Chapter 7 - The Drake Gala
The Gold Coast Room at the Drake Hotel was a sea of crystal chandeliers, tuxedo-clad men, and women dripping in diamonds. The air was filled with the soft strains of a live string quartet and the gentle clinking of champagne flutes.
When Julian Croft entered the room with Maya Torres on his arm, a hush rippled across the high-society crowd like a physical shockwave.
Julian rarely attended public galas, and when he did, he arrived alone, conducted business in a private corner, and departed within an hour. To see him at a high-visibility social event escorting a stunning, unknown woman caused every camera and whispered conversation in the room to pivot in their direction.
"Julian," Maya whispered under her breath, keeping her bright smile fixed for the crowd. "Everyone is staring at us."
"Let them stare," Julian replied smoothly, taking two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and handing one to her. "They are staring because you are the most beautiful woman in this room, and they are trying to figure out how a brute like me managed to win your favor."
Maya laughed softly, taking a small sip of champagne. "You are very good at flattery when you want to be."
"I don't flatter, Maya. I state facts."
As they moved through the ballroom, Julian introduced her to bank presidents, judges, and shipping magnates. He introduced her simply as "Maya," offering no explanations, no titles, and no apologies. The sheer authority in his tone ensured that no one dared ask inappropriate questions.
However, near the grand staircase, the peaceful atmosphere fractured.
A tall, silver-haired man in a immaculate grey tuxedo stepped into their path. His face was lined with aristocratic coldness, and his eyes were sharp as flint. Beside him stood a younger man with a arrogant sneer—Dominic Moretti, the son of Sal Moretti.
"Julian," the older man said, his voice dripping with false warmth. "I didn't expect to see you playing socialite tonight."
"Sal," Julian acknowledged, his posture instantly hardening, his grip on Maya’s hand tightening by a fraction. "I see you brought Dominic. I thought he was still recovering from his legal troubles in Cook County."
Sal Moretti’s smile tightened into a thin, ugly line. His eyes drifted over to Maya, assessing her with vulgar curiosity.
"And who is your charming companion?" Sal asked, stepping closer. "She doesn't look like the usual pedigree you surround yourself with, Julian. In fact... she looks remarkably like the girl Anthony Varga was talking about earlier this week. The one from the bakery."
Dominic chuckled nasty. "A maid, Dad. He brought his house cleaner to the Drake Ball. Guess the great Julian Croft is running low on high-society options."
The air around Julian turned sub-zero in an instant.
The warmth in his posture vanished, replaced by that terrifying, lethal stillness Maya had seen in the penthouse. He stepped forward, putting himself half an inch in front of Maya, shutting off Sal and Dominic's line of sight completely.
"Dominic," Julian said, his voice dropping to a whisper that cut through the sound of the string quartet like a razor. "If you open your mouth in the presence of this woman again, I will personally ensure your father spends the rest of his life managing a scrap yard in Rockford. Do you understand me?"
Dominic’s sneer froze. He took an instinctual step backward, terrified by the sheer murder in Julian’s eyes.
May you like
Sal Moretti put a hand on his son’s shoulder, his face pale with suppressed rage. "You're pushing hard, Julian. Defending a nobody against your own business partners?"
"She isn't a nobody," Julian said, looking Sal directly in the eye. "She is the future Mrs. Croft. And if you ever speak of her again, Sal, you won't have a business to worry about."
