Page 39 of Unworthy Ties
Tonight, the Salvaggio’s were hosting their annual so-called “charity” event. Beneath the glittering chandeliers and polished smiles, it served as little more than a cloak for the city’s underworld and corrupt politicians to convene. Behind a carefully constructed veil of elegance and excess, illicit deals were brokered in whispered conversations and exchanged glances, all hidden from the public eye.
One wouldn’t normally consider such a corrupt gathering suitable for families, yet wives and children were invited without hesitation. It was all part of the carefully crafted illusion—a façade of legitimacy meant to soothe prying eyes and lend an air of respectability. After all, the Salvaggio’s had to maintain the appearance of an upstanding family, even while their dealings reeked of deceit and danger.
I hated events like these, but had to go, for the sake of appearances. Still, if I had to endure an evening of false smilesand backroom politics, I’d at least do it on my terms. Leaning against the kitchen counter, I pulled my phone from my pocket to check the time. Gabriella was running late, as usual. She just spent so much time on makeup, though she didn’t need a drop of it to turn heads. She could walk into that gala barefaced and still outshine every woman in the room.
Just as I was about to call for her, she emerged from the hallway. She wasn’t wearing the dress she had bought at the boutique with Felix; she had on the gown she found while she and her sister were thrifting. The fabric clung to her curves, a soft green that shimmered in the dim light, making her look both ethereal and striking.
“Is it okay?” she asked nervously. “Maybe I should change.”
“You look stunning,” I said, my voice steady despite the flurry of emotions swirling within me. The way the dress flowed around her legs when she moved was nothing short of mesmerizing.
Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and she cast her gaze down for a moment, but I could see the corners of her mouth lift into a smile. Without another word, I offered her my arm, and she slipped her hand into the crook of my elbow.
The drive to the Salvaggio’s estate passed in a blur of city lights and quiet anticipation. When we pulled up to the gated entrance, security waved us through, the sound of murmured voices and soft music spilling into the night air. The mansion loomed ahead, glowing with golden light, its grand staircase lined with guests in glittering gowns and tailored suits.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and aged whiskey. Crystal chandeliers bathed the room in a warm glow, casting light over clusters of guests engaged in hushed, calculated conversations. Servers glided between them with silver trays, offering champagne and canapés that lookedtoo delicate to touch. Every smile in the room was polished, every handshake a negotiation in disguise.
We’d barely taken three steps inside when Gianni Salvaggio, the patriarch and undisputed don of the Salvaggio family, stepped forward. His presence alone commanded the room as if the very air trembled beneath his gaze. Dressed in a tailored black suit, his gray hair slicked back like the surface of still water, he exuded an aura of control that left no doubt of his authority.
“Ah, my favorite newlyweds,” he boomed, his voice a rich baritone that resonated throughout the hall. “So glad you could join us tonight.”
He clasped my hand firmly before leaning in to brush a kiss against Gabriella’s cheek. “Tell me, are you two still in the honeymoon phase, or has he already started driving you crazy?”
Gabriella smiled politely. “A little of both, I think.”
Gianni laughed, deep and genuine. “That’s how you know it’s real.” His gaze flicked to me, his mouth twitching with a grin. “Who’s the boss at home? Don’t lie; I’ll know.”
“She is,” I said without hesitation.
Gabriella gave a small, triumphant smile. “Smart man.”
Gianni could be a bit of a talker as he regaled us with tales from his past, weaving in anecdotes that felt both exaggerated and true. Just as I thought we had gotten trapped in his web of stories, a tall man stepped next to Gianni and put his hand on his shoulder.
The man had silver hair, neatly combed back, and his suit was pressed to perfection. There was nothing flashy about him—no gaudy jewelry, no boastful grin—just the quiet confidence of someone who had long since earned his place.
“Ah, Rocco. This is Salvatore Romano—my right hand and my oldest friend. He’s been with me longer than some of my own blood.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
Salvatore nodded, his steely blue eyes assessing us with a critical glance. “A pleasure,” he said, his voice low and measured, as if each word were a stone dropped into a still pond. “It’s time for the opening speech, Gianni,” he said, shifting his focus to the Don.
“Ah, of course. I got a bit carried away. It was a pleasure seeing you both!”
The crowd parted, creating a path as Gianni strode toward the lavishly adorned stage at the far end of the room. Gabriella and I followed, glancing around at the sea of faces, some familiar and others inscrutable, each one a player in this elaborate game.
As Gianni took the microphone the crowd hushed, the murmur of conversation fading into an expectant silence. His commanding presence filled the room, the air thickening with anticipation.
“Good evening, friends and allies. Tonight, we gather not just to celebrate, but to honor the unity and community that bind us. Alone, we are vulnerable, but together, we are unstoppable.
This family, this network, is built on trust, loyalty, and shared purpose. It is these bonds that protect us and give us strength in a world that does not forgive weakness.
To those who stand with us: your commitment ensures our prosperity. To those who would threaten that unity, be warned: fractures in this community come with a cost few survive.
So, let us raise our glasses. To the ties that hold us, to the strength we share, and to a future forged in unwavering solidarity. To family—in all its forms.”
The clink of crystal glasses resonated through the hall, echoing the unspoken agreements among those present. Gabriella leaned closer to me, her breath warm against my ear. “What do you think he means by ‘cost few survive’?”
“That is a message meant for someone else in the room,” I said as I scanned the crowd, searching for the telltale signs of discontent.
