Chapter 4 - The Gala of Blood and GoldThey expected a frightened waitress; instead, they were about to meet the woman who would sit beside the King of New York.
The attack on the penthouse was repelled within twenty minutes. Vincent’s forces eliminated the hit squad with ruthless efficiency, leaving no survivors. But the message was clear: the war was no longer in the shadows. It was out in the open.
Two days later, the annual Manhattan Underworld Gala was held at the historic Plaza Hotel—a lavish, high-society event where politicians, billionaire mobsters, and elite crime bosses gathered under the guise of charity to negotiate territories and settle disputes.
Vincent had made his decision. We were not going to hide. We were going to walk straight into the lion's den.
Inside the grand dressing room of the penthouse, three celebrity stylists put the finishing touches on my appearance. When I looked in the full-length mirror, I barely recognized the woman staring back.
I wore a floor-length dress of midnight-blue silk that draped elegantly over my body, cleverly designed with a delicate sheer wrap that covered the lightweight brace on my arm. My dark hair was styled in vintage Hollywood waves, and a necklace of black diamonds shimmered against my collarbone—a personal gift from Vincent.
The door opened, and Vincent stepped in. He wore a crisp black tuxedo, looking impeccably handsome and undeniably lethal. He stopped in his tracks, his dark eyes sweeping over me with undeniable admiration.
"You look breathtaking, Lena," he said quietly, walking over to extend his arm to me.
"I'm terrified," I admitted honestly, placing my good hand on his arm. "What if they try to hurt you at the gala?"
"They wouldn't dare strike inside the Plaza," Vincent replied, his voice oozing confidence. "Tonight is about dominance. They think you are my weakness, Lena. We are going to show them that you are my strength."
An hour later, our armored limousine pulled up to the grand entrance of the Plaza Hotel. Paparazzi flashes blinded the night as security guards cleared a path through the velvet ropes.
When Vincent stepped out and offered his hand to me, the entire grand ballroom seemed to hold its breath as we entered.
The room was a magnificent display of wealth—crystal chandeliers, towers of champagne, and men in tailored suits whispering in small, dangerous huddles. The moment Vincent entered with me on his arm, the conversations ceased. Hundreds of eyes locked onto us.
"Look at them," Vincent murmured softly, keeping his eyes forward as we glided down the marble staircase. "They are searching for fear in your eyes. Don't give it to them."
I held my head high, arching my back, channeling every ounce of pain, survival, and strength I had gained over the last five years. I was no longer the broken girl hiding in a bathroom. I was standing beside the most powerful man in the city.
Suddenly, a group of men blocked our path at the foot of the stairs.
At the center stood Don Lucani—an older, cruel-looking man with silver hair—and beside him was Alderman Hayes, Mark’s uncle, wearing a sneering smile. And right behind them, leaning on a cane with his arm in a heavy sling, was Mark.
My breath caught in my throat, but I felt Vincent’s arm warm and solid beneath my hand, steadying me instantly.
"Vincent," Don Lucani drawled, his voice laced with venom. "How brave of you to show your face after the slaughter at your garage. And you brought the little waitress who caused all this trouble."
Alderman Hayes stepped forward, pointing a finger at Vincent. "You kidnapped my nephew's wife, Moretti! You broke his arm and ruined his life! The council demands her immediate return, or we will strip your family of your shipping docks!"
Mark sneered at me from behind his uncle, his eyes filled with pathetic spite. "You're nothing, Lena! You think playing dress-up makes you a queen? You're still just my cheap, pathetic wife! Come here right now before I—"
CLINK.
Vincent didn't raise his voice. He simply tapped his champagne glass with a silver fountain pen. The sharp sound echoed through the silent ballroom.
Ten heavy-set men in charcoal suits instantly stepped out from the crowd, surrounding Lucani, Hayes, and Mark. The air in the room plunged into suffocating tension.
"Alderman Hayes," Vincent said, his voice dangerously smooth, echoing across the silent room. "You speak of law and marriage. But you forget that in this city, I am the law."
Vincent reached into his inner suit pocket and pulled out a thick leather folder, tossing it onto a nearby tray held by a waiter.
"In that file," Vincent continued, addressing the entire room, "are bank statements proving Alderman Hayes has been laundering money through Lucani’s illegal casinos. Also included are medical reports from New York General Hospital detailing five years of systematic abuse suffered by Lena at the hands of Mark Hayes."
The crowd gasped. Whispers erupted like wildfire throughout the ballroom.
"You lie!" Mark shrieked, his face turning pale.
"I don't lie," Vincent said, taking a step closer to Mark, his eyes ice cold. "Furthermore, as of four o'clock this afternoon, Lena’s legal divorce has been finalized by a supreme court judge under my protection. She is no longer your wife, Mark. She never was your property."
Mark took a terrified step back, realizing the trap he had walked into.
Vincent turned his gaze to Don Lucani. "And as for the hit squad you sent to my penthouse... their bodies are currently floating past your private yacht in the harbor. If you ever breathe Lena's name again, Lucani, I won't just take your territory. I will erase your family name from the history books."
Don Lucani’s face drained of color. He looked around the room and realized that every other syndicate boss had stepped away from him, isolating him completely. Vincent had won the war without firing a single bullet inside the room.
Vincent turned to me, offering a soft, gentle smile that contrasted sharply with the terror he had just inflicted on his enemies.
"Shall we dance, Lena?" he asked softly.
May you like
I looked at Mark one last time—watching him shrink in fear, exposed, weak, and pathetic. Then, I turned my back on him forever, taking Vincent's hand.
"I would love to," I smiled.
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