Chapter 13 - THE TRIAL OF WHISPERS
|
Dinner proceeded with exquisite elegance, course after course of gourmet dishes served by a attentive, professional staff.
Yet, beneath the chiming of crystal flutes and the music of the live orchestra, the venomous whispers of high society persisted.
While Luca stepped away to the terrace to speak privately with an Italian trade commissioner, I walked to the refreshment station for sparkling water.
As I waited near the marble columns, three prominent socialites in designer gowns stepped into my path, blocking my return to the table.
Leading them was Eleanor Vance, a sixty-year-old dowager whose late husband had run the city’s private banking lines.
Eleanor looked at me down the bridge of her powdered nose, her thin lips curled in a condescending sneer.
“Well, well,” Eleanor purred, loud enough for a dozen surrounding guests to hear.
“It seems Cinderella really did trade her dustpan for a velvet gown.”
The two women beside her giggled behind their manicured hands.
I took a slow sip of my sparkling water, keeping my posture upright and my expression completely serene.
“Good evening, Mrs. Vance,” I said politely.
“I hope you’re enjoying the gala.”
“The gala is lovely, my dear,” Eleanor scoffed, tapping her diamond-encrusted fan against her wrist.
“Though it’s rather shocking to see the standards of the Moretti household decline so drastically.”
“In my day, a maid knew her place was in the service corridor, not seated beside the Don at an official banquet.”
Several guests nearby stopped their conversations, watching the public humiliation unfold with eager eyes.
“I worked hard for my living, Mrs. Vance,” I replied calmly, my voice steady and unyielding.
“There is no shame in honest labor.”
“Honest labor?” Eleanor laughed derisively.
“You are a South Side opportunist who used a little girl’s tears to claw your way into a fortune.”
“You think because Luca bought you a pretty dress, this city will ever accept you as an equal?”
“You will always be the girl who scrubbed the toilets.”
Before I could answer, a shadow fell across the marble floor behind Eleanor.
The temperature around the column seemed to drop ten degrees in a single second.
“Is that what you believe, Eleanor?”
The deep, lethal voice silenced the entire section of the ballroom instantly.
Eleanor froze, the cruel smirk vanishing from her face as she slowly turned around.
Luca Moretti stood directly behind her, his hands clasped casually behind his back.
His dark eyes were devoid of any mercy, burning with a cold, terrifying fire that made the three women shrink in terror.
“Luca... darling,” Eleanor stammered, clutching her pearls with trembling fingers.
“We were just having a pleasant conversation with your charming young guest—”
“I heard every word that came out of your mouth, Eleanor,” Luca interrupted, his voice dropping into a deadly, rhythmic whisper.
“And every word was an insult to the future Donna of this house.”
A collective gasp echoed through the surrounding crowd.
Future Donna.
The words struck Eleanor like a physical slap to the face.
“Emma Sullivan did not claw her way into my house,” Luca said, stepping forward until he towered over the shaking dowager.
“She stood between my daughter and a loaded gun while you and your cowardly husband ran from shadows.”
“She has more honor, courage, and nobility in her little finger than your entire family has possessed in five generations.”
Luca turned to face the entire assembly of watching guests.
“Eleanor Vance, your family’s credit lines with the Moretti bank are officially terminated as of midnight.”
“You have ten minutes to collect your coat and leave this property.”
“And if anyone else in this room shares her opinion of Emma, you may join her at the front gate right now.”
Dead silence fell over the ballroom.
Not a single person moved or dared to breathe.
Eleanor Vance turned ashen gray, bursting into humiliated tears as she gathered her skirts and fled toward the coat check.
Luca turned back to me, the fury in his eyes evaporating instantly.
He offered his arm, smiling with breathtaking warmth.
May you like
“Shall we return to our table, my love?” he whispered.
I took his arm, my chin lifted high, walking through the parting crowd as the true queen of his heart.
