Chapter 4 - The Gala and the Shadow
By Saturday, the immediate threat on the docks had settled into a cold, uneasy truce. To signal strength and project absolute dominance to the rival families, Dominic was required to attend the annual Five Boroughs Commission Charity Gala at the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan.
It was a dangerous room—filled with corrupt politicians, high-society billionaires, and ruthless mob bosses masking their blood money behind tuxedos and champagne.
Two hours before departure, Dominic stood in his study, looking at a report from his intelligence team. The Moretti family was planning to make a show of force at the event. Dominic needed Leo near him in the secure VIP suite at the hotel—he refused to leave his son behind while the city was volatile—but Leo was throwing a massive tantrum, refusing to wear his suit or stay with the guards.
Dominic walked into the nursery suite to find Leo clinging to Beatrice’s waist, sobbing.
"He won't let go of me, sir," Beatrice said apologetically, smoothing the boy’s hair. "He’s terrified of the security team taking him away."
Dominic looked at the scene, his jaw setting into a firm line. He made a decision that broke every rule of his hyper-controlled life.
"Get ready, Beatrice," Dominic said sharply. "You're coming with us."
"What?" Beatrice blinked, her heart stopping. "Sir, I... I don't have clothes for a formal gala. I am just his nanny—"
"You are the only person who can keep my son calm," Dominic interrupted, his voice leaving no room for argument. "And I want you where I can see you." He turned to his assistant standing at the doorway. "Call the atelier in Soho. Have them bring six black-tie gowns in size 14 to the estate within thirty minutes. Pick the finest velvet or silk."
An hour later, Beatrice stood in front of the full-length mirror in her guest bedroom, staring at her reflection in utter disbelief.
The dress the stylist had chosen was a deep emerald green silk-velvet gown. It had a draped cowl neckline that highlighted her collarbones, fitted long sleeves, and a floor-length skirt that hugged her hips and waist before cascading to the floor. It didn't hide her body under loose folds of cardigan wool; it celebrated every curve, every soft contour.
When she walked down the grand staircase into the foyer, Dominic was waiting at the bottom, dressed in a sharp black tuxedo.
As her high heels clicked on the marble, Dominic turned. His breath caught in his throat.
The insecure woman who hid in gray sweatpants was gone. Standing before him was a breathtaking, regal vision. The rich green fabric made her skin glow like porcelain, and her dark curls fell in soft, voluminous waves around her shoulders.
Dominic didn't say a word for nearly ten seconds. He simply stared, his hazel eyes burning with an intense, unvarnished hunger that made Beatrice’s cheeks flush hot.
"Is... is it too much?" she asked nervously, touching the fabric of her skirt. "I can change into a simple dress—"
Dominic stepped up the stairs, meeting her halfway. He reached out, offering her his arm.
"If you change, Beatrice, I'll fire the stylist," he said, his voice deep and dark. "You look... catastrophic."
"Catastrophic?" she repeated, startled.
"You're going to destroy every man in that room," he murmured, his eyes lingering on her lips. "Including me."
At the Plaza Hotel, the high-society crowd was ruthless. As Beatrice walked through the grand ballroom carrying Leo’s hand, she could feel the cold, judge-filled stares of slender, diamond-clad socialites and slick mafia wives. Whispers bounced off the crystal chandeliers.
"Who is she?" "A nanny, they say. Look at her size..." "Dominic Russo bringing a common servant to the Commission ball?"
Beatrice lowered her head, the old, familiar shame burning in her chest. She stepped back, trying to vanish into the shadows near the velvet curtains.
Suddenly, a heavy, warm hand settled firmly against the small of her back.
Dominic stepped directly beside her, his fingers pressing into her waist with possessive force. He pulled her forward, right to the center of the VIP terrace, directly in front of the most powerful mob heads in the tri-state area.
"Head up, Beatrice," Dominic commanded softly in her ear, his touch sending electric shocks through her skin. "You belong next to me. Let them look."
When a wealthy shipping magnate’s wife gave Beatrice a dismissive, sneering glare, Dominic turned his icy, dangerous gaze onto the woman.
"Is there something about my companion you find distracting, Mrs. Vance?" Dominic asked, his voice cutting through the ambient classical music like a blade.
The woman turned pale, coughing nervously. "N-no, Don Russo. Not at all. She is... lovely."
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"She is magnificent," Dominic corrected coldly, pulling Beatrice even closer against his side so that her hip was pressed tight to his thigh. "And anyone who forgets that will answer to me."
Beatrice looked up at Dominic’s strong profile, her chest swelling with a feeling she was too terrified to name. In a world full of predators, the most dangerous man in the city was standing like a shield before her.
