Chapter 7 - The Toast of the Underworld"Miss Marcus," Enzo said smoothly as she approached, introducing her with an ironic flicker in his dark eyes to the heavy-set man beside him. "This is Senator Vance. A great supporter of our city's architectural... revitalization projects."
Senator Vance turned his watery, bloated eyes on Emily, looking her up and down with a slow, predatory appraisal that made her skin crawl. "Well, well, Dante. I didn't know your catering service came with such picturesque views. Where did you find this one?"
"She has many hidden talents, Senator," Enzo replied, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a subtle edge that made Vance chuckle nervously and look away.
"Indeed. Well, Dante, about the shipping berths at Pier 44..." Vance leaned in close, lowering his voice. "The council wants assurances. If the federal probe digs any deeper into your logistics chain, a lot of very important people are going to feel exposed."
"Tell the council that Pier 44 is entirely secure," Enzo said, his expression hardening into stone. "And remind them that my logistics chain is the only reason their bank accounts in the Caymans haven't been frozen by morning."
Vance swallowed hard, forced a stiff smile, and muttered something about getting a drink, hastily melting back into the crowd.
When they were alone again, Enzo turned his full attention to Emily. He reached out, lifting a single crystal champagne flute from her tray, his fingers brushing against her wrist with deliberate warmth.
"You're shaking, Emily," he murmured, taking a slow sip of the champagne while keeping his eyes locked on hers.
"It's cold near the windows," she lied, her voice tight.
"Is it?" Enzo stepped closer, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat radiating from his frame. "Or is it because you realize that tonight, everyone in this room is dancing on the edge of a blade?"
"I realize that you're playing a very dangerous game with people who would kill you without blinking," she whispered fiercely.
Enzo’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "Let them try. They've been trying for a decade."
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Suddenly, the ambient jazz music cut out with a sharp, electronic squeal.
Across the penthouse, the murmurs died instantly. Every head turned toward the grand mahogany double doors leading from the private elevator. The heavy brass handles slowly began to turn.
