Chapter 7 - The Lioness of Lake Shore Drive
The grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel was a sea of black ties, diamond necklaces, and old-money power.
When the heavy doors opened and Mateo Duca entered with Maeve on his arm, the room went completely silent.
Maeve was a vision of breathtaking, unapologetic power.
Her dress was custom emerald-green silk velvet, plunging slightly at the neckline, hugging her lush curves with flawless precision, expanding into a dramatic mermaid train that swept the floor behind her. Her dark hair was styled in sweeping Hollywood waves, and around her neck sat the famous Duca Emerald—a forty-carat antique stone surrounded by diamonds that had belonged to Mateo’s grandmother.
She walked beside Mateo not three steps behind him, but shoulder-to-shoulder, her head held high, a cool, enigmatic smile resting on her full lips.
"They're staring," Maeve whispered out of the corner of her mouth as they greeted a group of city council members.
"Let them stare," Mateo replied quietly, his arm tightly wrapped around her waist, his hand resting possessively on the curve of her hip. "They have never seen real royalty before."
As Mateo was pulled into a conversation with a group of international shipping executives, Maeve stepped toward the bar to order a sparkling water.
"Well, well. Look at the new mob queen."
Maeve turned around slowly.
Standing behind her was Victoria Duca—Mateo’s bitter, sharp-tongued aunt, accompanied by two older women from Chicago’s high-society inner circle. Victoria wore black lace and enough diamonds to light a small city, her dark eyes looking Maeve up and down with obvious contempt.
"Mrs. Duca," Maeve said, her voice smooth and polite. "I hope you're enjoying the evening."
"I was enjoying it until I saw my nephew parading a seamstress around in family heirlooms," Victoria sneered, her voice dripping with poison. "Mateo thinks he can play games with the family legacy. He marries a girl with no pedigree, a girl whose previous fiancé ended up in federal prison for stealing her own shop. It's embarrassing."
The two women beside Victoria smirked, whispering behind their silk fans.
Maeve didn't flinch. She took a slow sip of her sparkling water, set the glass on a passing waiter’s tray, and took two deliberate steps toward Victoria.
"Callahan Textile Restoration has preserved the historical artifacts of this city for eighty years, Mrs. Duca," Maeve said, her voice low, velvety, and echoing with absolute authority. "Including the hand-woven tapestries sitting in your private estate in Lake Forest—which, if I recall correctly from my grandfather's ledgers, your family still owes my studio forty thousand dollars for restoring in 1998."
Victoria’s eyes widened in sudden shock.
"And as for pedigree," Maeve continued, her dark eyes flashing like hot iron as she stepped closer, her taller frame easily commanding the space, "I suggest you check Mateo's corporate trust filings before you speak again. My family owns three percent of the land beneath the port of Chicago. So unless you want me to advise my husband to re-evaluate your family's shipping leases at dock four, I suggest you enjoy your champagne and keep my name out of your mouth."
Victoria gasped, her face going bright red, unable to find a single word of rebuttal.
Behind Victoria, a quiet, deep chuckle echoed through the air.
Mateo stepped out from the shadows, wrapping his arm securely around Maeve's waist, pulling her back against his chest.
"Is my wife troubling you, Aunt Victoria?" Mateo asked smoothly, though his gray eyes were dangerous and sharp.
"She... she is extremely rude!" Victoria sputtered.
May you like
"She is a Duca," Mateo corrected coldly. "And she speaks with my voice. I suggest you remember that."
Without waiting for a response, Mateo turned Maeve around and led her toward the private balcony overlooking the rain-slicked city below.
