Chapter 4 - The Gala of Vipers
The grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel was a sea of black silk, diamonds, and white gold. Over five hundred of Chicago's elite—judges, politicians, police captains, and the high-ranking members of the city's five criminal families—mingled beneath the massive crystal chandeliers, drinking champagne that cost more than a working man’s monthly mortgage.
Dominic stood near the balcony overlooking the ballroom, a crystal glass of scotch in his hand. He wore a tailored tuxedo, his shirt studs made of black onyx, his cufflinks the same ones he had worn the night before. His face was an impenetrable mask of serene, powerful hospitality.
Beside him stood Victoria, looking breathtakingly elegant in a backless emerald-green gown. Her blonde hair was pinned up with diamond clips, and she smiled at the passing guests with the grace of a reigning queen. Her hand rested lightly on Dominic's forearm, her fingers occasionally stroking his sleeve with a gesture that looked like affection but felt to Dominic like the touch of a serpent.
"You seem distant tonight, darling," Victoria murmured, lifting her glass to her lips. "Are you still worrying about the children? I told you, I left them with Elena. She’s so wonderful with them. She promised to keep them in their rooms so they wouldn't disrupt our big night."
"I'm just thinking about the future, Victoria," Dominic said, his voice smooth, completely devoid of the violence simmering beneath his skin. "About how much everything is going to change after tonight."
"It's going to be beautiful," she whispered, her eyes flashing with a cold, triumphant light. "We’re going to build a new world together."
Frank Corva, Dominic's underboss, approached them from the crowd. He was a massive man with a thick neck and a face scarred by decades of street wars. He gave Dominic a warm, boisterous clap on the shoulder—the same hand that had signed the asset transfer documents to steal his family’s legacy.
"Boss," Frank said, his eyes darting briefly to Victoria before settling on Dominic. "The lawyers are waiting in the private library on the fourth floor. Anthony Bianchi has the final power of attorney papers ready for your signature before the main dinner begins. We should head up. Get the business out of the way so we can celebrate."
"Of course," Dominic said, taking a slow sip of his scotch. "Let’s not keep the lawyers waiting."
As they walked toward the private elevators, Dominic caught sight of a waiter clearing glasses near the pillar. The waiter had a sharp, military posture and a small, flesh-colored earpiece tucked into her ear. It was Elena, her dark hair tucked beneath a service cap, her eyes locking onto Dominic’s for a fraction of a second. The trap was set.
The private library on the fourth floor was a quiet sanctuary of mahogany shelves and green leather chairs, entirely insulated from the thunderous music of the ballroom below. Anthony Bianchi, the Moretti family CFO, sat at a large desk, three thick leather-bound folders laid open before him.
Dominic walked into the room, Victoria on his arm, with Frank closing the heavy oak door behind them. The click of the lock felt like the final chord of a symphony.
"Everything is ready, Dominic," Anthony said, his hands trembling slightly as he handed a heavy Montblanc pen to the boss. "Just sign on the highlighted lines on pages twelve, fourteen, and twenty. This will integrate the family trusts and secure Victoria’s position as the primary executor in the event of an emergency."
Dominic took the pen. He looked down at the documents, his eyes catching the complex legal jargon that would have stripped his children of every dime their mother had left them.
"You know, Frank," Dominic said, spinning the expensive pen between his fingers. "My father always told me that a man who doesn't check his own perimeter deserves to be eaten by the wolves."
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Frank frowned, taking a step closer to the desk. "What’s that supposed to mean, boss?"
"It means," Dominic said, dropping the pen onto the paper and looking up, his eyes entirely black with a ferocity that made Anthony Bianchi instinctively slide his chair back. "That I checked my perimeter."
