Chapter 3 - The Seventy-Million-Dollar Question
The question echoed softly off the vaulted ceilings of the Belmont Grand Ballroom, drawing gasps from the front rows.
What do you want?
It wasn't a question directed at a social equal. It wasn't the kind of phrasing a billionaire used when addressing hired help. It was an inquiry issued with absolute, unyielding seriousness, as if Dante Moretti had paused the entire geopolitical and financial machinery of the city just to wait for her answer.
Elena hesitated. Her mind raced. She could ask for an apology—though an apology forced under the gaze of a hundred snobs would only make her feel smaller. She could ask for permission to leave right now, to flee back to her tiny apartment and the safety of her textbooks.
Instead, looking up into those dark, storm-grey eyes, she spoke the absolute truth.
“I want to wake up tomorrow without regretting that I came here.”
Something shifted in Dante’s expression. The sharp, predatory angles of his jawline relaxed just a fraction. A faint, unreadable shadow crossed his eyes—something that looked remarkably like profound, weary understanding.
Before anyone else could speak, an attorney in a crisp charcoal suit hurried forward from the dais, holding a thick leather folder embossed with silver lettering.
"Mr. Moretti," the attorney said nervously, offering a gold-plated Montblanc pen. "The wedding agreement and asset consolidation contract. Seventy million in combined portfolio valuation, conditional upon the union of the Moretti and Vale houses. If you could just sign on page forty-two..."
Victoria Vale relaxed, her triumphant smile returning to her lips. She tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder and looked at Elena with a look of pure, unadulterated disdain.
"There," Victoria said smoothly, stepping closer to Dante, her voice dripping with condescension. “You’ve had your little moment of charity, Mr. Moretti. Now let’s get back to business.”
Then, Victoria made her fatal mistake.
She looked directly at Elena, her eyes narrowing into cold slits.
“You’re throwing away seventy million dollars because a nurse got her feelings hurt?”
The words dropped into the silence like a lead weight.
Elena’s face fell. The fragile armor she had built around herself shattered completely. She felt the tears stinging the backs of her eyes, and she turned her head away, blinking rapidly, desperate not to let them fall in front of these monsters.
Dante noticed.
He didn't look at Victoria. He didn't look at the attorney holding the gold pen.
Slowly, deliberately, Dante reached out and took the heavy leather-bound portfolio from the attorney’s hands.
Victoria beamed, clasping her hands together. "Wise choice, Dante. Let's finish this."
Dante opened the folder. He didn't turn to page forty-two. He opened it right to the signature page where the seventy-million-dollar valuation and the corporate asset transfers were laid out in crisp, legally binding black and white.
He stared at the paper for three long seconds.
Then—
RIP.
The sound tore through the quiet ballroom like a gunshot.
The first page ripped cleanly in half, the heavy parchment parting beneath his long, calloused fingers.
The Belmont Grand Ballroom gasped as one. Several women shrieked softly, clapping their hands over their mouths.
Dante didn't hesitate. He took the two halves, folded them over, and tore them again.
And again.
Seventy million dollars of family deals, property rights, shipping monopolies, and corporate partnerships rained down like confetti across the polished Italian marble floor, fluttering white against the dark stone.
Victoria went completely, chalk-white pale. Her jaw dropped, and she stumbled backward, her diamond-encrusted heels catching on the hem of her gown.
“Dante... Dante, what are you doing?!” she stammered, her voice cracking with sudden, unhinged panic. “Have you lost your mind?! That’s the merger of the decade! That’s seventy million dollars!”
Dante closed the empty leather folder with a soft, dull thud. He looked at her with eyes as cold as a frozen ocean.
“Declining.”
Then, his gaze swept slowly across the terrified, frozen faces of the two hundred guests arrayed around the room.
“Anyone who photographed her humiliation will delete it right now,” Dante commanded, his voice not raised, yet carrying the crushing weight of an absolute, unquestionable decree.
Not a single person moved. Several men with high-end cameras lowered their lenses instantly, frantically fumbling with their settings to wipe their memory cards.
Elena stared at Dante, her breath hitching, her heart hammering against her ribs. She reached out, her small hand brushing against the sleeve of his obsidian suit jacket.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Please don't do this because of me.”
Dante looked down at her. The fierce, terrifying predator vanished for a brief second, replaced by a gaze so steady and intense that it made her knees weak.
“I'm not,” Dante said softly, his voice meant only for her ears.
May you like
Then, his eyes shifted back up, locking onto Victoria with lethal precision.
“I'm doing it because cruelty tells me more about a person than a contract ever could.”
