Chapter 7 - The Harbor Gala
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Three days after the confrontation in the library, an ornate gold-embossed envelope arrived on Emma’s dressing table.
Inside was an invitation to the annual Boston Harbor Winter Gala, hosted by the city’s wealthiest political donors.
Beneath the formal script was a short, handwritten note in Dominic’s sharp cursive: "Tonight, you are my guest."
Beside the envelope lay a long, velvet-lined box containing an emerald-green silk gown and a pair of satin heels.
When Emma stepped into the grand foyer that evening, the entire downstairs staff paused in their tracks.
The silk dress clung gracefully to her curves, the rich forest green complementing her fair skin and dark brown hair.
She wore no jewelry except for a pair of delicate diamond earrings Dominic had sent with the dress.
Dominic stood at the base of the marble staircase waiting for her, looking devastatingly handsome in a custom black tuxedo.
For the second time since they had met, the ruthless crime lord looked completely speechless.
His dark eyes traveled slowly from her slippers to the gentle curve of her neck, his chest rising with a sharp breath.
"You look magnificent, Emma," he murmured, extending his arm toward her as she reached the bottom step.
Emma placed her gloved hand against his strong forearm, feeling the iron muscle beneath the fine wool.
"I am terrified I will ruin whatever plan you have for tonight," Emma admitted honestly as they walked toward the limousine.
"Your only job tonight is to stay by my side and watch the faces in the room," Dominic reassured her, opening the car door.
"Marcus Vance will be there with the corrupt city officials who authorized his fraudulent shell companies."
"I need your sharp eyes to identify the banker who signed the Cayman wire transfers."
The limousine pulled up to the glittering entrance of the Boston Harbor Hotel forty minutes later.
Paparazzi flashbulbs exploded across the red carpet as Dominic escorted Emma into the opulent grand ballroom.
Crystal chandeliers hung from gilded ceilings, and hundreds of Boston’s elite mingled with champagne flutes in hand.
Suddenly, Emma recognized the wealthy woman from the opening dinner party who had dropped her wineglass weeks ago.
The woman’s jaw dropped in absolute shock as she saw Emma walking arm-in-arm with the city’s most feared bachelor.
The man in the expensive gray suit who had laughed at Emma nearly choked on his bourbon.
Whispers rippled through the high-society crowd like wildfire across dry brush.
"Is that Dominic Bellini's maid?" someone hissed behind a feathered mask.
"Why is he holding her hand like she's a foreign princess?" another whispered in disbelief.
Dominic heard the comments, but he did not pull away; instead, he pulled Emma closer against his side.
"Hold your head high," Dominic whispered into her ear, his warm breath sending goosebumps across her skin.
"Not a single person in this room has half your courage or a tenth of your integrity."
Emma looked up into his fierce, protective eyes and smiled, standing tall among the vipers of high society.
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Across the crowded room, beneath the shadows of the VIP balcony, Marcus Vance watched them with a venomous grin.
He raised a champagne flute toward Dominic in a silent, mocking toast, signaling three armed men waiting by the terrace doors.
