Chapter 5 - The Confrontation at the DrakeThe trap was sprung forty-eight hours later at the Grand Ballroom of The Drake Hotel in downtown Chicago.
The occasion was the annual International Maritime Logistics Gala—the exact venue where Arthur Vance had traveled from Palermo to finalize the sale of the Vance shipping fleets to a secondary Chicago syndicate.
At the head table, wearing an expensive dark tuxedo, sat sixty-five-year-old Arthur Vance, sipping fine wine alongside his corporate attorneys.
At 8:00 PM, the massive mahogany double doors of the Grand Ballroom were thrown open with a sharp, heavy crash.
Walking into the ballroom, flanked by twenty broad-shouldered Moretti operators led by Leo, was Dante.
He wore an immaculate black suit, his posture broad, tall, and sovereign, his storm-gray eyes holding a dark, lethal fire.
And walking directly beside his right shoulder, wearing a breathtaking, floor-length midnight-blue silk gown, her dark hair falling in glossy waves over her shoulders, her hazel eyes holding zero fear, was me.
I held Dante’s broad, calloused hand firmly in my palm, my posture royal, my spine straight as a queen reclaiming her heritage.
Arthur Vance dropped his wine glass.
CRASH!
The crystal glass shattered into a hundred glittering shards against the marble floorboards.
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"You...!" Arthur Vance stammered, his face turning an ugly, paper-white shade of shock as he looked at my face, then at Dante standing beside me. "Elena Vance?!"
"Good evening, Uncle Arthur," I spoke cleanly. My deep voice carried an unyielding, velvet power that echoed off the high ceiling. "I brought my husband and my cousins' legal team to discuss your fraudulent proxy sale."
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