Chapter 7 - A Night of Silk and Daggers
The charity gala at the Grand Harborview Hotel was supposed to be a neutral-ground summit for the city’s high-society elite and the underground families who secretly controlled the ports.
In reality, it was a den of vipers.
Dominic had insisted that I accompany him. "Rossi believes you are my weakness," Dominic had explained while handing me a velvet dress box earlier that afternoon. "If I hide you, he will smell fear and hunt harder. If I walk into his gala with you on my arm, under the full protection of my family, it signals that any strike against you is an act of total war."
When I stepped out of the penthouse dressing room, Dominic’s breath audibly caught in his throat.
The dress was emerald green silk, floor-length, with an off-the-shoulder neckline that hugged my curves and flowed like liquid water down to my heels. My hair had been styled into an elegant updo by private stylists, with diamond teardrop earrings framing my face.
"You look... magnificent, Emma," Dominic said, his eyes darkening with undeniable hunger and admiration.
"I feel like an imposter," I murmured, adjusting the unfamiliar fabric.
"You are no imposter," Dominic said, offering me his arm. "You are the bravest woman in this city."
When our motorcade arrived at the Harborview Hotel, the red carpet was swarming with photographers and journalists. Flashes blinded us as Dominic led me through the crowd. He kept his hand firmly on the small of my back, guiding me with protective authority.
Inside the grand ballroom, crystal chandeliers hung from high ceilings, illuminating hundreds of guests in black-tie attire.
As we entered, a sudden hush rippled through the room.
Whispers broke out instantly. Dominic Salvatore, the untouchable Don who had never brought a woman to a public syndicate event, was walking arm-in-arm with an unknown beauty.
At the center of the ballroom stood Don Antonio Rossi—an older, heavyset man with slick gray hair, wearing a white tuxedo and holding a cigar. Beside him stood three heavily armed lieutenants with cold, calculating eyes.
"Dominic," Rossi boomed, opening his arms with theatrical warmth as we approached. "I was worried you wouldn't make it after your... unfortunate traffic accident three weeks ago."
"I am difficult to kill, Antonio," Dominic replied smoothly, his voice pleasant yet carrying an unmistakable threat. "As your men discovered this afternoon outside St. Jude's Academy."
Rossi’s smile stiffened for a fraction of a second before recovering. His gaze shifted to me, his eyes narrowing with greasy curiosity. "And who is this exquisite flower on your arm? Don't tell me the great Salvatore has finally found a heart."
"This is Emma Hayes," Dominic said, his voice echoing across the nearby crowd with absolute clarity. "She is under my personal, sovereign protection. Anyone who looks at her with malice will answer directly to me."
Rossi chuckled dryly, taking a puff of his cigar. "A waitress from South Boston, isn't she? My sources tell me she was the one who pulled you from the wreckage. How touching. A peasant saving a king."
I felt the blood rush to my face, but before Dominic could react, I took a half-step forward and looked Rossi dead in the eye.
"A peasant who knows how to spot garbage when she smells it, Mr. Rossi," I said coolly, my diner-trained backbone refusing to be intimidated by an old crook in an expensive suit.
A quiet murmur of shock rippled through the surrounding syndicate captains. Dominic’s lips twitched upward in pure, unadulterated amusement.
Rossi’s face turned an ugly shade of magenta. "Watch your tongue, girl."
"Touch her," Dominic whispered, stepping into Rossi’s personal space, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on Rossi’s neck stand on end, "and I will burn every ship, every warehouse, and every home you own to ash before the sun rises."
The tension in the ballroom was so thick it could be sliced with a razor.
Just then, Marco appeared at Dominic’s side, leaning in to whisper urgently. "Boss. We have a problem at the western perimeter. One of our transport trucks was just intercepted."
Dominic frowned, his eyes darting between Rossi and Marco. "Excuse us, Antonio. Enjoy your evening."
May you like
As Dominic led me away toward the private lounge, I glanced back at Marco. He wasn't looking at Dominic. He was exchanging a brief, subtle nod with Don Rossi’s lead enforcer.
My blood ran cold. The suspicion that had been gnawing at my gut since the penthouse confirmed itself in that single glance: Marco was the traitor.
