Chapter 2 - The Hundred Brides
The ballroom was a suffocating sea of excess. Crystal chandeliers blazed like captured stars overhead, casting prismatic reflections across the polished Vermont marble floor. The air was thick with the suffocating perfume of French jasmine, expensive cigars, and the metallic tang of hidden shoulder holsters beneath bespoke tuxedos.
One hundred women. One hundred heiresses, daughters of capos, syndicates, and international smuggling rings.
Luna stood near the towering arched doorways, half-hidden behind a massive pillar draped in white hydrangeas. Her tray felt impossibly heavy in her trembling hands.
To her left, Katarina Vulov—daughter of the St. Petersburg syndicate boss—was draped over a velvet settee like a Russian snow leopard. Her platinum-blonde hair fell in immaculate waves over a crimson silk gown that cost more than Luna’s entire extended family earned in a decade. Katarina’s laughter chimed across the room, sharp and predatory, aimed squarely at the center of the room where Luca Moretti stood.
Luca was a masterpiece of tailoring and menace. His black tuxedo fit his broad shoulders and lean waist with terrifying precision. His dark hair was combed back, revealing a sharp, unyielding jawline and green eyes that scanned the room with bored, lethal detachment. He looked like an apex predator forced to sit through a children’s pageant.
"Look at him," Sophia whispered, sidling up beside Luna with an empty flute tray. "They say whoever he picks today will control half the shipping ports on the East Coast. My cousin in the docks says if he marries the Vulov girl, they'll control the entire Atlantic corridor."
"It's business, Sophia," Luna said softly, keeping her eyes fixed on the silver rim of her tray. "Nothing more."
"Business? Look at how Katarina is looking at him. That’s not business; that’s a hunt." Sophia giggled nervously. "If it were me, I’d take the ring and run to the Bahamas before he changed his mind."
Luna didn't answer. A dull, heavy ache had settled deep in her chest. She watched as Luca raised a flute of champagne, his expression impassive as a dozen young women fluttered around him like moths drawn to an industrial incinerator. The Benedetti girl—dark-haired, haughty, and dripping in emeralds—was whispering something in his ear. Luca merely nodded once, a gesture so cold it made the blood run backward in Luna's veins.
Then, something shifted.
Through the press of bodies, through the sea of imported silk and diamond tiaras, Luca’s head turned.
His green eyes cut across the crowded ballroom with pinpoint accuracy. He didn't look at Katarina. He didn't look at the Benedetti heiress.
He looked straight past them, straight through the crystal pillars, and locked his gaze onto Luna.
The breath caught in her throat. The ambient noise of the ballroom—the clinking glasses, the rolling string quartet, the murmured political alliances—seemed to mute into a distant, hollow hum. In those emerald depths, there was no boredom, no calculation, and no mafia politics. There was only an intense, burning hunger that terrified and thrilled her in equal measure.
Before she could look away, Vincent Torino appeared at Luca’s elbow, whispering something urgent into his ear. Don Salvatore Moretti, sitting in a high-backed velvet armchair near the dais, raised a thin, liver-spotted hand for silence.
The room quieted instantly. A hundred pairs of eyes snapped toward the patriarch.
"My friends," Don Salvatore’s voice rasped through the amplification system, weak yet carrying the absolute authority of a king. "Tonight, our family stands at a crossroads. For decades, the Moretti name has stood for strength, loyalty, and tradition. My son, Luca, bears the heavy burden of carrying that legacy into the next generation."
A collective murmur of approval rippled through the crowd. Katarina stepped forward, her smile radiant and triumphant, her hand resting gracefully on her hip.
"Tradition dictates that a Moretti leader chooses a bride from among his peers," the old man continued, his eyes scanning the sea of powerful families. "To unite our bloodlines. To forge unbreakable alliances. For months, my son has reviewed the dossiers. He has weighed the dowries, the territories, and the political power."
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Don Salvatore paused, his chest heaving slightly as he caught his breath. He turned his heavy-lidded gaze toward his son.
"Luca. The time has come. Name your bride. Let the assembly know who will stand at your side as the future Queen of the Moretti empire."
