Chapter 5 - THE BLACK TIE AND THE BURIED SECRETThe rain had turned to a freezing sheet of sleet by evening, beating against the reinforced glass of the Moretti estate like a flurry of iron nails. Inside the grand ballroom, however, the atmosphere was thick with the suffocating scent of expensive perfume, burning candles, and unspoken political treachery.
Tonight was the annual winter gala—a mandatory gathering where the heads of the four major syndicates in the city came to kiss the ring, exchange threats, and size each other up under the guise of high-society charity.
Clara stood near the edge of the dais, dressed in a stunning, midnight-blue silk gown that Matteo had quietly had delivered to her room an hour before the event. It hugged her waist, cascading down in sleek folds that made her look like she belonged in the high-stakes mafia underworld just as much as she belonged in the kitchen.
"You look like a weapon disguised as art," a low voice rumbled beside her.
Clara turned to see Matteo approaching, immaculate in a bespoke charcoal tuxedo, his dark hair slicked back, exuding an aura of absolute dominance. Several high-ranking capos across the room lowered their eyes the moment he walked past.
"Is this your way of complimenting me, or are you warning me that I'm a target tonight?" Clara asked, accepting a flute of sparkling champagne from a passing waiter.
"Both," Matteo replied smoothly, his eyes scanning the crowd with predatory vigilance. "Half the men in this room are wondering who the new woman on my arm is. The other half are trying to calculate how quickly they can use you to get to me."
"Let them try," Clara murmured, taking a slow sip of her drink. "I survived a 150-pound Cane Corso and a hallway shootout in less than twenty-four hours. A few Italian gangsters in expensive suits don't scare me."
A rich, dark chuckle escaped Matteo’s lips. Before he could respond, a heavily tattooed man with cold, calculating eyes approached them, flanked by two armed bodyguards. It was Don Vincenzo Rossi, the aging patriarch of the rival Rossi family, his smile entirely devoid of warmth.
"Matteo," Vincenzo rasped, his voice like grinding stones. "A magnificent party. And who is this lovely creature? Word on the street is you fired Bianca Russo and replaced her with a mysterious newcomer from the service wing. Surely you aren't letting stray cats into your inner circle?"
The tension in the room instantly spiked. Several nearby conversations died out as capos turned their attention toward them, waiting to see how Matteo would handle the public disrespect.
Matteo didn't blink. He casually stepped half an inch closer to Clara, his hand resting lightly, possessively, at the small of her back.
"Vincenzo," Matteo said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register. "My house, my rules, my company. If I want a stray cat in my inner circle, it’s none of your concern. Unless, of course, you're looking for a reason to test how sharp her claws are."
Vincenzo’s smile tightened, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Clara. "Be careful, Moretti. Pets bite when you least expect it. Especially when they realize who their owner really is."
"Are you talking about the dog, Don Rossi, or me?" Clara asked, her voice crystal clear and entirely unbothered as she stepped out from Matteo’s shadow. "Because if you're worried about biting, I'd be more concerned about keeping your own teeth intact before the night is over."
A collective gasp rippled through the surrounding crowd. No one spoke to Vincenzo Rossi that way—let alone a former maid.
Vincenzo’s face flushed a deep, ugly crimson. He opened his mouth to snap a threat, but Matteo cut him off, raising his champagne glass in a mocking toast.
"Enjoy the party, Vincenzo," Matteo said coldly. "And watch your step on the way out. The floors are slippery."
May you like
As Rossi stormed away, cursing under his breath, Matteo turned his dark, burning gaze down toward Clara. "You have a death wish, Clara Hayes."
"No," she whispered, her eyes locking onto his with fierce intensity. "I have an alibi."
