
Before Vivian could snap a reply, a small commotion echoed from the service hallway.
The heavy oak door creaked open.
A tiny figure stepped out into the grand ballroom.
Emma.
She had woken up from her nap, missed her mother, and wandered out of the laundry room. She wore her crooked blue knit hat pulled low over her messy curls, and only one red rain boot—the other was lost somewhere in the labyrinth of the mansion's service wing. Dragging behind her was Mr. Hops, his gray ears trailing across the priceless Italian marble.
The entire ballroom fell dead silent. Forty pairs of lethal eyes turned toward the three-year-old intruder.
Vivian Romano froze, her face twisting into an expression of absolute disgust.
"What in God's name is that?" Vivian hissed, stepping away from Dominic.
Sophia, horror-stricken, dropped her tray of champagne flutes. The crystal glasses shattered against the marble with a deafening crash, spraying sparkling wine across the floor.
"Emma!" Sophia screamed, sprinting across the polished floor.
But Vivian was faster. Incensed by the intrusion and humiliated in front of her father’s inner circle, Vivian stepped into Sophia’s path and raised her hand, aiming a vicious slap straight across Sophia’s face.
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"Don't you dare order my mommy around!"
That was when Emma’s voice cut through the air, and the trajectory of the Moretti syndicate changed forever.
