Chapter 7 - The Unraveling of Victoria Campbell
The sound of shattering glass echoes like a gunshot across the grand ballroom.
Several women among the guests gasp and draw back, clutching their pearls in genuine terror.
Vanessa stares down at the puddle of sparkling wine soaking into the crimson silk of her hemline.
"You're insane," she spits out, her polite, cultured accent suddenly slipping into something harsh and grating.
"You've been listening to the demented ramblings of an old lunatic who wandered onto your grounds!"
"Her name is Martha Vance," Luca states calmly, taking a slow step toward her.
"And she didn't wander. You ordered her delivery through a private shell company to ensure her silence."
"Luca, listen to me!" Vanessa pleads, reaching out with both hands, desperate to grab his arm.
"I am a Bellini! My father owns half the shipping docks between Detroit and Montreal!"
"Your father died in an Italian prison twelve years ago," Luca says, his voice devoid of pity.
"The real Vanessa Bellini died of a narcotics overdose in a private clinic in Zurich four years back."
A stunned murmur breaks out among the business associates seated along the front row.
"You took her identity, bought forged documents in Marseilles, and infiltrated Chicago society."
"Your real name is Victoria Campbell, born and raised in a trailer park outside South Bend, Indiana."
Victoria’s face twists into an expression of raw, unadulterated venom.
The graceful, elegant socialite vanishes entirely, replaced by a cornered predator ready to tear flesh.
"You think you're so smart, don't you, Moretti?" she hisses, her voice dropping into a guttural rasp.
"You think you're the only monster who knows how to bleed people dry in this city?"
"Julian Vance was an idiot who thought love could buy my submission to a boring, domestic life."
"He had three million dollars rotting in a trust fund while I was clipping coupons to pay his grocery bills."
"He deserved to choke on the lake water for being so pathetically naive."
The entire room recoils in absolute horror at her cold, shameless confession.
"And that worthless maid upstairs," Victoria sneers, taking another step back toward the open French doors.
"She should have kept her nose out of things that didn't concern her low-class, pathetic life."
"I should have snapped her neck on those stairs instead of just kicking her down the flight."
Luca’s expression doesn't shift, but the air around him becomes heavy with deadly intent.
"Natalie has more dignity in her broken little finger than you have in your entire thieving existence," he says.
"And unlike you, Victoria, she understands the fundamental law of my house."
"What law is that, Luca?" she laughs bitterly, backing closer to the terrace curtains. "Honor among thieves?"
"Loyalty," Luca replies softly.
"And the simple fact that anyone who lays a hand on my people pays an immediate, non-negotiable tax."
Victoria's eyes dart toward the grand terrace leading into the dark, sweeping gardens outside.
With a sudden, desperate shriek, she grabs a heavy silver candelabra from the head table.
She hurls the three-pronged iron weapon straight at Luca’s face with surprising, vicious force.
Luca tilts his head slightly to the left, the silver whistling past his ear and smashing into the mirror behind him.
Before the glass finishes falling, Victoria gathers her red silk skirts and bolts through the terrace doors.
She bursts out into the freezing Chicago midnight air, running toward the long driveway.
Nobody moves to chase her.
Luca stands perfectly still on the marble dais, calmly taking a clean white linen napkin from his pocket.
He slowly wipes a drop of spilled wine from the back of his hand.
"Daniel," Luca says without even looking up.
His head of security steps forward from the perimeter, lifting a small two-way radio to his mouth.
"Close the main iron gates," Daniel orders into the microphone.
May you like
"Release the perimeter hounds."
"And tell the gatehouse guards that Miss Bellini is leaving without an escort."
