Chapter 10 - The Banquet of Scorpions
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The Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel glittered beneath crystal chandeliers the size of small automobiles.
The room was packed with over two hundred people, representing the most dangerous dynasties on the American eastern seaboard.
Men in tailored tuxedos sipped aged scotch, while women draped in diamonds and designer furs laughed with performative grace.
At the center of the hall sat a massive horseshoe table covered in white linen, reserved for the Five Families Commission.
Sofia Moretti was holding court near the head of the table, dressed in a striking, figure-hugging emerald green gown.
She stood with one hand gently resting on her lower stomach, a modest, demure expression painted carefully across her porcelain face.
Around her, several older matriarchs of the syndicate were offering hushed congratulations.
“Salvatore has outdone himself,” an old don muttered to his associate.
“A merger between Moretti and Cavallo will unite the docks and the transport unions permanently.”
“Assuming Vincent agrees to put the ring on her finger,” the associate replied.
“He has no choice,” Salvatore Moretti chuckled from his seat, puffing on an illegal Cuban cigar.
“The boy may be ruthless, but he knows the law of the Commission.”
“He wouldn't dare humiliate my daughter in front of the entire assembly.”
Suddenly, the massive double oak doors of the ballroom swung open with a resounding thud.
The room’s lively chatter began to die down, row by row, table by table, until an eerie, breathless silence fell over the hall.
Vincent Cavallo stood in the threshold.
He looked every inch the supreme sovereign of New York, radiating a cold, lethal aura that made seasoned hitmen instinctively reach for their lapels.
But it was not Vincent who commanded the room’s undivided attention.
It was the woman on his arm.
Arabella Crawford walked beside him, radiating breathtaking poise and untouchable dignity in her ivory silk gown.
Every eye in the room locked onto her.
They had all heard the rumors that Vincent’s secretary had been butchered and dumped in a dockside alley.
Yet here she stood, breathing, beautiful, and completely unbroken.
Sofia’s wine glass slipped from her hand, shattering against the parquet floor in a splash of red liquid.
“What is she doing here?” Sofia hissed, her voice trembling with sudden, uncontrolled venom.
Salvatore’s cigar froze halfway to his mouth, his eyes widening in pure disbelief.
Vincent ignored the hundreds of staring eyes, guiding Arabella across the ballroom with calm, deliberate grace.
Every step they took was synchronized, a united front moving through hostile territory.
When they reached the center of the head table, Vincent pulled out a chair next to his own assigned seat and waited for Arabella to sit.
She settled into the seat with imperial grace, smoothing the ivory silk over her knees.
Vincent took his seat beside her, resting his large hands flat on the white tablecloth.
The silence in the room was so heavy that the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner sounded like thunder.
Sofia recovered her composure, her face hardening into a venomous smile as she stepped toward the table.
“Vincent, darling,” Sofia purred, projecting her voice so the entire room could hear.
“I am so glad you finally arrived.”
“Though I am quite confused why you brought your administrative help to a closed Commission summit.”
“Surely she belongs outside with the coats?”
Arabella didn't flinch; she merely turned her head and looked at Sofia with cool, pitying amusement.
Vincent slowly leaned back in his chair, his eyes locking onto Sofia like twin barrels of a loaded shotgun.
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“My secretary stays wherever I tell her to sit, Sofia,” Vincent said, his voice carrying clearly to every corner of the ballroom.
“And right now, she has something she wants to show your father.”
