Chapter 6 - The Whispers of the Elite
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The ballroom was paralyzed. To the uninitiated, it was merely a dramatic entrance by a beautiful woman and a striking man. But to the true power players in the room—the syndicate bosses, the offshore bankers, the corrupt judges—it was the equivalent of a nuclear bomb detonating in the center of the gala.
Whispers began to spread like wildfire, frantic and sharp.
“Is that Cross?”
“What is Gabriel Cross doing in Chicago? The East Coast families said he was in Europe.”
“Who is the woman with him? Good God, is that Dominic Vale’s wife?”
Vanessa, entirely unequipped to read the true danger of the room, scoffed loudly. She let go of Dominic’s arm and took a defiant step forward, glaring at Evelyn.
“This is pathetic,” Vanessa hissed, crossing her arms over her crimson dress. “She just got dumped three hours ago, and she hired an escort to try and make you jealous, Dominic. Do you want me to have security throw them out? She’s making a fool of herself.”
Dominic finally found his voice. It was a ragged, desperate sound. He grabbed Vanessa’s wrist with brutal force, yanking her back so violently she stumbled.
“Shut your mouth,” Dominic snarled, his eyes wide with a panic Vanessa had never seen before. “Do not say another word. Do not look at them. Do not even breathe in their direction.”
“Dominic! You're hurting me!” Vanessa gasped, trying to pull her wrist free. “Who is he?”
“He is the man who owns the air you are currently breathing,” an older, gravelly voice said.
Dominic turned to see Marcus Thorne, the head of the oldest organized crime family in Chicago, stepping away from their circle. Marcus wasn't looking at Dominic with respect anymore; he was looking at him like a man already in a coffin.
“You broke a lot of rules to get to the top, Dominic,” Marcus said quietly, shaking his head. “But I never thought you were stupid enough to cross that bloodline.”
“What bloodline?” Dominic demanded, his heart hammering a frantic, agonizing rhythm against his ribs. “She’s a nobody! Her father was a retired accountant in the suburbs!”
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Marcus let out a dark, pitying laugh. “An accountant? Is that what she told you? God help you, Dominic. You married the devil’s daughter, and you just handed her the keys to hell.”
Dominic turned back to the center of the room. Evelyn and Gabriel were walking slowly, deliberately, straight toward him. The sea of wealthy, powerful guests parted for them instinctively, leaving a wide, empty aisle on the ballroom floor.
