Chapter 5 - The Snake in the BallroomThe Grand Meridian ballroom was a suffocating sea of wealth, hypocrisy, and expensive perfume.
Everywhere I looked, corrupt politicians, crooked real estate moguls, and high-ranking syndicate members clinked crystal glasses, laughing over deals sealed in blood. I kept my hand hooked tightly into the crook of Dante’s arm, my heels clicking rhythmically against the Italian marble.
“Breathe,” Dante muttered, guiding me toward a group of men standing near the velvet-curtained balcony.
At the center of the group stood Marcus Vance, silver-haired, impeccably dressed, and laughing loudly as he poured a glass of vintage scotch. As we approached, his laughter stuttered. His eyes locked onto Dante, then slowly slid over to me.
The color drained from Marcus’s face. He set his glass down so hard the amber liquid sloshed over the rim.
“Dante,” Marcus said, his voice strained as he forced a oily smile. “I didn't expect to see you gracing a charity event. And... who is this lovely lady?”
Dante stopped, turning his body slightly to position me perfectly in the center of his protection. His gaze was like shards of black ice.
“Marcus. Meet Lena,” Dante said smoothly. “A very... special acquisition of mine. She recently lost her husband in a tragic, unnecessary accident. I felt compelled to ensure she was... well taken care of.”
Marcus swallowed hard, his eyes darting to my face with sudden, naked panic. He recognized me. Even beneath the high-end makeup, the designer gown, and the million-dollar necklace, he remembered the weeping widow who had banged on the union office doors seven months ago demanding answers.
“Ah,” Marcus choked out, wiping sweat from his forehead with a silk handkerchief. “My condolences, my dear. Tragic business, construction accidents. Really.”
“Yes,” I said, my voice dropping an octave into a cold, steady tone that surprised even me. “Accidents are so funny, aren't they, Marcus? Especially when the brakes fail, the union signs off on uninspected steel, and the widows are left to starve.”
The surrounding businessmen went dead silent. The jazz band playing in the corner seemed to fade into nothingness.
Marcus took a terrified step back, his eyes darting to Dante, waiting for the execution order.
Dante didn't draw a weapon. Instead, he smiled—a slow, terrifying expression of pure dominance.
“Careful, Marcus,” Dante purred, leaning down to whisper in the older man’s ear. “Some ghosts don't stay in the ground. Sometimes, they bring dragons back with them.”
Before Marcus could reply, the ballroom doors at the opposite end of the hall flew open with a deafening crash.
Men in tactical black gear, their faces hidden behind gas masks and assault rifles raised, swarmed into the room. Red laser sights cut through the chandeliers' light, painting the ballroom floor in dots of blood-red death.
“Nobody move!” a distorted voice bellowed through a tactical loudspeaker. “Drop your weapons! This is a raid!”
Panic erupted. Screams echoed off the crystal chandeliers as elites scrambled for the exits.
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And right through the center of the armed horde walked a man I had never seen before—a scarred enforcer with a wicked grin, holding a heavy-duty encrypted tablet in his hand. He marched straight up to Dante, ignoring the chaos around them, and shouted over the din:
“Boss! We’ve got a problem at the penthouse! Someone bypassed the biometric security. They didn't steal the money... they took the baby.”
