Chapter 3 - The Gala at the MetThree days later, the Museum of Modern Art was lit like a jewel box under the damp Manhattan night sky.
The annual Metropolitan Heritage Gala was the premier event of New York’s elite—a glittering convergence of politicians, tech billionaires, old-money socialites, and high-level syndicate bosses who operated behind pristine corporate fronts.
A fleet of black limousines lined the velvet ropes outside.
When the rear door of a custom Maybach opened, Dante Marcelli stepped onto the red carpet wearing a perfectly tailored dark navy tuxedo.
Beside him stood Talia.
She was unrecognizable from the tired, uniform-clad waitress at Bellini’s. She wore a floor-length emerald-green silk dress with a high neckline and a daring open back that subtly concealed a ultra-slim kevlar weave built into the lining. Her dark hair was styled into an intricate, elegant updo secured with sapphire-encrusted pins—pins that could be drawn and used as lethal throwing blades in less than a second.
Her earbud hummed softly with encrypted radio chatter from Dante’s outer security perimeter.
“You look breathtaking,” Dante murmured, offering her his arm as they walked past the flashing cameras of the press.
“I look like a target,” Talia replied quietly, her eyes moving methodically over the crowd, scanning the balcony levels, the service doors, and the photographers’ lenses. “Your posture is too rigid, Dante. Relax your left shoulder. If you look like you’re wearing body armor, anyone with a rifle will aim for your neck.”
Dante chuckled softly, relaxing his stance as they entered the grand exhibition hall. “You really are merciless.”
“I’m doing my job.”
As they moved into the crowded ballroom, a loud, obnoxious voice echoed near the champagne fountain.
“Well, well, well. Look who managed to buy a ticket.”
Gavin Rusk stepped into their path, holding a glass of scotch. His right arm was in a silk sling—a souvenir from his encounter with Talia at the restaurant—and his father, Arthur Rusk, the multi-millionaire CEO of Meridian Mutual Insurance, stood beside him with a scowl.
Gavin’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Talia in her emerald dress, shock flashing across his face before being replaced by pure venom.
“You,” Gavin spat, pointing his glass at her. “How the hell did a violent little server get into an event like this? Did you sneak in through the kitchen, or did Marcelli pick you up off the street?”
Dante stepped forward, his eyes turning to dark slate. “Watch your mouth, Rusk. Or I’ll let her finish what she started three nights ago.”
Arthur Rusk placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, his face cold. “Marcelli. I see you’re still keeping strange company. Gavin tells me this woman assaulted him at Bellini’s. I’m filing a formal grievance with the police board tomorrow.”
“Save your breath, Arthur,” Dante said smoothly. “Your insurance firm’s fraudulent rejection of Marcus Mercer’s medical claim has already been turned over to the State Attorney General’s office. By noon tomorrow, Meridian Mutual will be under federal audit.”
Gavin’s face flushed red. “You bastard—”
“Gavin,” Talia interrupted softly.
She stepped closer to him, her emerald dress rustling quietly. She leaned in, her voice dropping so low only Gavin could hear.
“I know about the offshore accounts in Grand Cayman you used to bribe the hospital administrator to alter my brother’s records,” she whispered, her eyes locking onto his with absolute lethal calm. “If you ever speak my brother’s name again, or step within a hundred feet of him, I won't just throw you across a room. I’ll make sure you spend the next twenty years sharing a cell with the men your father cheated.”
Gavin backed up a step, his breath catching in his throat. He looked at Talia—really looked at her—and saw not a victim, but a predator who could erase him without a second thought. Without another word, Gavin pulled his father away into the crowd.
Dante looked at Talia, an impressed smirk on his face. “What did you say to him?”
“Just giving him some career advice,” Talia said smoothly.
Suddenly, her earbud crackled with static.
“Chief! We have a breach on Sector 4—west service hallway! Camera three went dark— BANG!”*
A muffled gunshot echoed through the earpiece, followed by static.
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Talia’s hand instantly dropped to the side hidden slit of her dress, where a silenced 9mm handgun was strapped to her thigh.
“Dante,” she said, her voice dropping into complete tactical command. “It’s starting. Viper is in the building.”
