Chapter 7 - The Plaza Ball
When the double mahogany doors of the Plaza ballroom opened, the heavy noise of a hundred elite conversations instantly died down.
Alessandro stepped onto the grand staircase, his arm linked firmly with Lily’s.
Lily held her head high, her posture regal, her navy velvet gown catching the warm light of the chandeliers. Beside her, Alessandro carried himself like an emperor, his amber gaze sweeping across the crowd, daring anyone to make a sound.
As they descended the stairs, people parted like the Red Sea.
A wealthy socialite named Isabella Falcone—a thin, glamorous woman who had spent two years trying to marry Alessandro—stepped forward holding a champagne flute, her expression dripping with subtle venom.
"Alessandro, darling," Isabella purred, her eyes scanning Lily with cruel amusement. "We were all so surprised by your announcement. We expected... well, someone from our circle. Is it true she was digging up dirt in your yard three weeks ago?"
Before Alessandro could speak, Lily stepped forward smoothly, her voice calm, clear, and ringing across the silent circle of onlookers.
"It’s true, Miss Falcone," Lily said with a serene smile. "I was tending the soil. Because in my line of work, I learn to recognize what is real and what is just dead, hollow rot waiting to be cleared away."
Subtle gasps rippled through the crowd. Isabella’s face flushed bright red as she swallowed hard, unable to formulate a response.
Alessandro let out a low, deep rumble of laughter, his hand resting proudly over Lily's waist. "Well said, my love."
He raised his glass of champagne to the room. "To my future wife, Lily Brooks. The new queen of the Romano family. Anyone who fails to show her the honor she deserves will answer to my blade."
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The room erupted into cautious, respectful applause as syndicate bosses bowed their heads toward Lily.
From across the room, Carmine Moretti watched the display with dark, murderous eyes, slipping quietly out through a side exit into the rainy night.
