Chapter 7 - The Gala of Knives
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The Grand Plaza Hotel glittered like a diamond palace under the crystal chandeliers of the grand ballroom.
Hundreds of the city’s wealthiest socialites, politicians, and financiers mingled amidst champagne flutes and classical violin music.
Nora stood before the full-length mirror in Roman’s private penthouse suite, smoothing down the fabric of her evening gown.
The dress was a masterpiece of deep crimson satin that clung to her curves like liquid fire, featuring a daring sweetheart neckline and delicate straps.
Sparkling diamond drop earrings caught the light, and her chestnut hair cascaded over her bare shoulders in soft, elegant waves.
When the door opened, Roman stepped inside, stopping dead in his tracks as his breath hitched audibly.
He wore an immaculate bespoke black tuxedo over a pitch-black dress shirt, looking devastatingly handsome and utterly lethal.
His gaze swept over her from head to toe, burning with a raw, unfiltered desire that made Nora’s breath catch in her throat.
"You look breathtaking, Nora," he said, his voice husky and rough around the edges.
"Red suits you."
"It feels like armor," Nora confessed, adjusting the clasp of her evening clutch to hide the slight tremor in her fingers.
Roman walked over, standing directly behind her in the mirror, his hands gently coming to rest on her bare shoulders.
His touch was electric, sending a shiver of pure heat racing down her spine.
"You don't need armor tonight, little bird," he whispered near her ear, his lips grazing her skin.
"I am your armor."
Thirty minutes later, the grand double doors of the ballroom swung open, and the master of ceremonies announced their arrival.
"Mr. Roman Moretti and his guest, Miss Nora Vance."
A hush fell over the crowded room as Roman stepped onto the polished parquet floor with Nora on his arm.
Whispers spread like wildfire across the ballroom as the city's elite watched the notoriously solitary mafia kingpin parade his companion.
Roman kept his hand firmly against the small of Nora’s back, guiding her through the crowd with supreme, unshakeable confidence.
"Smile, darling," he murmured beneath his breath.
"Every camera in the tri-state area is watching us."
Nora smiled radiant and bright, holding her head high as photographers’ flashes illuminated the glittering chandeliers.
Suddenly, the crowd parted near the center of the hall, revealing a tall, gaunt man with cold gray eyes and silver hair.
Julian Rossi.
The head of the rival syndicate approached with a slow, calculating smile, holding a glass of vintage champagne.
"Roman," Rossi purred, his voice slick and venomous like an oiled blade.
"I didn't think you possessed an appreciation for public charity."
"I appreciate keeping my investments secure, Julian," Roman replied, his voice chillingly smooth as he pulled Nora closer to his side.
Rossi’s cold eyes shifted down to Nora, raking over her crimson gown with predatory interest.
"And who is this exquisite creature?" Rossi asked, extending a hand toward her.
"I don't believe we've had the pleasure."
Nora looked at Rossi’s outstretched hand, feeling the icy danger radiating from the man who had tried to execute her in the alley.
Instead of shrinking back, she met his venomous gaze with icy defiance.
"Nora Vance," she said clearly, keeping her hands firmly at her side, refusing his touch.
"And the pleasure is entirely yours, Mr. Rossi."
A flicker of shock passed over Rossi’s face, followed by a dangerous, calculating gleam in his gray eyes.
Roman chuckled, a dark, rumbling sound of pure pride that resonated through his chest.
"Careful, Julian," Roman warned, his hazel eyes flashing with lethal intent.
"She has a habit of exposing things that prefer to stay in the dark."
Rossi’s smile tightened into a thin, murderous line as the orchestral quartet swelled into a dramatic waltz.
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"A lovely toy, Roman," Rossi whispered, leaning in before turning away.
"Let us see how long she survives the game."
