Chapter 4 - The Gala at the DocksThe threat hung over the penthouse like a storm cloud that refused to break.
Two days after Salvatore’s uninvited visit, the annual Maritime Trade Association Gala was scheduled at the Grand Ballroom overlooking Navy Pier. It was the premier event for Chicago’s shipping, real estate, and political elite—and the public battleground where Dominic and Salvatore’s families competed for dominance over the city’s trade routes.
"You don't have to go," Dominic told me as I stood in the penthouse dressing room, staring at the reflection in the full-length mirror.
I wore a floor-length dress of dark emerald silk that draped elegantly over my shoulders, paired with simple gold earrings. My dark hair was swept up into an intricate bun, exposing the long, delicate line of my neck.
"If I stay here, Salvatore wins," I said, turning to face him. "He wants me terrified. He wants you distracted. I spent three years dealing with rude customers and late rent, Dominic. I’m not going to let some mobster with bad teeth make me hide in a closet."
Dominic stood in the doorway, wearing a tailored black tuxedo that made him look impossibly handsome and terrifyingly dangerous. For a long moment, he simply stared at me, his dark eyes tracing every line of my face.
"You are going to be the safest person in that room tonight, Nadia," he whispered, stepping close enough that I could feel the steady beat of his heart. "I have twenty men inside the venue and fifty more on the perimeter. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, I will tear this city down around them."
"Just don't let anyone ruin my dress," I smiled faintly, trying to lighten the crushing weight in the room. "It's much more expensive than my old shoes."
Dominic reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, velvet-lined box. Inside lay a delicate platinum chain supporting a single, brilliant emerald pendant that matched my dress perfectly.
He stepped behind me, lifting the heavy silk of my hair, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of my neck. A shudder of heat ran down my spine at his touch. He fastened the clasp softly.
"This belonged to my mother," Dominic murmured into my hair, his breath warm against my skin. "She was the only other woman who ever had the courage to tell me when I was being unreasonable."
I turned around in his arms, resting my hands against the crisp fabric of his tuxedo jacket. "Did she call you a waste, too?"
A rare, genuine smile broke across Dominic’s dark features, illuminating his face with a breathtaking warmth. "No. She called me stubborn. But I think your term was more descriptive."
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For a fleeting second, the danger, the mob war, and the heavy security vanished. It was just him and me in the soft light of the dressing room—two people who had met in a storm and found an unexpected anchor in each other.
"Let's go," Dominic whispered, taking my hand and locking his fingers through mine. "It's time to show Salvatore who owns this city."
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