Chapter 18 - The Commission|
Six months later.
The grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel in downtown Chicago was bathed in brilliant crystal light.
The annual Commission Gala—the gathering of the Midwest's most powerful business magnates, politicians, and underworld heads—was in full swing.
Over four hundred guests in tailored tuxedos and designer gowns filled the room, their diamond jewelry catching the light of the massive chandeliers.
At the center head table sat the Valon family.
Rhett Valon sat at the head of the table, wearing a crisp black tuxedo, looking every bit the indisputable King of Chicago.
Sitting directly beside him—in the seat traditionally reserved for the Underboss of the syndicate—was Isa.
She wore a sweeping emerald silk gown that highlighted her pale skin and dark hair, the four-carat black diamond ring on her left hand glittering under the chandeliers.
Beside her sat Marcus and Dr. Vance, while eight broad-shouldered Valon guards stood posted discreetly around the perimeter of the room.
A senior syndicate head from Detroit—an old, scarred man named Moretti—walked up to the table, holding a glass of aged whiskey.
Moretti bowed his head respectfully to Rhett, then turned his gaze to Isa.
"Mrs. Valon," Moretti rasped out politely. "I hear the Q1 shipping volume at Pier 42 has doubled under your management."
Isa offered Moretti a serene, razor-sharp smile, raising her crystal glass of champagne.
"Tripled, Don Moretti," Isa corrected smoothly. "And the customs clearance time has been reduced by forty percent."
May you like
Moretti let out a low, appreciative laugh, nodding in absolute respect. "The Midwest is fortunate to have you at the helm, my lady."
Rhett looked at his wife, his gray eyes flashing with an intense, quiet pride as he reached under the white tablecloth, wrapping his large hand securely around hers.
