Chapter 7 - Entering the Lion's Den
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The black evening gown hanging in my suite looked like it had been spun from midnight itself.
Crafted from heavy Italian silk, it featured an elegant off-the-shoulder neckline, long fitted sleeves, and a daring slit that ran up the left thigh.
On the vanity table sat a velvet box containing a magnificent diamond-and-emerald choker that gleamed with cold brilliance under the chandelier.
"Mr. Moretti said this belonged to your mother," the stylist murmured as she pinned my dark hair into an intricate, cascading updo.
I touched the cool emeralds against my throat, watching the reflection of a stranger staring back at me in the gilded mirror.
The exhausted waitress with aching feet had completely vanished.
In her place stood a woman whose posture carried the unmistakable grace of forgotten royalty.
When I stepped out into the grand foyer, Dante was waiting by the elevator doors.
He wore a tailored black tuxedo that accentuated his broad shoulders and commanding physical presence.
His cold gray eyes swept over me from head to toe, and for a fleeting second, the ruthless mafia don seemed genuinely speechless.
"You look breathtaking, Elena," he said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, smoky register.
"Tonight, we are attending the annual Saint Jude's Charity Gala at the Plaza Hotel."
"Every crime boss, corrupt politician, and billionaire financier in the tri-state area will be in that ballroom."
"Including Victor Romano?" I asked, feeling my pulse quicken.
"Especially Victor Romano," Dante replied, offering me his arm.
"For fifteen years, Romano has operated under the assumption that Julian's bloodline was completely extinguished."
"Tonight, we show him that the true owner of this city has returned to claim her throne."
Orion trotted over, wearing a sleek tactical harness bearing the official crest of the Moretti private security detail.
Because the gala was guarded by Dante's security contractors, Orion was legally permitted on the premises as a licensed executive protection K-9.
The hound gave my hand an affectionate nudge before falling into step perfectly beside my right leg.
The drive to the Plaza was flanked by a five-car motorcade with blackened windows and armed enforcers.
When our limousine arrived beneath the grand marquee on Fifth Avenue, paparazzi flashbulbs exploded like miniature lightning storms.
Dante stepped out first, extending his gloved hand to guide me onto the red carpet.
Orion stepped out behind us, his massive frame and gleaming amber eyes instantly commanding an aura of lethal power.
The murmurs began the instant the crowd registered who was walking beside the untouchable Don Moretti.
Dante Moretti had never brought a date to any public event in his entire career.
He had never walked beside a woman with his hand resting possessively at the small of her back.
The grand ballroom went dead silent as we entered through the towering double doors.
High-society elites, mafia capos, and international brokers froze with champagne flutes halfway to their lips.
Whispers rippled through the room like wildfire across dry timber.
"Who is she?" a woman in diamonds whispered nearby.
"Look at her neck—that's the Valenti emerald choker!" an older gentleman gasped in shock.
At the far end of the room, standing beside a group of heavily armed bodyguards, a silver-haired man in a white suit stiffened.
Victor Romano looked directly at my face, and every drop of color drained from his weathered features.
His eyes darted from my face to the emeralds at my throat, and finally down to Orion, who let out a low, vibrating growl that shook the crystal chandeliers.
Dante leaned down, his warm lips brushing against my ear as the whole room watched in awe.
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"Hold your head high, my queen," he whispered fiercely.
"Let them see that the ghost has come back to hunt the wolves."
