Chapter 7 - The Drake Hotel GalaThe grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel glittered with crystal chandeliers, expensive champagne, and Chicago's elite—politicians, billionaires, and men whose smiles didn't reach their eyes.
Rachel descended the grand staircase on Dominic Vale’s arm, and the entire room seemed to hold its breath.
She wore a backless emerald-silk gown that hugged her curves to absolute perfection, her hair swept up into an elegant chignon with a few soft tendrils framing her face. She looked less like an underground trauma surgeon and more like a Greek goddess carved out of vengeance and expensive fabric.
Dominic looked immaculate in a custom-tailored black tuxedo that accentuated his broad shoulders and commanding presence.
"You look stunning," he murmured near her ear as flashbulbs began to pop from the press gallery outside the perimeter.
"If I hate this evening as much as I think I will, you're buying me a double shot of tequila and a cheeseburger at 3:00 AM," Rachel whispered back, keeping her posture rigid and graceful.
"Deal."
They moved through the crowd, accepting polite nods and terrified bows from various underworld figures and corrupt politicians alike. But halfway across the room, Rachel spotted him.
Vance.
He stood near the terrace doors, flanked by two armed bodyguards, holding a martini glass and whispering to a well-known federal prosecutor.
"He's right there," Rachel murmured, her fingers tightening slightly on Dominic’s sleeve.
"I see him," Dominic said smoothly. He raised his glass to a passing city councilman. "Stay close to me, Rachel. The moment I move, things are going to get very loud."
Before Dominic could make his move toward Vance, a woman in a dazzling red dress stepped directly into their path, blocking their way.
"Dominic, darling," purred Isabella Rossi, daughter of the rival Rossi crime family, her red lips curving into a predatory smile. "I didn't realize you brought a stray cat to a high-society event. Is this your new charity project?"
Rachel’s eyes narrowed. She didn't flinch.
"Better a stray cat than a cheap vulture picking at scraps," Rachel replied sweetly, her voice carrying clearly across the silent circle of onlookers who had stopped to watch the confrontation.
May you like
Isabella’s smile vanished. "You little—"
Before Isabella could finish, the lights in the grand ballroom flickered and died. Emergency red security strobes flashed to life overhead.
