Chapter 13 - Blood and Silk
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When the private elevator doors opened on the ballroom floor, the noise of the gala died almost instantly.
Dante rolled forward, his posture rigid, his face an impenetrable mask of power. Lena walked exactly one half-step behind his right shoulder. The blood-red velvet of her dress swept across the marble, the diamonds at her throat catching the chandeliers' light.
Every eye in the room turned toward them.
The whispers started immediately. They weren't whispering about Dante’s wheelchair. They were whispering about the stunning, unfamiliar woman commanding the space beside him.
Marcus separated himself from a group of capos and walked toward them, his charming smile firmly in place, though his eyes were cold.
“Dante,” Marcus beamed, holding a glass of champagne. “We were beginning to wonder if you were going to make it down from the tower. And Lena... my, don't you clean up nicely for the hired help.”
Lena didn't flinch. She met Marcus’s eyes with absolute icy indifference.
Before Dante could speak, Vivian appeared from the crowd, clinging to the arm of her father, Don Rossi. Vivian wore a silver dress, but next to the rich, vibrant red of Lena’s gown, she looked entirely washed out.
“Dante,” Don Rossi growled, a massive, intimidating man with a thick cigar. “You insulted my family. You threw my daughter out like trash. You bring a maid to a sit-down, and you expect us to respect you?”
“I threw your daughter out because she is a liar and a liability, Rossi,” Dante said smoothly, his voice carrying over the silent room. “And I brought Lena because I value loyalty over entitlement.”
Vivian sneered, stepping forward. “She’s a gold-digger, Dante. She’s using you because you’re crippled and vulnerable. Everyone in this room knows you can't hold this territory from a chair anymore.”
The insult was a direct challenge. The capos in the room shifted uncomfortably, waiting to see how the king would respond to the blatant disrespect.
Dante didn't yell. He didn't order his guards to shoot.
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He slowly placed his hands on the armrests of his wheelchair.
He looked at Lena. She stepped forward, standing directly beside him, offering her arm not as a crutch, but as an anchor.
