Chapter 6 - The Iron Guard Awakens
Before Vivienne could recover her footing, a sharp, synchronized sound echoed from the perimeter of the ballroom.
CLACK.
It was the sound of twelve pairs of heavy, leather-soled shoes snapping together in absolute military unison.
Throughout the grand hall, stationed every twenty yards along the marble pillars and the exit corridors, the black-suited security guards—men who had stood motionless and anonymous throughout the entire gala, ignored by the socialites who viewed them as living furniture—suddenly moved.
They did not look at Arthur Campbell. They did not look at the board members.
They turned their broad, muscular bodies in unison toward the center of the ballroom. Their hands uncrossed from their belts, snapping to their sides before resting with disciplined precision over their lower abdomens. Their chins snapped upward, their backs locking into rigid, unyielding attention.
Every single guard in the room had their eyes pinned exclusively on Dominic Valerio.
Vivienne looked around the room, her breath catching in her throat as a wave of cold, primal terror washed over her.
These were not third-party private contractors hired through a security agency. These were not retired police officers picking up overtime shifts at a charity gala.
She saw, for the first time, the subtle markers she had been too arrogant to notice an hour ago: the identical silver signet rings worn on their left pinky fingers—an ancient seal of a double-headed wolf entwined with a broadsword. She saw the pale, razor-thin scars across their knuckles, the disciplined, emotionless masks carved from men who had survived gangland wars in the subterranean concrete of the city.
The security detail of the St. Jude Imperial Hotel did not belong to the hotel management.
They belonged to him.
Harrison Vance took another step backward, his face now completely devoid of color, his hand shaking as he tucked his gold pocket watch into his vest. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Vance muttered under his breath, his eyes wide with horror. "The old guard. Vittorio Valerio’s personal household troops."
Dominic slowly turned his head.
His slate-gray eyes swept over the room, tracking across the three hundred frozen, paralyzed faces of the city’s high society. He looked at the councilmen who had taken envelopes from his family’s couriers for twenty years; he looked at the bank presidents who had laundered his syndicate’s port revenues through Swiss holding trusts; he looked at the socialite matriarchs who had spent thirty years pretending that the foundation stones of their luxury were built on clean money.
None of them met his gaze.
Every single man who had laughed moments ago dropped his eyes to the floor. The women turned their heads away, hiding behind their husbands' shoulders, their diamonds suddenly feeling like lead weights around their throats.
Finally, Dominic’s gaze returned to Vivienne.
May you like
The young blonde woman stood completely isolated in the center of the floor. The circle of admirers who had cheered her cruelty had evaporated, leaving her standing alone beneath the blazing chandeliers, her sparkling champagne gown making her look like a target pinned against a white wall.
Her hands were shaking visibly now. She reached out, trying to steady herself against the marble base of the ice sculpture, her breath hitching in her chest as she looked into the dead, unblinking eyes of Dominic Valerio.
