Chapter 4 - The Poisoned GalaThree weeks passed.
Under my constant care, little Leo thrived. He gained three pounds, his dull skin transformed into a healthy, glowing peach, and he began to smile—a tiny, gummy grin that melted my broken heart every single time I saw it.
In those three weeks, my relationship with Lorenzo shifted into something complex, thrilling, and utterly dangerous.
He was no longer just the terrifying master of the house. He was a father who spent every evening sitting in the nursery with me, watching his son feed, learning how to hold him without breaking him, and listening to me sing old lullabies I had learned from my mother.
The coldness in Lorenzo’s eyes began to thaw whenever he looked at me. But with that warmth came an undeniable, suffocating tension. The way his grey eyes lingered on my lips when I smiled, the way his large hands brushed against my waist whenever he helped me lift Leo from his crib—it made my heart race in ways that had nothing to do with fear.
"Tonight is the annual Syndicate Gala at the Plaza Hotel," Lorenzo announced one rainy Tuesday evening as he stood in my private suite, watching me adjust Leo’s velvet jumpsuit.
I looked up, surprised. "The Gala? Are you leaving the estate?"
"We are leaving the estate," Lorenzo corrected, pulling a velvet jewelry box from his coat pocket and placing it on the vanity table. "You, Leo, and me."
I blinked. "Mr. Rossi, I can't go to a Syndicate Gala. I'm a maid—"
"You were a maid," Lorenzo interrupted smoothly, stepping up behind me. He opened the velvet box, revealing a dazzling necklace of raw diamonds and platinum. "Tonight, Dante Moretti and the five family bosses will be in that ballroom. Moretti believes my son is a crippled, dying infant. He believes I am weak, grieving, and ready to fall."
He reached around my neck, his warm fingers brushing against my sensitive skin as he fastened the heavy diamond necklace around my collarbones. I shivered, my breath catching in my throat as his chest pressed lightly against my back.
"Tonight," Lorenzo whispered in my ear, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine, "we walk into that ballroom together. You will wear emerald silk. You will hold my son. And we will show the entire underworld that the Rossi bloodline is stronger than ever."
"Lorenzo..." I murmured, using his first name for the first time. "This is dangerous. If Moretti realizes who I am—"
"Moretti won't dare touch you while you are standing beside me," Lorenzo said, turning me around so I was forced to look into his gray eyes. "I have fifty armed men securing the Plaza. You are safe with me, Hunter. Do you trust me?"
I looked into his eyes—eyes that had once terrified me, but now felt like the only anchor I had in a chaotic, dangerous world.
"I trust you," I whispered.
Two hours later, a sleek black armored limousine pulled up to the private rear entrance of the Plaza Hotel.
I stepped out onto the red carpet wearing a floor-length emerald silk dress that draped over my curves, my hair styled in soft, elegant waves. Lorenzo walked beside me in an immaculate black tuxedo, his arm wrapped firmly around my waist, while two security guards walked ahead carrying Leo in a bulletproof, custom leather carrier.
When we pushed open the heavy gilded doors of the grand ballroom, the chatter of three hundred high-society mobsters, politicians, and syndicate bosses died instantly.
Every camera flashed. Every eye turned toward us.
Standing in the center of the room, holding a glass of scotch, was Dante Moretti—a cruel-looking man in his late fifties with a silver beard and cold, snake-like eyes.
When Dante saw Lorenzo walking in with a stunning woman beside him, and saw little Leo looking healthy, chubby, and alert in his carrier, his face twisted into a look of pure, venomous shock.
"Lorenzo!" Dante called out, forcing a fake, greasy smile as he walked over to us, surrounded by his own armed lieutenants. "We heard rumors that the poor little boy was on his deathbed! Look at him! A miracle!"
"No miracles, Dante," Lorenzo said coldly, his arm tightening around my waist, pulling me closer to his side. "Just superior strength. My son inherits his resilience from his father... and his care from the woman beside me."
Dante’s cold eyes slithered over to me, examining my emerald dress, my diamond necklace, and finally resting on my face.
Suddenly, a strange, sickening smile spread across Dante’s lips.
"Ah..." Dante purred, his voice dripping with venom. "Hunter, isn't it? The bakery girl from Queens. The girl my boys picked up nine months ago."
My heart stopped beating. The air was sucked out of my lungs.
Lorenzo’s entire body went rigid, a lethal, terrifying stillness washing over him.
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"Be very careful what comes out of your mouth next, Dante," Lorenzo warned, his voice so low and cold it sounded like grinding ice.
"Oh, I'm just admiring her, Lorenzo," Dante chuckled darkly, taking a slow sip of his scotch. "It’s fascinating, really. You brought a woman into your house whose dead child was sired by the very man who sold your shipping routes. Tell me, Lorenzo... are you sure that baby feeding in her arms is actually yours?"
