Chapter 3 - The Widow's ReturnSaturday night arrived with the oppressive humidity of a late Chicago summer. The grand ballroom of the Moretti Plaza glittered with crystal chandeliers, champagne fountains, and the sickeningly bright smiles of men and women who traded in blood, blackmail, and billion-dollar real estate portfolios.
When the double oak doors swung open, every conversation in the room stuttered and died.
All eyes turned toward the entrance.
I stepped across the threshold, dressed precisely as Nicholas had instructed. The black silk dress clung to my frame like liquid midnight, backless and severe, offset only by the heavy, brilliant emerald pendant resting against my collarbone—a gift from Nicholas that Dante had likely assumed was locked away in a secure vault. My hair was swept up into an intricate chignon, a veil of delicate black lace draped over my hair, framing my face with an aura of tragic, untouchable elegance.
At the far end of the ballroom, standing on the raised dais where Nicholas used to survey his empire, was Dante.
He looked sharp in a cream-colored tuxedo jacket, holding a crystal glass of scotch. For a fraction of a second, as our eyes locked across the sea of tuxedoed men and designer gowns, I saw genuine shock flash across his face. The glass in his hand tightened until his knuckles turned white.
Then, the smooth, calculating politician’s mask slid back into place.
Dante set his glass down and walked down the steps, cutting a path through the crowd as guests scrambled to part ways for him. He approached me with a slow, predatory grace, a sickeningly sympathetic smile plastered across his face.
"Elena," he murmured, his voice rich with feigned warmth as he stopped just inches away. "We all assumed you wouldn't come. Given... everything. You've been such a recluse since the tragedy."
"The dead don't like to be forgotten, Dante," I replied smoothly, my voice carrying just enough chill to make him pause. "And neither do their wives."
Dante's eyes flicked to the emerald pendant around my neck, a microscopic twitch betraying his unease. "That necklace... I thought it was secured in the vault with the rest of Nicholas's personal estate."
"Nicholas had a habit of keeping things close to his heart," I said, tilting my head slightly. "Just like I do."
Before Dante could press further, a sharp, piercing feedback squeal ripped through the ballroom’s state-of-the-art sound system. Every speaker in the massive room clicked on simultaneously, humming with a low, heavy static that silenced the murmuring crowd instantly.
Dante stiffened, his head snapping toward the ceiling speakers. "What the hell is this?"
The static cut out.
May you like
And then, a voice echoed through the ballroom—deep, resonant, and unmistakably alive.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I trust my absence hasn't made you all forget whose city you're standing in.”
