Chapter 8 - The Trap is Sprung
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The orchestra swelled with a slow, sweeping waltz that filled the grand ballroom with dramatic strings.
"Dance with me," Dominic murmured, turning Emma toward the polished hardwood floor before she could object.
"I don't know how to waltz in front of hundreds of people," Emma said, her pulse quickening with nervous excitement.
"Follow my lead," he answered softly, placing his large, warm hand firmly against the small of her back.
Dominic guided her into the center of the ballroom with effortless authority, moving with fluid, mesmerizing grace.
Emma looked up into his dark eyes, losing herself in the intensity of his gaze while the rest of the room faded away.
Every movement was synchronized, his strong frame guiding hers as though they had danced together for a lifetime.
"I found the banker," Emma whispered suddenly, keeping her expression perfectly neutral as they turned.
"The bald man standing near the terrace pillar wearing the red lapel pin."
"His name is Arthur Pendelton," Dominic confirmed without looking away from her eyes.
"He oversees foreign investments for the state treasury."
"He is the one who forged the maritime foundation signatures," Emma added, her bookkeeping instincts sharper than ever.
"Every Cayman invoice matches the unique wire codes assigned to Pendelton’s private terminal."
Dominic’s lips curved into a dangerous, satisfied smile.
"You just gave me the final nail for Vance’s coffin, Emma."
Before Emma could reply, the heavy crystal chandelier above the ballroom flickered twice and died.
A fraction of a second later, the sharp, deafening crack of a gunshot shattered the orchestra’s melody.
Screams erupted throughout the hall as wealthy patrons dropped to the floor, scattering glasses and overturned tables.
"Down!" Dominic roared, reacting with terrifying speed.
Instead of seeking cover for himself, Dominic spun his body and pulled Emma entirely beneath his broad frame.
A second bullet whizzed through the air, grazing the fabric of Dominic's tuxedo shoulder and tearing into the wall behind them.
Dominic grunted in pain, but his grip on Emma never loosened for an instant.
He drew a concealed matte-black pistol from beneath his jacket, firing three rapid, suppressed rounds toward the terrace shadows.
A muffled cry echoed from the darkness, followed by the heavy thud of a body collapsing over the balcony railing.
Panic surged through the room as hundreds of guests stampeded toward the main exits in blind terror.
Dominic kept his arm wrapped like a steel vice around Emma’s waist, shielding her head against his chest.
"Are you hit?" he demanded, his voice thick with an adrenaline-fueled fury she had never heard before.
"I am fine! Dominic, you're bleeding!" Emma cried out, feeling warm, sticky moisture soaking through his jacket.
"It's just a scratch," he lied through gritted teeth, scanning the smoky ballroom with lethal precision.
His security detail suddenly swarmed the area, forming an impenetrable human wall of black coats around them.
"Car is waiting at the south loading dock, Boss!" his head guard shouted over the chaos.
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Dominic did not let go of Emma for even a second as they moved through the emergency corridors into the cold night.
Marcus Vance had made his move, and the fragile peace in Boston had officially shattered into war.
