Chapter 3 - The Black Suit Jacket
The heavy, toxic silence in the grand ballroom was absolutely deafening.
A medium close-up captured the mafia boss gracefully slipping off his heavy, incredibly expensive black suit jacket. Without saying a single word, he gently draped the warm fabric over Clara's shaking shoulders, perfectly covering her torn vintage dress and completely restoring her dignity.
Clara looked up at him in absolute, stunned disbelief. She had never met this terrifying titan in her entire life.
He gently lifted her chin with his strong, warm fingers, forcing her to look directly into his dark, fiercely protective eyes. He didn't speak to her like a mobster. He spoke to her with profound, undeniable respect.
"Why are you wearing this?" he whispered softly, his deep voice meant only for her. "I sent you a custom designer gown this morning."
Clara physically flinched, her eyes wide with unadulterated panic. She frantically looked past his shoulder, her terrified gaze locking entirely onto Victoria.
"She... she told me it was a mistake," Clara choked out, fresh tears flooding her brown eyes. "Victoria said the dress was meant for her. She took it. I had to wear my grandmother's vintage dress because it was the only formal gown I owned."
The mafia boss didn't look back at Victoria. He didn't need to.
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"The dress wasn't a mistake, Clara," the mafia boss stated clinically, his voice echoing with absolute authority. "It was addressed to the true architect of the firm."
👉 Victoria frantically tried to play her final, vicious card to save her ruined public image before the entire ballroom.
