Chapter 3 - The Gala of WolvesBy the end of the second week, Rosa Reyes’s surgery had been a complete success. The ten-thousand-dollar deposit had been cleared by an anonymous wire transfer from a Varelli subsidiary, and Rosa was recovering peacefully in a private suite on the hospital’s top floor.
Lena’s two-week penalty shift was officially over.
Yet, as she stood in her small Queens apartment on Friday evening, looking at her reflection in the mirror, she didn't feel free. She felt anchored to a world she couldn't escape.
A large black gift box rested on her bed. Inside lay an exquisite emerald-green silk evening gown, a pair of diamond drop earrings, and a handwritten note in Adrien’s elegant cursive script:
Tonight, La Vela hosts the Annual Syndicate Board Dinner. I require a personal assistant who notices details. The car is downstairs. — A.V.
An hour later, Lena stepped out of the private elevator onto the top floor of the Varelli Plaza Hotel. The grand ballroom was breathtaking—adorned with black crystal chandeliers, marble ice sculptures, and tables covered in silver and velvet.
The room was filled with the city's most powerful and dangerous elite: foreign diplomats, politicians, syndicate bosses, and high-society socialites wrapped in furs and diamonds.
Adrien stood at the center of the room, looking breathtakingly handsome in a black velvet tuxedo. The moment Lena entered, his eyes locked onto her.
He walked across the ballroom floor, ignoring two regional syndicate leaders who were trying to speak to him, and stopped directly in front of Lena. His eyes swept over the emerald dress, tracing the soft curves of her collarbone, before meeting her gaze.
"You look extraordinary, Lena," Adrien said, his voice deep and velvet.
"You didn't give me much of a choice," Lena said, a small, tentative smile touching her lips. "Is this part of my debt?"
"Your debt was paid three days ago," Adrien replied, offering her his arm. "Tonight, you are here as my guest."
Lena placed her hand on his arm, feeling the solid, unyielding muscle beneath the velvet coat. As they moved through the crowd, she noticed the way men bowed their heads to Adrien and how women looked at her with sharp, burning envy.
However, beneath the champagne and classical music, Lena’s instincts—honed by months of observing human behavior from behind restaurant tables—sensed danger.
A man with a scar running from his eye to his jawline was standing near the grand balcony doors. He wore a dark navy suit and was whispering furiously into a secure radio, his eyes constantly flicking toward Adrien’s back.
It was Dominic Cortese—Adrien’s bitter rival for control of the northern shipping ports.
"Adrien," Lena whispered, leaning close to his ear, her warm breath making his jaw tighten.
"Yes, liebling?" he murmured, using a subtle German endearment that made her heart flutter.
"The man by the balcony with the scar," Lena whispered urgently. "He isn't drinking his wine. He’s checked his watch three times in two minutes, and his bodyguard near the kitchen doors just slid his right hand under his coat flap."
Adrien’s posture stiffened instantly. He didn't look toward the balcony. Instead, he kept his eyes on Lena, a dark, dangerous appreciation gleaming in his irises.
"Are you certain?" Adrien asked quietly.
"I spent three years serving men like him at the diner," Lena said firmly. "Men who are about to start a fight don't swallow their food, and they check the exits twice. He’s setting a trap."
Adrien reached into his jacket, smoothly pressing an emergency button on his pocket comms.
"Marco," Adrien spoke quietly into his lapel microphone. "Cortese is moving on the eastern perimeter. Lock down the ballroom elevators. Move the tactical team into position."
Before Marco could reply, the glass balcony doors shattered inward!
Heavy smoke grenades bounced across the marble floor, filling the ballroom with blinding white fog! Panic erupted instantly—women screaming, glasses smashing, men diving behind overturned tables!
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Gunfire echoed through the hall!
Before Lena could scream, Adrien’s hand clamped around her waist. He hauled her behind a heavy marble pillar, using his broad body as an absolute shield to protect her from flying glass and stray bullets!
"Stay down!" Adrien commanded, drawing a sleek black sidearm from his tuxedo holster.
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"Adrien!" Lena gasped, clutching his shirt as bullets chipped the marble pillar above their heads.
"I have you, Lena," Adrien swore, his eyes burning with absolute, lethal determination. "No one touches you while I breathe."
