Philadelphia, Roxborough—the Opera House neighborhood.
Over the past decade, it had become one of the city's most talked-about areas. Outsiders had a single word for its residents: radicals.
The label fit because these dozen or so families had humble origins, yet they had steadily accumulated wealth—and, importantly, they were tireless in seeking even greater fortunes and higher social standing.
Philadelphia was an old American political stronghold and radicals weren't rare here—but to have so many in one cluster, all aligned in a mutual aid pact, was unique.
Tonight the Opera House neighborhood was brightly decorated.
They were celebrating the election of their 11th councilman.
Though he'd only won a modest local seat in Roxborough, Rice Mason was just 24 and had a promising future.
This wasn't just the Mason family's triumph—it was the entire neighborhood's collective victory.
Everyone had contributed to this success.
Every family in the neighborhood arrived bearing gifts for the Mason family's celebration.
"Congratulations, Jeff! Our whole family is so happy for Rice's success!"
John B. Kelly warmly embraced Rice's father, Jeff Mason.
His wife, Margaret Kelly, handed a gift to Rice's mother.
The entire Kelly family had come out for the occasion.
The eldest son, John Kelly Jr., went to hug his friend Rice and exclaimed happily:
"Great job, Rice! You're the best of us!"
But Rice didn't even acknowledge him. Instead, he peered around John Jr., fixing his gaze intently on Grace Kelly.
Rice's father Jeff immediately understood what his son was thinking.
He also knew John Sr.'s intentions—to cultivate Grace into someone who could help the Kelly family finally break into a higher social tier.
Jeff himself, who was now closing in on becoming the #3 figure in the Philadelphia Senate, understood all too well that such a leap would take generations of work.
Grace had indeed been raised well under John's careful planning. Rice, for his future, needed a wife who could carry social weight.
The Mason family was at a bottleneck and needed to "sacrifice" for that next step. The Kelly family was the perfect match in size and status.
But there was a problem: recent neighborhood gossip said Grace had found some "dubious" boyfriend in New York.
Knowing John's proud personality well, Jeff hatched a plan to help his son secure Grace:
"I heard Grace has a boyfriend now—shouldn't she have brought him?
John, you spent years choosing your son-in-law. He must be exceptional!"
Rice had been busy with his election campaign and hadn't heard this rumor. Learning his beloved Grace had a boyfriend in New York instantly darkened his face.
John Kelly's expression soured too.
He recalled the incident twenty days ago, when Grace—who was supposed to be studying in New York—returned in a Bentley.
It was peak evening social hour, so practically the entire neighborhood had seen it.
A luxury car. An older chauffeur. Expensive jewelry at her throat. And she was an actress.
The gossip was instant: Grace must have become some old-money New Yorker's mistress.
For the proud John, it was humiliating.
Worse, he couldn't even refute it—he himself suspected the same.
There were men in Philadelphia who drove Bentleys whose wealth dwarfed his own.
He'd been so ashamed he'd barely left the house since, unable to face the neighbors whose marriage proposals for their sons he'd once turned down.
If not for his son's prospects, he wouldn't even have come tonight.
Jeff's comment hadn't been loud—but the guests were few, and everyone was eager to hear John's response to the neighborhood's hottest rumor.
All eyes turned to him.
But what could John say?
No matter how they'd pressed Grace, she refused to reveal anything about the man.
The atmosphere turned awkward—just as Jeff intended.
Now all he needed was for his son Rice to step in and "rescue" Grace from embarrassment. They'd slip away together, and Jeff could formally propose the match to John, who at that moment would have no choice but to agree.
Jeff gave Rice a subtle look.
Rice was smart—smart enough to become a councilman. He instantly understood.
He headed toward Grace.
Grace, meanwhile, felt absolutely awful.
She knew her behavior had shamed her family.
She'd wanted to tell her father about Leo during all those interrogations.
But she couldn't forget what Noodles had said before she'd gotten out of the car:
"If you really want to do something for him—until he comes for you himself, don't tell anyone about what you two have."
Grace loved Leo.
But his actions had made her family a laughingstock, and she felt genuinely sad about it.
Worse yet—tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Their promised reunion was now just a day away, but Leo hadn't sent a single word.
Was he just playing with her?
"Grace, let's go to the back yard. Rachel, Anthony—they're all there. Since you went to New York, we haven't sat together at all."
Rice was clever. He deliberately mentioned the childhood friends they'd all grown up with, hoping to soften her guard.
Grace hesitated, clearly tempted.
Seeing this, Rice reached to take her hand.
As a notorious University of Pennsylvania playboy, Rice knew this was the moment most girls would let him hold their hand.
But Grace Kelly was no ordinary girl.
A lifelong athlete, her reflexes were lightning-quick.
She stepped back instantly, glaring at him, tense and on guard.
Humiliated in front of everyone, Rice's pride boiled over:
"I'm trying to help you save face and you humiliate me like this?
Don't think you're still that perfect Grace—you're just some sloppy seconds from a New York creep.
Hah! Just like your father—a fool dreaming above his station!"
"Watch your mouth, brother—apologize to my sister!" John Jr. snapped, stepping up.
