Chapter 5 - The Gala of Knives
The kiss in front of the hearth had changed everything, but the mafia did not pause for romance.
Three days later, the war between the Falcone syndicate and the Moretti coalition reached a temporary, dangerous stalemate. Under the ancient rules of the Five Borough Commission, a mandatory summit had been called under the guise of the annual Metropolitan Heritage Gala at the Plaza Hotel. Every major player, corrupt politician, and mob boss would be in attendance.
Weapons were strictly forbidden at the door. Bloodshed on the gala floor meant an automatic death sentence from the Commission.
“It’s a trap,” Dante said, standing in the dressing suite of the upstate estate, checking his cufflinks. “Sal will be there under Moretti’s wing. They’ll try to force a public vote to strip Dominic of his port concessions.”
Dominic stood before a full-length mirror, adjusting his black tuxedo. He looked like an emperor preparing to step into the Colosseum. “They will try. But they need the financial records to convince the Commission that I’ve mismanaged the territory. Records they don’t have.”
The door to the adjoining bedroom opened, and both men fell silent.
Gemma stepped into the room.
She wore an emerald-green silk gown with an open back and a slit that ran up her left thigh, revealing the sleek Italian heels Dominic had bought her. Her dark hair was swept up in an elegant, intricate twist, leaving her pale shoulders bare. Around her throat rested a choker of black diamonds—a Falcone family heirloom that Dominic had placed on her vanity that morning without a note.
Dominic’s eyes darkened. A possessive, dangerous heat flared in his gaze that made Gemma’s pulse race.
“You look…” Dante cleared his throat, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “…like you don't belong in an audit room, Miss Hayes.”
“Thank you, Dante,” Gemma said, managing a confident smile despite the fluttering in her stomach. She looked at Dominic. “I have the encrypted flash drive concealed inside the clasp of my evening clutch. Every transaction Sal made with the Morettis and the prosecutor is ready to be mirrored onto the Commission’s private monitors.”
Dominic walked toward her, his heavy steps deliberate. He stopped inches away, his gaze drifting from the diamonds at her throat down to the curve of her waist, then back to her dark eyes.
“You are not going as my accountant tonight, Gemma,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
She tilted her head. “Then what am I?”
Dominic reached out, his hand settling firmly and undeniably at the small of her bare back, his fingers searing against her warm skin.
“You are going as my woman,” he said simply. “I want every boss in that room to know that to touch you is to declare war on everything I control.”
Gemma felt a shiver of pure adrenaline race down her spine. “And if they try to challenge us?”
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“Then,” Dominic whispered, leaning down until his lips brushed the shell of her ear, “we burn the Plaza to the ground.”
***
