Chapter 6 - THE RED BALLROOM
News of Matteo’s declaration spread through Chicago's underground like wildfire.
By nightfall, every major political boss, syndicate chief, and corporate lawyer in the city knew that the elusive, untouchable Matteo Valente had put a protective shield over the two daughters of Anthony Moretti.
To cement his claim and show absolute dominance, Matteo did something unprecedented.
He announced that the grand ballroom of the Valente estate—closed since his mother’s death seven years ago—would reopen on Saturday night for the annual winter gala.
For four days, the mansion was a whirlwind of activity.
Caterers, florists, and decorators flooded the ground floor. Massive crystal chandeliers were lowered, cleaned, and rehung, casting brilliant diamond light across the restored mahogany floorboards.
I sat on the edge of a velvet couch in a high-end dress shop in downtown Chicago, accompanied by two female bodyguards provided by Matteo.
A famous French designer was adjusting the hem of a breathtaking ruby-red silk gown. The dress was elegant yet daring—off-the-shoulder, fitting tight at her waist, and cascading down into a long, liquid silk train.
"Mademoiselle, you look like royalty," the designer swooned, tucking a pin into the seam.
Elena looked at herself in the floor-length mirror. She hardly recognized the woman looking back. The tired, pale maid with messy hair and worn shoes was gone. In her place stood a striking, confident woman with glowing skin, dark hair styled in soft waves, and a diamond necklace resting against her collarbone—a personal gift sent by Matteo that very morning.
Saturday evening arrived.
Cars lined up for half a mile down the private driveway of the Valente estate. The grand ballroom was packed with over two hundred of Chicago’s most powerful figures: corrupt politicians, shipping barons, high-society elites, and syndicate bosses dressed in expensive tuxedos.
Elena stood at the top of the grand marble staircase leading down into the ballroom, her hand resting on the carved mahogany railing. Her heart was beating frantically.
"Nervous?" a low, warm voice asked behind her.
Elena turned.
Matteo stood at the top of the stairs, wearing a bespoke black tuxedo with a black bow tie. He looked devastatingly handsome, his dark hair pulled back neatly, his sharp jaw freshly shaved.
His gray eyes swept over her red silk dress, stopping at the diamond necklace resting against her chest. A look of fierce, unadulterated desire flared in his eyes.
"You are breathtaking," Matteo murmured, offering his arm to her.
"Thank you," Elena said, taking his arm. Her fingers trembled slightly against his dark sleeve. "Are you sure about this, Matteo? Bringing me out in front of all these people?"
"I want them to see," Matteo replied smoothly, leaning down so his lips brushed the crown of her ear. "I want every man in this city to see who you belong to."
Together, they descended the grand staircase.
The moment Matteo and Elena stepped into the brilliant light of the ballroom, the loud chatter of the crowd withered into a shocked, collective silence.
Hundreds of eyes turned toward them.
Gasps echoed through the room as people recognized Elena Moretti—the daughter of the disgraced accountant—walking hand-in-hand with the king of Chicago.
Among the crowd stood Bianca Falcone and her father, Don Hector Falcone—a short, heavy-set man with cruel eyes and a silver cane. Don Hector glared at Matteo and Elena with pure venom, his knuckles white against his cane.
Matteo completely ignored them. He led Elena directly into the center of the dance floor.
The orchestra began to play a slow, sweeping waltz.
Matteo pulled Elena into his arms. One of his large hands settled firmly against the small of her back, pressing her tight against his body, while his other hand clasped hers in an iron grip.
Elena looked up into his dark eyes as they began to glide effortlessly across the polished floor.
"They're staring," Elena whispered.
"Let them stare," Matteo murmured, spinning her smoothly beneath the chandelier. "They are looking at a masterwork."
"Matteo..." she breathed, her cheeks flushing warm.
May you like
He looked down at her, his expression softening into something raw and fiercely possessive. "I promised myself I would destroy everyone who hurt your family, Elena. But tonight, I only want to dance with you."
For three glorious minutes, the rest of the world vanished. The syndicate rivalries, the stolen ledgers, the fear, and the blood disappeared, leaving only the rhythm of the music and the heat of Matteo’s body wrapped around hers.
