Chapter 7 - The Gala of Wolves
The Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel was a sea of glittering chandeliers, champagne towers, and expensive silk. Rich men in tuxedos and women draped in emeralds and diamonds mingled under the watchful eyes of hidden security.
When the heavy oak doors swung open and we stepped inside, the entire room seemed to hold its breath.
Alessandro Russo did not just enter a room; he commanded it. He wore a midnight-blue velvet tuxedo that caught the light, but all eyes quickly shifted from him to the woman on his arm.
Me.
Clad in a backless, crimson silk gown that hugged my curves like liquid fire, with a diamond necklace sparkling against my collarbone, I didn't look like a girl from a Columbus Circle café anymore. I looked like a queen.
Across the room, standing near the marble fountain, Salvatore Moretti froze. His glass of champagne slipped from his fingers, shattering against the floor with a sharp, echoing crash.
Alessandro leaned down, his lips brushing my ear. His breath was warm, his voice a low, dangerous purr.
"Smile, Sophia. Show them who rules this city."
I turned my head and met Moretti’s stunned, terrified gaze with a cold, absolute calm. I offered him a slow, razor-sharp smile.
We walked deeper into the ballroom, surrounded by whispers, rumors, and fear. Moretti’s men shifted nervously near the edges of the room, trapped between obedience and sheer terror. Alessandro kept his hand firmly on the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd like a prized possession—and a lethal weapon.
"You enjoy this, don't you?" I whispered out of the corner of my mouth.
"I enjoy watching my enemies realize they have lost before the game has even begun," Alessandro replied smoothly.
Suddenly, a tall, impeccably dressed man stepped directly into our path, blocking our way. It was Salvatore Moretti himself, his face pale, his eyes darting frantically between Alessandro and me.
"Russo," Moretti hissed, his voice trembling despite his best efforts. "You have a lot of nerve showing your face here after what happened at the docks."
Alessandro didn't flinch. He slowly stepped in front of me, a protective wall of muscle and menace.
"And you have a lot of nerve breathing my air, Salvatore," Alessandro replied, his voice dropping to a terrifying, deadly whisper. "Let this be your only warning. Touch my son again, touch her again... and I won't just burn your shipping empire to the ground. I will dismantle your legacy piece by agonizing piece."
Moretti swallowed hard, taking a slow step back, utterly defeated by the sheer, crushing aura of dominance radiating from Alessandro. Without another word, Moretti turned and melted back into the crowd like a coward.
Alessandro turned back to me, the ice in his eyes melting into something deep, intense, and profoundly warm.
"Are you frightened?" he asked softly.
May you like
I looked around the glittering ballroom, then back up at the most feared man in New York. The fear that had gripped me three days ago in Central Park was entirely gone, replaced by a fierce, undeniable thrill.
"Not at all," I whispered, lifting my chin. "In fact... I think I'm right where I belong."
