Mara didn't answer. Instead, she brought her fingers down harder against the child’s throat, her thumb pressing directly over his fragile carotid artery.

The Grand Ballroom of the Drake Hotel was a sea of crystal chandeliers, flowing champagne, and tuxedo-clad elites.

Chicago’s high society—judges, senators, corporate titans, and high-ranking police officials—chattered under the soft glow of golden lights, completely oblivious to the war raging beneath the surface of their city.

At the center of the room stood Senator Thomas Moretti.

A tall, silver-haired man in his late fifties, dressed in a bespoke tuxedo, holding a glass of vintage champagne, smiling effortlessly as he accepted compliments from local hospital directors.

Suddenly, the heavy double doors at the entrance of the ballroom swung open.

The chatter in the room did not stop immediately, but a slow, ripple of silence began near the doorway and spread rapidly across the floor.

Dominic Vale stepped into the ballroom.

He was breathtaking—dressed in a midnight-black velvet tuxedo that accentuated his broad shoulders and commanding height. His dark hair was styled impeccably, his jaw clean-shaven, exuding an aura of absolute, dangerous royalty.

But it was the woman on his arm who made every breath in the room catch.

Evelyn Hart looked extraordinary. She wore a sweeping, emerald-green silk gown that clung flawlessly to her figure, displaying a emerald necklace—the historic Vale emerald—resting against her collarbone. Her dark hair fell in luxurious waves over one shoulder, and her makeup was striking, highlighting her sharp, aristocratic beauty.

Beside Senator Moretti, Dr. Jonathan Vance—the head of the state medical board who had signed Evelyn’s revocation papers two years earlier—choked on his champagne.

"Is that... is that Evelyn Hart?" Dr. Vance whispered, his face turning pale. "What is she doing with Dominic Vale?!"

Senator Moretti’s eyes narrowed into slits of pure venom. "She was supposed to be dead or in prison by now," he muttered under his breath.

Dominic and Evelyn glided across the polished marble floor, the crowd parting naturally before them like the Red Sea. They walked straight toward the Senator's circle.

"Senator Moretti," Dominic greeted smooth as silk, offering a polite, icy bow of his head. "A magnificent evening."

Moretti forced a tight, fake smile onto his lips, extending a hand. "Dominic. I was surprised to hear you were attending. I assumed you were still mourning your brother’s... tragic accident."

Dominic accepted the handshake, his grip firm enough to make the older man’s knuckles turn white. "My mourning period is over, Senator. I have stepped into the sunlight. And I brought my fiancée."

Moretti turned his gaze to Evelyn, his eyes cold and mocking. "Ah, yes. Ms. Hart. Or should I say former Doctor Hart? I must admit, I was astonished to see you back in civilized society after your unfortunate... professional collapse."

Dr. Vance stepped up beside the Senator, puffing out his chest. "Ms. Hart, this is a private charity event for healthcare leaders. Given your revoked status regarding patient safety, I hardly think your presence here is appropriate—"

Evelyn turned her head slowly, looking at Dr. Vance with a smile so sharp it could cut glass.

"Dr. Vance," Evelyn said, her voice carrying clearly enough to catch the attention of nearby reporters and hospital board members. "How strange that you mention patient safety. I was just reviewing the federal Medicare compliance audit for your hospital's private surgical wing."

Dr. Vance froze. "What?"

Evelyn reached into her small emerald clutch bag, pulling out a sleek, micro-thin tablet.

"It appears," Evelyn continued smoothly, tapping the screen, "that over the last twenty-four months, your clinic reported thirty-seven phantom surgical procedures, billing federal insurance for sixty-four million dollars—money that was subsequently routed through a private medical supply company registered in Delaware."

She looked directly at Senator Moretti.

"A Delaware company whose primary shareholder happens to be your son, Senator."

The surrounding guests gasped. Two local investigative journalists immediately stepped closer, raising their small digital recorders.

Moretti’s face flushed with a dark, terrifying rage. "You arrogant little bitch," he whispered, taking a menacing step toward her. "You think you can come into my event and toss around fabricated lies?!"

"They aren't lies, Senator," Dominic interrupted, stepping directly between Moretti and Evelyn, his tall frame towering over the older politician. "Because ten minutes ago, my legal team handed those exact digital ledgers to the United States Attorney for the Northern District of Illinois."

Moretti gasped, staggering back a step. "You... you didn't..."

"Oh, but we did," Dominic whispered, leaning down so only Moretti could hear his next words. "And while the federal agents are freezing your assets, my men are currently occupying your warehouse in Rockford. We found the rest of the aconite solution, Senator. Along with the wire logs paying Mara Bell to murder my nephew."

Moretti looked around the room in absolute panic. At the edge of the ballroom, four men in dark suits holding federal badges stepped through the guest entrance, moving swiftly toward the Senator's position.

"This is a political setup!" Moretti screamed, backing away into a waiter’s tray, sending crystal champagne flutes shattering across the marble floor. "Dominic Vale is a mobster! He’s framing me!"

The federal agents pulled out silver handcuffs. "Senator Thomas Moretti, you are under arrest for federal corruption, wire fraud, and conspiracy to commit murder."

The ballroom exploded into utter chaos—reporters flashing cameras, guests shouting, security guards shouting orders.

Amidst the roaring noise and flashing lights, Dominic simply turned to Evelyn, offering her his arm.

"Shall we leave, my queen?" Dominic asked softly.