Chapter 5 - THE EMBASSY BALLTwo weeks later.
The Moretti estate on the North Shore of Long Island was a fortress of stone, wrought iron, and hyper-modern security systems. For fourteen days, Sophie had lived inside its grand walls, isolated from the world, working twelve hours a day in Alessandro’s private study.
She had shed her waitress apron. In its place, she wore comfortable cashmere sweaters and tailored trousers provided by Alessandro’s staff. Her living conditions had transformed overnight, but her mind remained focused on a single goal: decryption.
On the table in front of her lay dozens of printed ledger sheets, complex mathematical equations, and cross-referenced trade records.
Sophie took a sip of black coffee, her eyes scanning the monitor screen in front of her. Suddenly, her fingers stopped moving over the keyboard.
A pattern emerged.
"Mon Dieu," Sophie whispered.
She picked up her notebook, furiously writing down a series of alphanumeric codes. The 18th-century French cipher she had been breaking was not just hiding bank accounts. It was a schedule. A ledger of locations, times, and cargo manifests.
The heavy wooden door of the study opened, and Alessandro walked in.
He had spent the last two weeks running his empire, but every evening, he returned to this room to check on her. He wore a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his tie loosened.
"You look like you haven't slept in thirty hours," Alessandro said softly, setting a small plate of fresh pastries on her desk.
"I don't need sleep, Alessandro," Sophie said, her eyes bright with excitement. "I broke it. I broke the entire network."
Alessandro froze. He walked over to her side, leaning over her chair to look at the monitor. The clean scent of his cologne filled her senses, making her heart skip a beat.
"Show me," he commanded softly.
"Lebrun isn't just laundering money through the docks," Sophie explained, pointing at the screen. "He’s using the French Diplomatic Corps as a cover. Look here—every major capital transfer is tied to the financial accounts of the French Consulate in New York. The current Consul General, Jean-Paul Mercier, is Lebrun’s silent partner."
Alessandro’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "A diplomat. That’s why my men couldn't trace the wire transfers. Diplomatic immunity protects their bank servers from federal subpoenas."
"And it gets worse," Sophie continued, turning to look at him. "Tonight, the French Consulate is hosting its annual Midsummer Charity Gala at the embassy building on Fifth Avenue. According to this encrypted manifest, Lebrun and Mercier are using the ball as a distraction to execute the final transfer—one hundred and twenty million dollars—to buy control of the dockworkers' union."
"If that transfer completes tonight," Alessandro said, his voice cold, "Lebrun will legally own the port infrastructure by morning. I will lose the docks."
"Then we stop it tonight," Sophie said firmly.
Alessandro looked down at her. He saw the fierce determination in her face—the daughter of Henri Dubois preparing to face her father's killer.
"It's a high-society event, Sophie," Alessandro said gently. "The French ambassador will be there. Hundreds of billionaires, politicians, and media. Security will be impenetrable. You cannot enter in casual clothes."
Sophie smiled—a small, confident smile that made Alessandro’s chest tighten.
"Monsieur Moretti," Sophie said softly, "I grew up attending galas at the Élysée Palace. I know how diplomats think, I know how they talk, and I know how to walk into a room full of monsters in an expensive dress."
Alessandro looked at her for a long, silent moment. A rare, genuine warmth spread across his handsome face.
"Luca!" Alessandro called out toward the hallway.
May you like
The bodyguard appeared at the door instantly. "Yes, Don Alessandro?"
"Call the private showroom at Bergdorf Goodman," Alessandro ordered. "Tell them to send their top stylists, jewelers, and a team of dressmakers to the estate within the hour. Mademoiselle Dubois requires an outfit for a ball."
