Chapter 4 - The Gala of Wolves
The counter-ambush at the terrace doors had been swift, brutal, and silent.
Toby was captured alive, Victor Vance was exposed and fled into the wind, and the Moretti strike team never made it past the rose garden. The Falcone syndicate had tightened its grip on the city, and Salem’s strength was publicly demonstrated to be absolute.
Three days later, the annual Chicago Underworld Winter Gala arrived—a lavish, opulent gathering at the Drake Hotel where the city's power brokers, corrupt politicians, and mafia families gathered under an armed truce.
Salem refused to go alone. And he refused to bring anyone other than Mattie.
"I can't go to that," Mattie protested, standing in Salem’s dressing suite as two high-end tailors fluttered around her with measuring tapes and silk fabrics. "I’m a maid, Salem! Look at me. I don't fit into high-society dresses, and I don't know how to talk to killers in tuxedos."
Salem stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting his onyx cufflinks. He waved the terrified tailors out of the room with a flick of his wrist. When the door clicked shut, he walked over to Mattie.
She stood in a custom-designed gown of deep emerald velvet. The fabric hugged her generous curves, accentuating the fullness of her breasts, the dip of her waist, and the graceful swell of her hips. Her chestnut hair had been swept up in intricate curls, leaving the soft line of her neck and shoulders bare.
Salem’s eyes were dark, heavy with an open, unapologetic hunger.
"You think you don't belong?" he whispered, his hands settling firmly on her waist. The heat of his palms burned through the velvet. "Look in the mirror, Mattie."
He turned her toward the glass.
"They are wolves dressed in silk," Salem said into her ear, his breath stirring her hair. "They are shallow, hollow, and weak. You stood over my bleeding body and brought me back from the grave. You saved this family from betrayal. You are more woman than anyone in that ballroom will ever deserve to look at."
Mattie’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes met his in the mirror. For years, she had felt clumsy, oversized, and unworthy of soft words. Yet in Salem’s arms, she felt like royalty.
"Salem..."
"Tonight, you walk into that room on my arm," he said fiercely. "And if anyone dares to whisper a word against you, I will burn their empire to the ground."
When they arrived at the Drake Hotel, the grand ballroom fell dead silent.
Salem Falcone, the undisputed king of Chicago, swept into the room not with a high-fashion model or an Italian mob heiress, but with a woman of luscious curves, radiant warmth, and an emerald dress that outshone every diamond in the hall.
Whispers rippled through the crowd like venomous snakes.
"Who is she?"
"She’s certainly... substantial."
"Where did Falcone find a woman with such an appetite?"
Mattie’s back stiffened. The old, familiar shame began to creep up her throat, threatening to make her look down at the floor.
Suddenly, Salem’s hand left her waist and moved to her hip, pulling her flush against his body in front of two hundred guests. He leaned down, placing a slow, deliberate kiss on the hollow of her neck, right in plain view of the elite.
Then, he turned his icy gray gaze toward the knot of socialites who had whispered.
"Lady Moretti," Salem said, his voice slicing through the classical music like a razor. "I believe you were admiring my companion."
The older woman turned pale as a sheet. "I... Mr. Falcone, I was merely remarking on her unique gown."
"Miss Brennan wears velvet because silk is too fragile to hold real beauty," Salem said coldly, loud enough for the entire room to hear. "If I hear another breath from your table that lacks respect, your husband will lose his docks in Gary before midnight."
Mr. Moretti practically choked on his champagne, dragging his trembling wife away into the shadows.
Mattie looked up at Salem, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "You didn't have to do that."
May you like
Salem looked down at her, his expression softening into an intensity that made her knees weak. "I will do that every day for the rest of my life if that’s what it takes to make you see what I see."
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