« J’ai l’impression de mettre le nez dans une fosse aux serpents », murmura Emma en guise de réponse, esquissant un sourire poli et convenu à un sénateur qui passait.
« C’est un véritable nid de vipères », admit Vincent d’un ton sombre.
« Gardez les yeux ouverts. »
Julian a vingt agents en civil postés dans toute la salle de bal, mais Arthur s’épanouit dans les spectacles publics.
Comme si la simple mention de son nom avait suffi à provoquer un silence soudain du côté est de la salle de bal.
Un groupe de dignitaires étrangers du consulat d’Europe de l’Est s’est séparé.
Arthur Moretti traversait le centre du bâtiment, vêtu d’un smoking anthracite sur mesure et d’une pochette en soie cramoisie.
Des soupirs d’étonnement résonnèrent dans le couloir.
Les invités reculèrent, stupéfaits par la réapparition soudaine d’un homme que l’on croyait mort depuis cinq ans.
Arthur marchait avec une arrogance naturelle, un verre de champagne millésimé à la main.
Il afficha un large sourire, saluant d’un signe de tête ses connaissances stupéfaites, ses cheveux aux reflets argentés brillant sous les lustres.
Il marcha droit vers Vincent et Emma, s’arrêtant à seulement trois pas.
Chapitre 19 – Le murmure de la vipère
La tension entre les deux frères était si palpable qu’on aurait pu la couper au couteau.
Julian et deux agents de sécurité en civil se mirent immédiatement en position, leurs mains planant sous leurs vestes de smoking.
Vincent n’a pas bougé.
Son expression était un masque de fer, totalement dépourvue de peur.
“You have immense nerve walking into this room, Arthur.
The federal warrants are being processed as we speak.”
Arthur chuckled, taking a slow sip of his champagne.
“Warrants?
On what grounds, dear brother?
Victoria Sterling’s deranged ramblings?
The police found no biological traces of me at Pier 42.
And as you can see, I arrived tonight as the accredited guest of the Romanian Ambassador.
Diplomatic courtesy affords me quite a bit of room to breathe.”
Arthur’s gaze slowly slid from Vincent to Emma.
His eyes sparkled with predatory calculation.
“And you must be Emma Carter,” Arthur purred, bowing slightly with exaggerated chivalry.
“The brave little waitress who brought the mighty House of Sterling to its knees.
Up close, I must say, you possess your father’s stubborn eyes.”
Emma felt a cold spike of rage pierce through her fear.
She stepped forward, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Vincent.
“Don’t you dare speak about my father.”
“Why not?”
Arthur asked softly, tilting his head.
“Has Vincent not told you the whole story?
Did he leave out the most delicious details of how the Moretti family built their foundation on your family’s ruins?”
“Arthur,” Vincent warned, his voice vibrating with lethal menace.
“Walk away.
Now.”
“You always were quick to hide the dirt beneath the rug, Vincent,” Arthur said, his smile sharpening like a razor.
“Did you tell her about the fire at the Carter warehouse on 35th Street?
Did you tell her who actually locked the safety valves that night?”
Emma’s breath hitched.
The fire that had initially destroyed her father’s fleet of trucks had always been ruled an accidental electrical fault—the very disaster that started his downward spiral.
“You’re lying,” Emma whispered, her knuckles clenching around her satin clutch.
“Am I?”
Arthur leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Ask your billionaire protector why his father’s personal seal was on the insurance denial documents.
Ask him why the Moretti foundation bought your father’s land for pennies on the dollar three days after he was buried.
Vincent likes to pretend he is a savior, Miss Carter.
But he is a Moretti through and through.
In our family, we don’t save people like you—we consume you.”
“That’s enough,” Vincent growled.
Vincent grabbed Arthur by the lapel of his tuxedo, violently pulling him forward.
The sound of fabric straining shocked the ballroom into dead silence.
Several security guards surged forward, but Arthur merely laughed into Vincent’s face.
Chapter 20 – Unraveling Truths
Vincent released Arthur with a shove that sent the elder brother stumbling back two paces.
“Get out,” Vincent commanded, his voice trembling with contained savagery.
“Before I forget that there are witnesses.”
Arthur straightened his jacket, adjusting his crimson pocket square with casual elegance.
He shot one last, mocking glance at Emma.
“The truth always surfaces, Miss Carter.
Sleep well tonight.”
With a mocking salute, Arthur turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd, exiting toward the private VIP suites accompanied by the foreign diplomatic security.
The atmosphere in the ballroom was shattered.
Vincent grabbed Emma’s hand, his grip uncharacteristically tight, and led her out through the service exit toward the waiting armored motorcade.
Neither spoke a single word during the entire twenty-mile drive back to the estate through the blinding rainstorm.