"Brother? Don't flatter yourself—you're a worthless dropout," Rice sneered.
"Rice!" Jeff snapped sharply, cutting him off.
That was Rice's flaw.
Despite being a smart University of Pennsylvania quarterback, he had a vicious, impulsive streak.
But that same rough honesty had helped him get elected.
Jeff glared at his son to shut him up, but Grace wasn't about to stay quiet.
"Rice, don't think becoming a councilman makes you so different. Don't think we forgot how you got into Penn.
And since you became QB, what—haven't won a single game, right?"
Everyone who knew Rice's temper cringed.
"Enough!" Jeff barked.
But it was too late.
Red-faced, Rice shoved John Jr. aside and lunged at Grace with a raised hand.
He didn't actually mean to hit her—just to scare her. It was his usual cheap trick: terrorize the girl, then stop at the last second, cup her face gently, and make an apologetic, heartfelt plea.
It usually worked.
Grace was frozen in fear.
Rice smirked. He began to slow his swing, ready to shift into his gentle routine—
—but a strong hand clamped onto his wrist like a vise.
"Sir. Hitting a woman is hardly gentlemanly."
It was Leo, of course.
Rice's plan was suddenly ruined.
His temper, already foul, exploded. He glared like a beast at this interloper.
His free hand balled into a fist, and he swung hard at Leo.
But to Leo, the punch looked like slow-motion.
He twisted Rice's wrist.
The pain forced Rice to spin, twisting wildly to avoid breaking his arm, his would-be punch completely neutralized.
To the onlookers, it looked absurdly comical—Rice was whirling and stumbling like a clown.
Seeing his son humiliated, Jeff advanced:
"Sir, you're not invited. Let go."
"Do you really think if I let him go, he won't swing again?" Leo asked mildly, then released Rice.
Dizzy and blind with rage, Rice didn't even hear them.
The moment Leo let go, Rice charged like he was carrying a football.
He was no stranger to such tackles—but Leo had no intention of absorbing it.
He pivoted elegantly, shifted his weight, and deflected Rice's rush with barely a touch.
His arm snaked around Rice's neck in a practiced grappling motion and flung him effortlessly aside.
Rice flew straight into the family's front-yard tree.
Thunk!
The last few brittle autumn leaves fell around him.
"This is private property—and a respectable neighborhood. How did you even get in here?" Jeff roared, pulling a gun on Leo.
Leo chuckled and stepped back, drawing even with Grace.
"Mr. Mason, this isn't private anymore. Everyone saw your son attack a woman first.
As for how I got in? I'm sorry, but I didn't notice anything particularly upscale about this area.
I doubt your patrolling officers would dare stop a gentleman arriving in a Bentley."
He pointed at the car idling on the street.
The word Bentley made the crowd's eyes dart between the car, Leo, and Grace.
They lingered longest on Leo.
He was impeccably dressed:
Alden shell-cordovan shoes.
A Crombie pure-cashmere overcoat.
A bespoke Brooks Brothers suit—same tailor who'd clothed Lincoln.
A brand-new 1945 Rolex Datejust glinting on his wrist.
This was old money style—making even Philadelphia's millionaires feel shabby.
Jeff, the sharpest observer among them, lowered his gun.
He signaled for his family to carry the groaning Rice back inside.
He stepped forward and extended a hand:
"My son was hot-headed. Please don't take offense."
Leo shook his hand warmly.
"Grace is as lovely as an angel. Young men get a bit desperate when rebuffed—it's understandable."
His patronizing, almost fatherly tone made several in the crowd want to gag. Leo didn't even look older than Rice—he just radiated old-money heir.
Then, from behind Leo, a familiar voice rang out:
"What was all that? A duel?"
Jeff turned and went pale.
It was Isaac Koenig, a staffer on President Truman's team—and Jeff's biggest political patron.
Jeff hustled over, bowing obsequiously:
"A small misunderstanding, Mr. Koenig. Resolved now. Your visit truly honors us!"
But Isaac ignored him.
His eyes were locked on Leo.
Leo turned, brow raised:
"You're that…?"
Isaac beamed, hurried over, and clasped Leo's hand:
"Isaac Koenig. President Truman's staff. I'm the one who delivered your White House Christmas invitation."
Isaac had his own ambitions.
He didn't want to be a mere staffer forever. What he lacked was a powerful backer.
Leo—this rapidly rising Eastern real estate baron with the President's favor—was the perfect candidate.
Isaac's deferential greeting stunned everyone.
In this neighborhood, Isaac was the unreachable big-shot. His mere words could make or break these families.
But here he was—treating Leo with obvious respect.
People's minds reeled. This wasn't just any old-money heir. This was probably someone from those families.
"Shall we go inside to talk, Mr. Valentino?" Isaac asked courteously.
Leo shook his head and gestured to the radiant Grace beside him:
"You know how it is, Mr. Koenig. I have to take Grace shopping for a gown. She'll be accompanying me to the White House Christmas ball tomorrow.
Pardon us."
"Ah! Lucky Grace indeed! Goodbye, Mr. Valentino."
Leo nodded politely to the Kelly family, then led Grace away.