Chapter 5 - The Gala of Wolves
Victoria’s face drained of all color. Her lips trembled as she looked from the decrypted papers to Dominic’s stone-cold eyes.
“Dominic... that’s absurd! It’s a forgery! You’re taking the word of a Columbia scholarship brat over your own wife?!” Victoria cried out, desperately trying to maintain her aristocratic composure. “My family built those northern ports! You would be nothing without the Moretti name!”
“Your father’s ports were bankrupt before I invested fifty million to clear his debts,” Dominic said coldly. “You thought I wouldn't notice the gradual bleed of capital because I trusted you with the family foundation. That trust ended tonight.”
Dominic turned to his head of security, a scarred veteran named Marco. “Strip Mrs. Russo of all access codes, credit lines, and properties pending the council review. Confine her to the Westchester estate under round-the-clock guard. If she attempts to contact Don Valenti or leave the premises, treat her as an active threat.”
“You can’t do this to me!” Victoria screamed as Marco took her firmly by the arm. “Valenti will crush you, Dominic! The entire Five Families will side with me at the annual Manhattan Philanthropic Gala tomorrow night! You’re a dead man!”
As her screams faded down the marble hallway, the library returned to a tense silence.
Dominic turned back to me. “She’s right about one thing. Tomorrow night is the Annual Heritage Gala at The Plaza. Don Valenti has invited international delegates, maritime investors, and city officials to announce his new ‘partnership’ with our shipping routes. He believes I still don’t know about the trap.”
“He thinks you signed the Trieste contract,” I realized.
“Exactly,” Dominic smiled darkly. “And that gives us eighteen hours to prepare our counter-strike. But to do that, Miss Miller, I need you by my side. Not as a waitress. Not as a student. But as my Senior International Counsel.”
The next afternoon, a team of high-end stylists and tailors arrived at the penthouse. When I looked into the full-length mirror hours later, the exhausted, apron-wearing girl from Queens was gone.
In her place stood a striking woman in an emerald-green silk evening gown that hugged every curve with refined elegance, her hair styled in an intricate updo, wearing a vintage diamond choker borrowed from the Russo family vault.
May you like
Dominic walked into the dressing suite, wearing a bespoke midnight-black tuxedo. He stopped in his tracks, his breath catching for a brief second before regaining his composure.
“Stunning, Miss Miller,” he said softly, offering his arm. “Shall we go dismantle an empire?”
