Chapter 5 - The Third Table
The tension at Table One—the head table reserved for major city donors and executive committee members—was thick enough to cut with a butter knife.
Adrian sat at the center, flanked by Claire on his right and District Attorney Thomas Sterling on his left.
Sterling was a stern, gray-haired prosecutor who had spent six years trying to find a paper trail linking Adrian’s real estate holdings to the South Philadelphia docks.
"Fascinating project in East Falls, Moretti," Sterling said, slicing his filet mignon with methodical precision. "I saw the municipal permits cleared yesterday afternoon. Surprising speed for the zoning board."
"Efficiency, Thomas," Adrian replied smoothly, sipping his mineral water. "When public officials understand that progress benefits the community, paperwork moves."
"Or when progress comes with private escrow guarantees," Sterling muttered under his breath.
Claire leaned forward slightly, her emerald velvet sleeve brushing against Adrian’s shoulder.
"Actually, Mr. Sterling," Claire said, her voice warm, clear, and perfectly pitched, "the zoning approval for East Falls was delayed for eight months because the previous developer failed to submit an environmental impact assessment regarding the wetlands near the river. Adrian's engineering team resubmitted the plans with a twenty-acre public park reservation."
Sterling paused, his knife hovering over his plate. He looked at Claire with a mixture of surprise and skepticism. "You read the East Falls environmental filing, Ms. Bennett?"
"I read page forty-two through sixty-eight while pinning Mr. Moretti's tuxedo trousers three weeks ago," Claire said, taking a delicate sip of her champagne. "If your office had reviewed the watershed map attached to Schedule B, you would have realized the city saved four hundred thousand dollars in storm-drain infrastructure."
Silence fell over the surrounding seats.
Adrian slowly turned his head to look at Claire. A slow, rare look of genuine amazement touched his features, followed immediately by an overwhelming wave of fierce, unadulterated pride.
District Attorney Sterling stared at Claire for three seconds, then let out a short, approving laugh.
"Well," Sterling said, raising his glass toward her. "It seems Moretti finally hired someone who reads the attachments. Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Bennett."
"The pleasure is mine, prosecutor," Claire smiled.
As Sterling turned to speak with his wife, Adrian leaned sideways, his lips hovering an inch from Claire’s ear.
"You read my zoning files?" he murmured, his breath warm against her neck.
"You left them on my cutting table during your second lesson, Adrian," Claire whispered back, her eyes sparkling. "I had to move them to cut a chiffon veil. I don't move paper without reading it first."
"You're terrifying," Adrian whispered.
"I'm thorough," Claire corrected, using the same word Marco had used the night before.
Before Adrian could answer, a young man in a server's uniform leaned between their chairs, placing a folded cloth napkin beside Adrian’s plate.
"Pardon me, Mr. Moretti," the server whispered nervously. "A gentleman in the vestibule said this fell from your coat."
Adrian didn't have a coat in the vestibule. His coat was in the private holding room upstairs.
Adrian’s gray eyes narrowed into silver slits. He picked up the cloth napkin, unfolding it beneath the edge of the table.
Inside lay a heavy brass key stamped with a double-headed crow—the mark of Lorenzo Rossi, the head of the North Philadelphia syndicate, and Adrian's chief rival for control of the port terminals.
Scrawled in red ink on the linen was a single sentence:
The waterfront contract expires at midnight. Step outside or the dressmaker doesn't leave the hotel.
Adrian didn't flinch. His face turned into a mask of pure, absolute stone—the face that had earned him the title of boss across three states.
He refolded the napkin, sliding it into his jacket pocket.
He turned to Claire, his voice dropping into a calm, gentle murmur that contrasted terrifyingly with the cold flame in his eyes.
"Claire," he said softly. "I need to step into the foyer for five minutes to discuss a lease agreement."
Claire looked at his hands. His knuckles were white against his water glass.
She looked toward the ballroom exit, where two men in dark overcoats were standing near the velvet drapery, watching Table One.
"Adrian," Claire said, her voice dropping, her hand reaching under the tablecloth to grab his wrist. "Who are those men?"
May you like
Adrian looked into her green eyes, his thumb gently stroking her knuckles beneath the linen.
"Nobody you need to worry about, little dressmaker," Adrian whispered. "Stay here. Drink your champagne. I'll be back before the second dance."
