Chapter 3 - The Gala of Blood and Velvet
The Grand Regency Hotel rose thirty stories above the heart of the city’s financial district—a towering monument of black glass, brass, and velvet.
Tonight, the top three floors were locked down under Condition Black. Armed men in identical charcoal suits guarded every elevator bank, every fire stairwell, and every service entrance. The annual Commission Assembly was the most dangerous gathering in the state: a night where five rival syndicate families met under a temporary truce to divide territories, settle disputes, and flaunt their wealth.
Outside the main entrance, a fleet of black armored sedans pulled up to the red carpet.
Inside the rear seat of a stretched Maybach, Ivy sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
She wore a breathtaking midnight-blue silk gown that draped gracefully across her shoulders, sweeping down to the floor in a sleek, elegant silhouette. A delicate diamond necklace rested against her collarbone—a gift from Carmine’s private vault—shimmering under the streetlights. The swelling around her left eye had completely faded under Dr. Elena’s care, leaving her pale, sculpted features striking and radiant.
Beside her, Carmine DeLuca looked like an emperor. He wore a custom black tuxedo with velvet lapels, a crisp white shirt, and a black silk bow tie. His dark hair was brushed back, his jaw sharp and clean-shaven.
He noticed her fingers trembling.
Without a word, Carmine reached across the leather seat and covered her hands with his large, warm palm.
“Breathe, Ivy,” he said softly.
“There are men with guns outside every window,” she whispered, looking at the dark glass. “What if Rocco’s brother tries something?”
“Vinnie Rossi is a coward who hides behind Moretti’s coat,” Carmine said, his voice as steady as granite. “And Moretti will not dare strike inside the Regency. The Commission rules dictate instant death for anyone who breaks the truce during the summit.”
Carmine squeezed her hands gently, his thumb tracing the soft skin of her knuckles.
“You do not need to speak to anyone,” he added, looking into her eyes. “You only need to hold your head high. You are with me.”
The driver opened the heavy rear door.
Carmine stepped out first, adjusting his jacket as dozens of private security guards snapped to attention. He turned and offered his hand to Ivy.
Ivy took a deep, steadying breath, placed her hand in his, and stepped out onto the red carpet.
The private elevator whisked them up to the Grand Ballroom on the thirtieth floor. As the heavy double doors opened, a wave of classical violin music, clinking champagne flutes, and low, powerful laughter washed over them.
The ballroom was a sea of dark suits, silk evening gowns, crystal chandeliers, and security details moving quietly along the perimeter.
The moment Carmine DeLuca entered the room, the volume of the conversation dropped by half.
Eyes turned toward them from every corner of the grand hall. Heads leaned together in hurried whispers. Powerful men who controlled docks, shipping lines, and political offices watched with sharp, calculating eyes as the city’s most feared don walked into the room.
And at his side was a woman no one recognized.
Ivy felt the weight of a hundred stares burning into her skin. But she remembered Carmine’s words. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and walked at his side with the quiet, regal grace of a woman who belonged in the light.
“Look at them,” Carmine murmured near her ear, a faint, dangerous smile touching his lips. “They are trying to figure out which foreign ambassador’s daughter you are.”
Ivy let out a tiny, soft laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “If they only knew I scrubbed the grease off your kitchen stove three nights ago.”
“They will never know,” Carmine whispered back. “And even if they did, you carry yourself better than any of their pampered wives.”
They moved toward the central bar, where Gideon was already waiting with two glasses of vintage champagne.
Before Carmine could take a glass, a sharp, mocking voice echoed from the center of the floor.
“Carmine! You made it!”
The crowd parted slowly.
Fabrizio Moretti walked toward them. He was a man in his late fifties, thick-set, with slicked-back grey hair, a heavily lined face, and an expensive silver suit that couldn't hide his crude posture. Behind him stood three heavy enforcers, and beside them was a younger, thinner man with furious, red-rimmed eyes.
Vinnie Rossi.
Ivy’s pulse spiked as her eyes met Vinnie’s. The family resemblance to Rocco was unmistakable—the same thick jaw, the same cruel, arrogant eyes. Vinnie glared at Ivy with pure, unadulterated hatred.
“Fabrizio,” Carmine said calmly, turning to face the rival boss. He didn't offer a hand. He stood like a stone wall, his hand resting comfortably on Ivy’s waist.
Moretti’s small, dark eyes flicked from Carmine to Ivy, taking in her diamond necklace and silk gown with a sly, greasy smile.
“I see you brought a guest, DeLuca,” Moretti purred, sipping his scotch. “Strange... I heard rumors around town that you had a domestic dispute in your house three days ago. One of your best enforcers—Rocco Rossi—vanished into thin air.”
Moretti gestured to the young man beside him.
“Poor Vinnie here is heartbroken,” Moretti continued, his voice loud enough to draw a crowd of curious onlookers. “He claims his brother was betrayed over a silly misunderstanding regarding a servant girl. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Carmine?”
The ballroom went dead silent. The string quartet stopped playing.
Vinnie stepped forward, his voice cracking with rage. “Where is my brother, DeLuca?! What did you do to Rocco?!”
Carmine didn't flinch. He didn't even look at Vinnie. He kept his eyes locked entirely on Don Fabrizio Moretti.
“Rocco Rossi broke the sacred law of my house,” Carmine declared, his voice carrying through the quiet hall like a velvet hammer. “He laid his hands on an innocent woman under my protection. He proved himself to be a rabid dog.”
Carmine took a step closer to Moretti, the air pressure around them seeming to plummet.
“I do not keep rabid dogs in my family, Fabrizio,” Carmine murmured coldly. “I remove them.”
Moretti’s smile faltered slightly. “She’s a maid, Carmine! A fifty-dollar night servant! You broke a loyal soldier over a piece of trash from the street—”
CLACK.
The sound of a heavy glass shattering against the marble floor echoed through the room.
Carmine’s arm had moved so fast no one saw it coming. He caught Moretti by his silk lapels, dragging the older boss forward until their faces were inches apart.
Four of Moretti’s guards drew their weapons, but within half a second, six of Carmine’s snipers positioned on the upper mezzanine clicked their laser sights onto Moretti’s forehead. Six bright red dots danced across Moretti’s skin.
The ballroom gasped.
“Listen to me very carefully, Fabrizio,” Carmine hissed, his voice so quiet and terrifying that even Moretti went pale. “Her name is Ivy. She is not a servant. She is under my personal, absolute protection. If you or any of your dogs ever speak her name again, or look at her with anything less than absolute respect, I will wipe the Moretti family off the map before the sun rises.”
Moretti swallowed hard, staring at the red laser dots on his chest. He held up his hands slowly, signaling his men to stand down.
“Easy, Carmine…” Moretti stammered, his arrogance evaporating into cold sweat. “It was just business… a misunderstanding…”
Carmine released Moretti’s lapels with a flick of his wrist, pushing the older man back. He turned to Vinnie Rossi, who was trembling in fear behind his boss.
“If I see you in this city tomorrow morning, Vinnie,” Carmine said softly, “you will join your brother.”
Carmine turned back to Ivy, offering his arm with complete, flawless grace, as if nothing had happened.
“Shall we get a breath of fresh air on the terrace, my love?” he asked softly.
Ivy looked into his eyes, her heart swelling with an emotion so deep and powerful it terrified her.
May you like
“Yes, Carmine,” she whispered, slipping her arm through his. “I’d love that.”
They walked across the silent ballroom, leaving the shattered rival boss and the humbled mobsters behind them in the dust.
