Ava Vitiello POV
But Sarah wasn't finished. In fact, she was just getting started.
She hoisted Chloe higher on her hip, using the child like a prop in her staged tragedy.
"He chose real love," she announced to the room, her voice shrill. "He chose passion. He didn't want a frigid bitch who cares more about spreadsheets than people."
Liam finally found his voice.
"Sarah, stop," he groaned, his face flushing.
"No!" she yelled. "Let her hear it! Let everyone hear it! You're barren, aren't you, Ava? That's why you're alone. No man wants a dead garden."
The insult hung in the air, toxic and heavy. It was low. It was vile.
Leo, my cousin, started to surge forward, his hand reaching inside his jacket for a weapon.
I held up a hand to stop him.
I looked at Sarah. I looked at the dark circles etched under her eyes, the faint tremor in her hands. I didn't feel anger. I felt pity. She was a woman drowning, trying to pull everyone else down with her just to stay afloat.
Then, I looked at Liam.
"You didn't choose love, Liam," I said. My voice carried clearly across the silent room, smooth as glass.
He looked up, his eyes hollow.
"You chose fear," I continued. "You were afraid of being poor. You were afraid of prison. You were afraid of being a nobody. So you anchored yourself to the first person who made you feel big."
I took a slow step closer to him.
"And now look at you. You're smaller than you've ever been."
Liam recoiled as if I had slapped him. Tears leaked from his eyes, pathetic and silent.
Sarah threw herself between us.
"At least he comes home to me!" she screeched, desperation clawing at her throat. "At least he has someone! You have nobody! You go home to an empty house and your money!"
I smiled.
It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a predator who has just cornered its prey.
"I am not alone, Sarah," I said.
I turned slightly toward the entrance of the ballroom.
"Ethan?" I called out softly.
The crowd near the double doors parted instantly, like the Red Sea before Moses.
A man stepped forward.
He was tall, with broad shoulders that strained the fabric of his bespoke tuxedo. His hair was dark, silvering distinguishedly at the temples. His face was scarred, a brutal line running down his cheek that only added to his menace.
Ethan Valenti. The Ghost of Chicago. The most feared Underboss in Europe.
He walked toward me with a predatory grace. The room seemed to shrink around him, the air growing thinner with his presence.
He stopped beside me. He didn't look at Liam. He didn't look at Sarah. He only looked at me.
He wrapped a heavy arm around my waist, pulling me flush against his side. It was a claim. It was a statement of ownership so absolute it made Liam's knees buckle.
"I would like you to meet my husband," I said to Liam.
Liam's jaw dropped.
"Husband?" he whispered.
Ethan looked down at me, his eyes softening in a way that terrified everyone else.
"And our daughter is waiting in the suite," Ethan said, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated through my chest. "Lily is asking for her mother."
I looked back at Sarah. Her mouth was open. Her narrative had collapsed into dust.
"I have a husband who would burn the world for me, Sarah," I said. "And a daughter who sleeps soundly because her father is a King, not a coward."
I leaned into Ethan's touch.
"We are done here."
