Chapter 4 - The Ring That Stayed in the Pocket
Across the city, beneath the vaulted glass domes of the Moretti Conservatory on the Charles River, the champagne was flowing, but the atmosphere had begun to sour.
Two hundred guests from Boston’s highest echelons—senators, real estate moguls, high-court judges, and shipping magnates—chattered politely around towering floral installations of white calla lilies and silver ferns. A string quartet played a delicate arrangement of Debussy.
Sloane Barrett stood near the central fountain, wearing an off-the-shoulder gown of ivory silk that had been tailored in Paris. Her champagne glass was empty. Her smile had frozen into an icy, polished mask twenty minutes ago.
“Where is he, Victoria?” Judge Arthur Barrett murmured, stepping up beside Victoria Moretti. His voice was clipped, carrying the thinly veiled arrogance of a man who held the keys to the state’s judicial appointments. “My daughter has been standing here like a mannequin for forty-five minutes. This was supposed to happen at seven-thirty sharp.”
Victoria Moretti stood regally, her silver-streaked hair styled into an intricate chignon, wearing an emerald velvet gown that matched her emerald earrings. Her posture was straight as a steel rod, but behind her polite social smile, her dark eyes were smoldering with suppressed fury.
She tapped her diamond-encrusted watch. “Dominic was concluding an urgent port acquisition in South Boston, Arthur. You know how dedicated he is to securing the family’s logistics. He called fifteen minutes ago; he was caught in traffic near Back Bay.”
It was a lie, and Victoria knew it. Dominic had declined four of her calls.
Victoria excused herself smoothly and walked toward the arched corridor leading to the private estate office. She dialed Dominic’s personal secure line.
To her shock, after three rings, the call connected.
“Dominic!” Victoria hissed into the phone, dropping the aristocratic facade the moment she was out of earshot. “Where are you? Arthur Barrett is losing his patience, and Sloane looks ridiculous standing by the fountain alone. The press photographers are already in the vestibule. Get here this instant!”
There was a long silence on the other end. All Victoria could hear was the steady, rhythmic swoosh of windshield wipers against glass.
“Dominic?”
“Did you really believe I would never find out?” Dominic’s voice came through the speaker. It was quiet, deadened, and colder than an Atlantic winter.
Victoria froze. Her hand tightened on the gold receiver. “What are you talking about? Have you been drinking? Dominic, pull yourself together—”
“Bellamy House,” Dominic interrupted softly.
The name hit Victoria like a physical blow. Her breath hitched.
“I was washing my hands in the private lounge,” Dominic continued, each syllable deliberate, measured, and dripping with venom. “And four little boys walked in. Four, Mother. All six years old. All carrying the Moretti jaw. All carrying the eyes you see in the mirror every morning.”
Victoria felt the floor beneath her five-thousand-dollar heels begin to tilt. “Dominic… listen to me—”
“You told her I laughed,” Dominic said. The fury vibrating beneath his whisper was terrifying. “You told the woman I loved that I wanted her babies aborted or institutionalized. You threatened to ruin her life, you forged my absence, and you ran her into the freezing cold with four children in her womb.”
Victoria recovered her venom quickly. Desperation sharpened her tongue. “She was nobody! A penniless conservator from an immigrant family! She would have dragged this family into the gutter! You were meant for power, Dominic! You needed Sloane Barrett’s lineage to legitimize three generations of our blood! I did what a mother has to do to protect her son!”
“You didn’t protect me,” Dominic said, his voice flat. “You stole six years of my sons’ lives. You stole six years of my life with them.”
“Dominic, they are bastards!” Victoria spat, losing all composure. “They will ruin the Barrett alliance! If Arthur finds out you have four illegitimate heirs with a common girl, this entire merger collapses! Turn the car around right now! We can settle the girl with another trust—ten million, twenty million, whatever she wants—and send them to Europe—”
“If you ever come near Elena again,” Dominic said, cutting her off with absolute finality, “or if you even cast a shadow near my sons, I will strip you of every asset, every board seat, and every key to this city. You will die alone in that conservatory, Mother, with nothing but your pedigree to keep you warm.”
“Dominic! Do not hang up on me! Dominic!”
The line clicked dead.
Victoria pulled the phone from her ear, staring at the darkened screen with wild, disbelieving eyes.
Outside in the conservatory, the string quartet suddenly ceased playing.
Victoria walked quickly back to the glass doors. The room had fallen into an uncomfortable hush. Guests were whispering, checking their phones. Sloane Barrett was walking toward her father, tears of utter humiliation finally spilling over her mascara.
Dominic wasn't coming.
The realization swept through the room like an icy draft.
May you like
Victoria Moretti stood amidst the white lilies and crystal chandeliers, clutching her glass until the stem snapped between her manicured fingers, spilling red wine across the polished floor like fresh blood.
***
