Chapter 13 - The Gala at the Drake
The Drake Hotel was a glittering jewel of old Chicago wealth. Crystal chandeliers dripped light onto polished marble floors, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, French champagne, and the quiet, polite murmur of high society.
For Vincent and Tessa, this was their official debut. To the public, they were no longer the shadowy rulers of the city’s docks; they were the founders of Corvino Logistics, major benefactors of the Chicago Arts Society, and respectable citizens of Lake Forest.
Vincent looked magnificent in a tailored black tuxedo, his walnut cane topped with a polished silver band that caught the light of the chandeliers. Tessa stood beside him, a vision in a midnight-blue silk gown that matched the color of Lake Michigan at dusk. Her hair was swept up, exposing the elegant line of her neck and the simple diamond necklace Vincent had given her for her birthday.
"How is your leg?" Tessa whispered, her hand resting on his arm as they made their way through the crowd of politicians, judges, and shipping executives.
"It’s fine, mia cara," Vincent smiled, squeezing her hand against his side. "The champagne is terrible, but the company is spectacular."
"Vincent! Tessa!"
They turned to see Mayor Raymond Sterling walking toward them, a wide, political smile plastered on his face. Behind him was a small group of city council members and developers. Sterling had been on the Corvino payroll in the old days, but now, he was eager to show off his "reformed" business partners.
"A wonderful turnout tonight," Sterling said, shaking Vincent's hand with excessive warmth. "I was just telling the commissioner here that the Corvino St. Louis expansion is exactly the kind of legitimate, job-creating initiative this city needs."
"We believe in investing in the future, Mr. Mayor," Tessa said, her voice smooth and professional. "The new terminal will create over four hundred union jobs by the end of the year."
As the conversation continued, Vincent felt a sudden, familiar prickle of danger at the back of his neck. He looked past the mayor’s shoulder, his gaze scanning the grand ballroom.
Standing near the tall arched windows overlooking Michigan Avenue was Silas Vance. He was dressed in a pristine white tuxedo, holding a glass of champagne, watching Vincent with a slow, deliberate smile. Beside him stood Alderman Thomas Miller—the head of the city transit committee, and a crucial vote for the zoning permits of the St. Louis terminal.
Silas raised his glass in a mock toast.
Vincent’s jaw tightened, the gold signet ring on his finger catching the light as his grip on his cane grew rigid. Silas wasn't just trying to muscle in on their old territory; he was moving into their clean world, using the very politicians the Corvinos had spent decades cultivating.
"Excuse me for a moment," Vincent said to the mayor, his voice dropping into a register that brooked no argument.
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"Vincent, wait," Tessa whispered, her hand tightening on his arm as he began to walk toward the arched windows. "Don't let him provoke you. Not here. Not in front of the cameras."
"I’m just going to greet an old family friend, Tessa," Vincent said, his smile cold and razor-thin. "It’s only polite."
