Chapter 4 - The Gala at the HudsonThree days later, the underworld of the East Coast convened at the Hudson Maritime Center for the annual Autumn Trade Summit—a grand, high-society masquerade ball that served as a front for illegal weapons contracts, private logistics deals, and territorial negotiations.
At eight o'clock in the evening, a line of luxury sedans stretched along the pier.
A sleek black Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled up to the red carpet entrance.
Enzo opened the rear door.
Raffaele Mosca stepped out, looking dangerously handsome in a tailored midnight-blue tuxedo, a silk bow tie, and an elegant black lace masquerade mask covering the upper half of his face.
He turned and offered his hand to the passenger seat.
Jisoo stepped out onto the red carpet.
A collective murmur swept through the gathered photographers and high-society guests.
Jisoo was breathtaking. She wore a floor-length, backless dress of dark emerald silk that draped elegantly over her athletic frame, featuring a subtle side slit that allowed complete freedom of movement. Her dark hair was styled into an intricate updo held by silver pins, exposing her slender neck and striking features. Hidden beneath the heavy silk skirt, strapped securely to her inner thigh, was a titanium tactical blade.
She placed her hand in Raffaele’s warm palm.
"You look stunning, Captain," Raffaele murmured softly as they walked up the grand steps toward the ballroom, surrounded by security guards disguised as formal guests.
"Your costume coordinators are efficient," Jisoo replied under her breath, her eyes scanning the crowd with practiced, military precision. "Four guards posted near the entrance. Two more on the eastern balcony. Your perimeter is secure."
"Try to look like you're enjoying the party, Jisoo," Raffaele smiled faintly, leaning down to whisper against her ear. "You're supposed to be my guest, not my chief security officer."
"In my line of work, Mr. Mosca, enjoying the party gets people killed," she whispered back, though a faint, rare smile touched her lips at his proximity.
Inside the grand ballroom, crystal chandeliers illuminated hundreds of masked guests sipping vintage champagne while a fifty-piece orchestra played classical waltzes.
At nine fifteen, the double doors leading to the private VIP balcony opened.
A tall, broad man with silver hair, a scarred neck, and a heavy golden signet ring walked into the room, flanked by six imposing men in dark suits.
Nikolai Volkov had arrived.
Jisoo’s posture went rigid as a stone column. Her hand instinctively tightened around Raffaele’s arm, her breathing turning razor-sharp.
"There he is," Jisoo whispered, her eyes tracking Volkov’s movement across the upper floor. "The man who murdered my team."
"Patience, Jisoo," Raffaele cautioned quietly, his dark eyes fixing on Volkov with lethal focus. "Volkov has twelve armed guards inside this room and twenty more on the docks outside. If we strike now, a firefight breaks out among three hundred innocent guests."
"What is the plan?" she asked, her voice dropping into pure, cold steel.
"Volkov came here tonight to finalize a thirty-million-dollar illegal weapons transfer with the Chicago syndicate," Raffaele explained softly, guiding her toward the dance floor. "The transaction codes are stored on a secure server inside the private suite on the third floor."
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He pulled her into his arms as the orchestra transitioned into a slow, sweeping waltz.
"We take his money, we expose his network to the federal authorities, and when he flees to the docks..." Raffaele looked down into Jisoo’s eyes, his dark hazel gaze burning with absolute certainty. "...we finish it."
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