Chapter 9 - Whispers in the City
By the following week, news of the shakeup inside the Duca empire had rippled across Chicago's elite social and business circles.
The official story released to the press was that Bianca Duca had stepped down as head of the foundation due to health reasons, choosing to retire to the family’s northern estate, while Nicholas Vale had resigned from all corporate posts to pursue 'private international interests.'
But in the shadow rooms—where real power was traded—everyone knew the truth.
They knew that Nicholas Vale had tried to frame Roman Duca's new wife, and that Hannah Duca had utterly dismantled him in two hours. They knew that Bianca Duca had been exiled for insulting her daughter-in-law. And they knew that Hannah Duca was now the absolute, unquestioned financial mind behind the entire Duca empire.
On Friday evening, Roman and Hannah attended the annual Chicago Business Leadership Gala at the Drake Hotel. It was the premier event of the season, attended by senators, billionaires, and the city’s oldest moneyed families.
When Roman and Hannah stepped into the grand ballroom, a subtle hush swept through the crowd.
Roman looked imposing and handsome in a bespoke black tuxedo. But all eyes were on Hannah.
She wore a custom-made obsidian velvet gown that sculpted her breathtaking, voluptuous figure with dangerous elegance. Her dark hair was styled in glamorous Old Hollywood waves, a breathtaking diamond necklace—a gift from Roman that morning—glimmering against her skin. She walked beside her husband with absolute poise, her head held high, radiating warmth, power, and untouchable grace.
Women who had previously snubbed her at luncheon events now rushed over with wide, nervous smiles, offering eager compliments on her gown and asking for her advice on charitable boards. Executives who had once dismissed her as 'Roman's quiet wife' approached her with deep deference, offering business proposals and seeking her analytical insights.
Hannah handled them all with effortless charm, perfectly balancing polite warmth with cool, unyielding boundaries.
At one point during the evening, Roman stood near the high-backed lounge chairs, a glass of scotch in his hand, chatting with two major shipping executives. His eyes, however, never left Hannah, who was speaking animatedly with the city's lead federal auditor near the champagne fountain.
"She’s extraordinary, Roman," said Thomas Vance, a senior logistics tycoon and longtime family friend, stepping up beside him. "Half the men in this room are terrified of her, and the other half wish they were married to her."
Roman took a sip of his scotch, a proud, lethal smile touching his dark features. "Let them wish. Touch her, and they answer to me."
"I hear she cleared twenty-two million in fraud in one night," Thomas added, lowering his voice in genuine admiration. "Bianca used to say Hannah didn't fit the family mold."
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Roman turned his head, looking Thomas dead in the eye, his tone laced with absolute finality.
"My mother was wrong," Roman said softly. "Hannah didn't fit the mold. She redefined it."
