Chapter 7 - The Gala of Wolves
A month after the attack, the syndicate demanded proof of life. Rumors were swirling that Matteo had been crippled, or worse, that his heir had been killed in the raid.
To quell the uprising, Matteo had to attend the annual La Cosa Nostra winter gala at the Waldorf Astoria. And he demanded Clara and Luca come with him.
"I am a nanny, Matteo, not a mob wife," Clara argued, pacing her bedroom as a team of stylists laid out designer gowns.
"You are the only person I trust to hold him in a room full of vipers," Matteo replied, adjusting his cufflinks in her mirror. "And tonight, you are not the nanny. You are my date. They need to see a united front. They need to see that the Romano family is untouchable."
When Clara stepped out of the dressing room, Matteo lost his breath. She wore a floor-length, deep burgundy silk gown that clung to her curves, her hair swept up in an elegant twist. She looked like royalty.
The gala was a glittering snake pit. Men in tuxedos and women in diamonds watched them with predatory eyes. Clara kept Luca secured in a designer sling across her chest, holding her chin high.
Halfway through the evening, a silver-haired man approached them. It was Carmine Falcone. The man who had ordered the hit on Luca's mother.
The air around Matteo dropped to sub-zero temperatures. Dante and Enzo discreetly placed their hands on their concealed weapons.
"Matteo," Carmine smiled, a cold, reptilian expression. "I see the boy survived. And you brought... the help."
Carmine reached a hand out to touch Luca’s cheek.
Before Matteo could draw his weapon, Clara stepped forward. She slapped Carmine Falcone’s hand away with a resounding crack that echoed over the string quartet.
The entire ballroom froze.
"Do not touch my child," Clara hissed, her voice venomous, loud, and entirely devoid of fear.
Carmine stared at her, stunned by the sheer audacity of a civilian striking a Don. He looked at Matteo, expecting the boss to execute her on the spot for the political insult.
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Instead, Matteo slipped his arm around Clara’s waist, pulling her flush against his side. A slow, terrifying smile spread across his face.
"You heard the lady, Carmine," Matteo purred softly. "Touch my son again, and I won't just take your hand. I'll take your head."
