Chapter 6 - THE BLOODLINE BALLThe gown arrived at dawn.
It was an empire-waist masterpiece of deep emerald velvet, custom-tailored to drape effortlessly over my pregnant form without concealing the truth of what I carried. Diamonds clustered like frozen stars around the collarbones, catching the morning light filtering through the bulletproof glass of the master suite.
By ten o'clock, the judge had arrived, stamped three copies of a marriage certificate with trembling hands, and fled under armed escort.
By two o'clock, Dr. Ross—a gentle, gray-haired physician who had served the Moretti family for three decades—performed the ultrasound in a private medical wing on the estate’s third floor.
I lay back on the examination table, cold gel spread across my stomach, holding my breath as the wand moved. Adrian stood beside me, refusing to sit, his broad shoulders squared like an ancient guardian.
Then, the room filled with sound.
Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.
Fast, steady, and miraculously strong.
I let out a shuddering breath, tears stinging my eyes. I turned my head to wipe them away, but before I could, Adrian’s hand covered mine on the edge of the mattress. His grip was tight, his knuckles white. I looked up at him and saw something that stopped my heart: Chicago’s most terrifying man was looking at the small, grainy monitor with pure, unvarnished awe.
"A boy," Dr. Ross announced with a warm smile, pointing a pen at the screen. "A perfectly healthy, incredibly stubborn little boy, Mr. Moretti."
Adrian swallowed hard, his thumb gently smoothing over the back of my hand. "A boy," he repeated softly, as if speaking a sacred prayer in an empty cathedral.
When Dr. Ross left the room, Adrian remained standing over me. The coldness had completely vanished from his expression, replaced by a fierce, terrifying protectiveness.
"Tonight is the annual Winter Benefactors Gala at the Chicago Cultural Center," Adrian said quietly. "Salvatore will be there. Nathan Vance and his family will be there. The city’s entire power structure will be in that ballroom."
"You want to take me there?" I asked, wiping the gel from my stomach. "You want to parade me in front of them?"
"I want them to see what they tried to destroy," Adrian corrected, leaning down until his eyes met mine. "I want Nathan Vance to watch you enter on my arm. I want my uncle to realize that the succession is settled, and that any move against you is an act of war against the entire syndicate."
"I'm terrified, Adrian," I confessed, the honesty ripping through my pride. "I'm twenty-seven years old. Six months ago, I was choosing wedding floral arrangements for a suburban country club. I don't know how to survive in your world."
Adrian reached down, took both of my hands, and pulled me up until I was standing directly in front of him. His hands moved to my waist, steadying me against his frame.
"You survived starvation for five months to protect that child," he said fiercely. "You stood in a grocery store with seventeen dollars and spat in the face of a man holding hundreds because you refused to compromise your dignity. You have more courage in your little finger than Nathan Vance and my uncle combined."
He tilted my chin upward, his lips brushing mine with a promise that felt like iron.
"You don't need to know their rules, Claire. Tonight, you rewrite them."
At eight o'clock, the Maybach pulled up under the massive granite portico of the Chicago Cultural Center. Flashes from a hundred paparazzi cameras exploded like lightning against the dark evening sky.
The heavy doors opened. Adrian stepped out first, adjusting his cuffs, the sheer presence of the man silencing the shouts of journalists on the sidewalk. Then, he turned and extended his hand into the car.
I took it.
I stepped onto the red carpet in the emerald velvet gown, my head held high, diamonds catching every flash of light, my rounded belly visible for every camera lens in the Midwest to capture.
The whispers rippled through the press line like wildfire.
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"Is that Claire Hayes?""Nathan Vance’s ex?""Look at her stomach—whose baby is that?!"
Adrian ignored the screaming questions. He pulled me flush against his side, his arm wrapping possessively around my waist, guiding me up the grand marble staircase and through the gilded bronze doors into the belly of the lion’s den.
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