Page 6 of Ivory Obsession
“You’re the one who’s going to be in trouble with Dad if you don’t deliver whatever it is that you promised. But, hey, at least he can’t beat the shit out of you anymore. You’re a little old for that.”
I chewed the inside of my mouth. “True, but don’t forget who we’re dealing with here.” I paused by the door, letting my eyes roam over the heirlooms of our legacy—the portraits that seemed to judge every move we made. “Enzo hasn’t softened with age. Cross him, and he’d cast me out without a second thought.”
“Like hell he would,” Marco snorted. “Not while I’m around.”
“Your loyalty is touching.” I meant it, despite the hard shell I’d built around my heart. “Just don’t let your guard down.”
“Never.” His gaze met mine, steady and unflinching. “And hey,” he added, softer now, “be careful out there, Dante. We need you back in one piece.”
“Always am.” With a last look at those silent sentinels on the wall, I stepped into the fading light of dusk. “Love you, brother.”
“Love you too, man.” Marco’s voice was a low murmur, almost lost in the hum of Little Italy waking up for the evening. I gave my mother a kiss good night and waved goodbye at my father as I left my childhood home.
The streets were alive with the pulse of the city as I made my way to my car. The familiar smells of garlic and tomato sauce mingled with the exhaust fumes, a reminder of where I came from—and what I stood to gain tonight.
Tonight wasn’t just about power plays and winning over the elite; it was about proving myself, not just as Enzo’s son or a Moretti, but as Dante. My own man. A man on a mission to carve his path, even if it was shadowed by the family name.
I was going to prove to my father that investing in biotech was the future. That it was what was best for the family.
I slid into the driver’s seat, the cool leather of the car seat hugging me like a silent ally. The engine purred to life with a twist of my wrist, a sound that never failed to send a thrill through me. I maneuvered the sleek vehicle out onto the street, leaving Little Italy’s embrace for the wider avenues that led towards the gala.
As I drove, the neighborhoods transitioned from the familiar, worn cobblestones to the polished concrete of the city’s affluent heart. It was like watching my own reflection change in the rearview mirror, shifting from the gritty heir of a crime family to the polished exterior I needed to present to the world tonight. The streets were a map of my own evolution, each one leading me further into the role I had to play—sinner and savior, both wrapped up in a tailored suit.
Parking down the street from the gala, I killed the engine and sat for a moment, taking in the scene. The mockingbird’s song filled the air, a serene melody that contrasted sharply with the tension coiling in my gut. Funny how a bird could sing so sweetly when it was all about deception, mimicking others to survive. Not so different from me then, I mused, stepping out into the evening air.
The bird’s trill followed me as I locked the car and adjusted my jacket, the fabric moving easily over my frame. I was ready for this; I’d been ready for a long time. All those years of being groomed for power, of learning how to hide my true self behind a smile and a handshake—they were all leading to this moment. And yet, there was an edge to it now, a sense of something more personal at stake.
Jade Brantley. She didn’t know it yet, but she was the reason tonight mattered more than any other social engagement I’d ever attended. Her work, her mind—it was the future. And I wanted—no, needed—to be a part of that. Not just for the family, but for me.
I had followed her research with near fanaticism. If I wanted to take our family business into the future, this was exactly what I had to do.
Taking a deep breath, I started towards the gala. The evening air clung to my skin, whispering secrets of what might unfold if I played my cards right. Tonight wasn’t just another night. Tonight was when everything could change.
As I approached the entrance to the gala, the familiar scent of wealth and entitlement filled my nostrils. The doorman nodded, recognizing the signet ring that adorned my finger, a subtle symbol of my status within the city’s hidden hierarchy. I couldn’t help but smirk; they all played their parts in the grand theater of high society, blissfully unaware of the puppet master walking among them.
I was greeted by the murmur of the gala, a sound that felt like slipping into a well-tailored suit—familiar and contemptuously comfortable. Air kisses landed on cheeks with the precision of a rehearsed play, one I knew all too well. Smiling benefactors clapped me on the back, their eyes hungry for glimpses of the man behind the Moretti name. I indulged them with nods and half-smiles, my gaze never truly meeting theirs.
“Mr. Moretti, always a pleasure,” cooed a woman with a practiced smile, her hand lingering just a second too long on my arm.
“Likewise,” I replied, my voice smooth like aged whiskey, yet devoid of sincerity.
I moved through the crowd with ease, my every gesture exuding the controlled grace expected from a man of my standing. Yet, internally, I was on the hunt, searching for the unsuspecting key to my ambitious plans—a key dressed in intellect and wrapped in allure.
“Your generosity knows no bounds, Dante,” a man said, raising his glass towards me. “To the children’s foundation, may your contributions bring hope.”
“Here’s to hope,” I echoed, clinking my glass against his. But my thoughts were elsewhere, calculating, always calculating. Tonight was a chessboard, and I intended to leave with a queen.
My focus was interrupted, not by another empty toast or a veiled business proposition, but by a sight that commanded my full attention. Across the room, framed by the mingling crowd, stood Dr. Jade Brantley. I’d seen her before, of course, at those sterile conferences where she spoke of DNA and genomes with an excitement that was almost palpable. But tonight, away from the fluorescent hum of lab lights, she was different, breathtaking.
Her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders in soft waves, a stark contrast to the severity of her usual lab bun. The dress she wore hugged her curves, a testament to her femininity that left little to the imagination yet remained tasteful, elegant. Her posture radiated confidence, the tilt of her chin like a challenge to any man who dared approach her—and it felt like many did.
I watched, intrigued, as she navigated the advances with polite dismissal, her laughter genuine but reserved. The academic world knew Dr. Brantley as a rising star, but tonight, under the chandeliers’ glow, she was more than a keen mind in a sea of intellect; she was a siren amidst the waves, and I found myself inexplicably drawn to her song.
Okay, so I absolutely had a type. But I needed to remind myself that Jade Brantley was a means to an end, not a woman I was dying to sleep with. Though she was…also that.
So when she picked up her head and flashed me a shy smile, her cheeks reddening under the electric light of the grand chandeliers, I took a chance.
And I pounced.