Chapter 3 - The Art of the Deal
🖤 "HE DRESSED ME IN SILK JUST TO WATCH ME BLEED..." 🖤The next morning, the bookstore felt like a lifetime away. I woke up in a bedroom larger than my entire apartment, wrapped in Egyptian cotton sheets. On the vanity sat a garment bag containing a stunning, emerald-green silk dress and a note written in elegant, heavy script: Wear this. We leave at eight.
When I walked down the grand marble staircase that evening, Dante was waiting at the bottom. He wore a perfectly tailored tuxedo, looking less like a mob boss and more like royalty. His eyes darkened as they swept down the length of the silk dress.
"You look beautiful, Serena," he murmured, offering his arm. "A proper distraction."
"Tell me exactly what I'm supposed to do," I said, ignoring the flutter in my chest as I took his arm.
"Owen is hosting a private auction at the Drake Hotel," Dante explained as we walked toward the waiting car. "Officially, it’s a charity gala for his new judicial campaign. Unofficially, he is selling off a collection of stolen antiquities—purchased with your father’s money—to a consortium of European buyers. The funds will be transferred to an offshore account tonight."
"And how do we stop it?"
"We don't stop it," Dante smiled, a dangerous, brilliant flash of white teeth. "We let the transfer happen. But my hackers have intercepted the routing codes. The moment Owen inputs his master key to finalize the transfer, your biometric signature will override his. The money returns to the Rossi estate. And Owen will be left holding an empty bag in front of a room full of international criminals who do not take kindly to being cheated."
The ballroom of the Drake Hotel was a sea of glittering diamonds, champagne flutes, and high-society whispers. From the moment we walked in, the atmosphere shifted. The wealthy elite of Chicago cleared a path for Dante Rossi, their smiles tight and terrified.
Then, I saw Owen.
He was standing near the stage, surrounded by men in dark, expensive suits. He looked confident, his chest puffed out, holding a glass of champagne. But the moment his eyes landed on me—and then shifted to Dante's hand resting possessively on the small of my back—his glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the marble floor.
Dante didn't hesitate. He guided me directly toward Owen, the crowd parting around us like the Red Sea.
"Owen," Dante said smoothly. "Lovely party. You remember Serena, don't you?"
Owen’s face was a mask of pure terror, sweat breaking out along his hairline. "Mr. Rossi. I... I didn't expect you to grace us with your presence. And Serena... what are you doing here?"
"I came to collect what belongs to me, Owen," I said, my voice steady, fueled by the memory of every bruise, every cruel word, every night spent crying in the dark.
"You don't know what you're doing, Serena," Owen hissed, stepping closer, trying to project his old authority. "You're out of your league. This man is a killer. He’s using you!"
"And you weren't?" I shot back.
Before Owen could answer, his lead associate whispered in his ear, pointing toward the VIP balcony where a laptop stood open, glowing with the pending financial transactions. The buyers were getting restless.
"Excuse me," Owen said, his eyes darting frantically between us. "I have business to conclude. We will talk about this later, Serena."
"Go ahead, Owen," Dante said, his voice dripping with terrifying amusement. "Conclude your business."
As Owen hurried toward the balcony, Dante handed me a small, silver device no larger than a lipstick tube. "Go to the auxiliary terminal near the stage. Plug this in. When the screen prompts for validation, place your thumb on the scanner. You have exactly two minutes before he initiates the transfer."
My hands shook as I walked away from Dante, navigating the crowd toward the hidden terminal. I could feel Owen’s eyes on the room from the balcony above. I found the terminal, plugged in the device, and watched the screen flash to life, glowing with columns of numbers—millions of dollars moving across the globe.
“Authorization Required,” the screen flashed.
I placed my thumb against the glass. The scanner glowed red, then turned a vibrant, flashing green.
Above us, on the balcony, a sudden, panicked shout echoed over the soft classical music playing in the ballroom. Owen was staring at his laptop, his face completely pale, his hands tearing at his hair.
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It was done. The money was gone.
But as I turned to walk back to Dante, a heavy hand grabbed my shoulder from behind, and a cold piece of metal pressed sharply against the side of my neck.
