Chapter 3 - The Gala of ShadowsAt 8:00 PM, a midnight-black Maybach pulled up to the red carpet outside the Grand Meridian Hotel in Manhattan.
The ballroom was filled with the city's elite—high-court judges, shipping magnates, politicians, and high-society dynasties. Photographers held their positions behind silk ropes, their flashes illuminating the guests entering under the crystal chandeliers.
Michael stepped out of the Maybach first, wearing an immaculate black tuxedo. He turned, extending his broad, calloused hand toward me.
I stepped down onto the red carpet wearing the deep blue silk gown. The silver embroidery caught the light, flowing gracefully over my figure, while the sapphire necklace rested cold and brilliant against my collarbone. My dark hair fell in glossy waves over my shoulders, my hazel eyes shining with quiet confidence.
The ambient chatter near the entrance withered into a sudden, breathless silence as Michael guided me onto his arm through the mahogany double doors.
Politicians and corporate directors bowed their heads in unconscious deference as Michael moved past them, whispering furiously behind their gloved hands:
"Is that Michael Brooks...?"
"Who is the woman with him?"
"Look at her sapphires... those belong to the Brooks family private collection!"
"I thought Brooks never brought personal guests to the Meridian!"
Standing near the champagne pyramid, wearing a dark suit, holding a crystal glass of scotch, was Victor Moretti—the thirty-five-year-old leader of a rival criminal syndicate who operated out of Brooklyn.
Beside him stood my former manager from the hotel where I used to work.
When Victor Moretti saw me walking beside Michael, his arrogant smile completely vanished. His eyes locked onto my sapphire necklace, then onto Michael's cold, unyielding face.
Michael didn't stop until we stood three feet from Moretti.
"Victor," Michael spoke, his baritone smooth, deep, and carrying an absolute, terrifying authority that made the surrounding guests step back into a wide circle.
"Brooks," Moretti stammered, his sweat suddenly beading along his hairline. "I... I didn't expect you to bring your new assistant to the Meridian."
Michael reached out his left hand, gently, reverently adjusting the silk wrap over my shoulder, before looking back into Moretti's eyes with a dark, lethal glare.
"Sarah isn't just my coordinator, Victor," Michael revealed deadpan, every word dropped into the silent room like a slab of cold granite. "She is under the personal protection of the Brooks family. And thirty minutes ago... my operators seized your primary shipping terminals in Red Hook."
Moretti dropped his scotch glass. The crystal shattered against the marble floorboards, dark liquid splashing across his shoes. CRASH.
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"You... you can't do that!" Moretti gasped, his face turning paper-white. "Those docks are registered under my brother's name!"
"Your brother was arrested by federal marshals twenty minutes ago for extortion and wire fraud," Michael replied flatly. "If you make another phone call to Sarah... I won't just take your docks, Victor. I will erase your name from Manhattan."
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