Chapter 7 - The Gala and the Gauntlet
The annual Gold Coast Historical Society Gala was the event that decided who owned the winter in Chicago.
For three years, I had gone as Sebastian's shadow, wearing dresses that felt like cages and standing in corners while he explained to city councilmen why his luxury high-rises were good for the working class. This year, I had no intention of going.
But on the second Thursday of January, a large black box arrived in the nursery.
Inside was a dress made of heavy, midnight-blue silk. It didn't have the delicate lace or the tiny silk buttons that Sophie Crane always insisted were "feminine." It had clean, architectural lines, a square neckline that showed the curve of my collarbone, and a skirt that had enough weight to move like a river when I walked.
A small card was pinned to the sleeve.
The lion does not hide when the jays are loud. 8:00 PM. Dante.
"You look like a queen," Mia said from the bed, where she was helping me pin my hair up with three silver combs Enzo had brought from the vault. "A big blue queen with a sword."
"I don't have a sword, Mia," I said, looking at myself in the full-length mirror.
For the first time in my life, I didn't look clumsy. The dark blue silk didn't try to make me smaller; it made me look like a monument. My hips were wide, my shoulders were straight, and the green ribbon was gone, replaced by the silver combs that caught the light like stars.
When I came down the grand staircase at eight o'clock, Dante Bellandi was waiting in the hall.
He was wearing his full formal attire—a black tuxedo with a silk lapel, a white shirt that looked like carved marble, and the black leather gloves he never took off in public. Behind him stood Leo, Nico, and Mia, all dressed in miniature formal coats, their faces unusually clean.
Dante looked up as my heels clicked on the stone. He didn't say anything for ten seconds. He just watched me descend, his gray eyes moving over the midnight silk with a deliberate, heavy heat that made the breath stick in my throat.
"The car is waiting," he said when I reached the bottom. He offered me his arm. The silk of his sleeve was cool against my bare wrist, but the arm beneath it was like a bar of iron.
"The children are coming?" I asked.
"A Bellandi does not leave his heart in the cellar when he goes to meet his enemies," Dante said.
The grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel was a sea of white tulle, diamonds, and the high, thin sound of violins. The Crane family occupied the central table near the ice sculpture, Eleanor Crane wearing her family emeralds like an armor against the rumors that had been circulating through the financial district since the incident at the garage.
When the double doors opened and the announcer called Dante's name, the room went completely still.
"Don Dante Bellandi," the man said, his voice shaking slightly. "And Miss Evelyn Ward."
I heard the gasp before I saw the faces.
Sophie Crane dropped her champagne glass. It didn't break on the thick carpet, but the gold liquid spread out over her beige satin shoes like oil. Sebastian, who had been laughing with a city commissioner, turned around so fast his black tie twisted around his collar.
Dante didn't lead me to the edge of the room. He led me directly down the center aisle, between the tables of judges, bankers, and old-money matriarchs, his children walking behind us like three little princes.
"Evelyn?" Sebastian stepped into the aisle, his face a mixture of rage and confusion that made him look smaller than I remembered. He looked at Dante, then at my dress, then at his sister’s shoes. "What is this? What are you doing with these people?"
Dante stopped. He didn't take his arm from mine. He looked down at Sebastian as if he were an uncertified piece of brickwork that needed to be cleared from a site.
"Mr. Crane," Dante said, his voice carrying over the silence of the violins. "You have thirty days to vacate the office on Wacker Drive. The Bellandi Trust has acquired the primary debt from Chase Bank. The building will be converted into a clinic for the children of the fifth ward."
Sebastian went purple. "You can't do that! That's a historical landmark! My grandfather—"
"Your grandfather was a thief who died in a federal prison," Eleanor Crane’s voice came from behind him, though she wasn't talking to Dante. She was looking at me, her eyes fixed on the silver combs in my hair. "Dante... please. This is a public charity event. There is no need for this."
"I am not here for charity, Mrs. Crane," Dante said. He turned to me, his hand moving from my wrist to the small of my back, his palm warm through the midnight silk. "I am here to introduce the new matriarch of the Bellandi house. If your daughter has any further comments about Miss Ward's appetite or her dresses, she may file them with Enzo. He handles our disposal."
May you like
The room remained silent as we walked past them toward the head table. I didn't look back at Sebastian. I didn't look at Sophie's wet shoes.
As I sat down between Leo and Dante, Mia reached over and pulled a white rose from the centerpiece, dropping it into my lap. "See?" she whispered. "The blue queen gets the flower."
