Chapter 12 - The Sterling GalaThe Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhattan had been closed off for the evening, transformed into a dazzling palace of crystal, marble, and European aristocracy for Arthur Sterling’s charity gala.
When the black armored Maybach pulled up to the red carpet, flashbulbs erupted like a thunderstorm.
The door opened, and Gabriel stepped out first, adjusting his cuffs before turning to offer his hand. Claire emerged in a breathtaking, floor-length emerald silk gown that commanded every eye in the room. Behind them, dressed in matching miniature tuxedoes, stepped the three boys, holding hands and looking around with wide-eyed wonder at the glittering statues and flashing cameras.
As the Cross family walked up the marble steps, the ambient chatter of the elite socialites died down to a stunned whisper.
Standing at the top of the grand staircase, waiting for them with a calculated, razor-sharp smile, was Arthur Sterling.
“Gabriel,” Sterling purred, stepping forward with an outstretched hand, his blue eyes flickering over Claire and the triplets with predatory interest. “How wonderful of you to join us. And you brought the entire family. Rare to see you domesticate a tiger, Cross.”
Gabriel did not take Sterling’s hand. Instead, he slid his hand protectively into the small of Claire’s back, stepping forward until he towered over the European cartel boss.
“Arthur,” Gabriel said, his voice dropping into that low, lethal register that made the bodyguards flanking Sterling instinctively shift their weight. “Keep your eyes off my family. And keep your hands off my shipping lanes. Or your next flight out of New York won't be on a Gulfstream.”
May you like
Sterling’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by a dark, venomous glint. But he recovered quickly, chuckling dryly.
“Always the businessman, Gabriel. Enjoy the evening. The night is still young.”
