Chapter 5 - The Gala and the Trap
Saturday arrived with a sharp, crisp autumn chill.
The Boston Charity Gala was the most exclusive event of the year—a gathering of politicians, shipping magnates, and old-money families at the opulent Fairmont Copley Plaza hotel.
In the master suite of the Moretti estate, I stood in front of a full-length mirror, hardly recognizing the woman staring back at me.
Dominic had spared no expense. He had hired a top stylist from New York who arrived with racks of designer gowns. The dress I wore was a sleeveless, floor-length creation of midnight-blue silk that fitted my waist before cascading down in soft, heavy folds. My dark hair was styled into an elegant updo, and around my neck rested a vintage diamond necklace—a Moretti family heirloom.
The door opened, and Dominic stepped in.
He wore a tailored black tuxedo that made him look impossibly tall, broad, and dangerous. But when his eyes landed on me, he stopped in his tracks.
“Isabella,” he breathed, stepping into the room. He walked toward me as if drawn by a magnet. “You are... breathtaking.”
“I feel like an imposter,” I admitted, nervously touching the heavy diamonds at my throat. “I’m a housekeeper, Dominic. These people are going to see right through me.”
Dominic stood behind me, looking at our reflection in the mirror. He placed his large hands on my waist, pulling me back against his broad chest.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly in my ear. “You are the bravest, strongest woman in this city. You rescued my son from darkness. You earned every right to stand by my side. Tonight, you are not a housekeeper. You are my queen.”
My heart soared. I turned in his arms and kissed his jaw. “What about the kids?”
“Frank and six armed men are guarding the estate,” Dominic assured me. “The house is a fortress tonight. Vance won't get within ten miles of Leo and Lily. Tonight, Vance wants to confront me. And I intend to finish this.”
When our black limousine pulled up to the red carpet outside the Fairmont Copley Plaza, flashbulbs exploded like lightning. Photographers shouted Dominic’s name, vying for a shot of the reclusive billionaire who hadn't attended a public event in five years.
Dominic stepped out first, offering his hand to me.
When I stepped into the light, a collective gasp rippled through the press line. The Boston media had spent months speculating about the mystery woman living at the Moretti estate. Now, holding Dominic’s arm, I was the center of attention.
Inside the grand ballroom, gold chandeliers cast brilliant light over hundreds of guests in high-fashion attire. String quartets played softly in the background, but the atmosphere felt charged with hidden tension.
Dominic moved through the crowd with supreme confidence, his arm wrapped possessively around my waist. He introduced me to senators, judges, and corporate CEOs as his partner—leaving no doubt about my status.
Then, the music stopped.
A man stepped out from a VIP balcony near the back of the room, holding a glass of champagne.
Julian Vance.
He looked around fifty, with slicked-back gray hair, a sharp nose, and cold, reptilian eyes. He was flanked by three heavy-set men in dark suits.
The crowd went silent. Everyone in Boston’s high society knew the deadly feud between Moretti and Vance.
Vance walked down the grand staircase, his eyes locked onto Dominic, before sliding toward me with a disgusting, appreciative sneer.
“Dominic!” Vance called out, his voice echoing across the quiet ballroom. “I see you’ve finally come out of hiding! And you brought a lovely new companion. Tell me, Dominic... did you hire this one from an agency, or did you pick her up off the street?”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. I felt my face burn, but I kept my chin held high.
Dominic didn't lose his temper. He didn't shout. He simply walked toward Vance, taking slow, deliberate steps that radiated pure lethality. The crowd parted instantly.
“Julian,” Dominic said, his voice low and smooth as silk. “I see the New York courts let you out on bail. A mistake they will rectify by morning.”
Vance sneered, stepping closer. “You think you own this town, Moretti? You built your empire on secrets and blood. This little girl next to you... does she know what happened to Elena? Does she know that you were the one who drove Elena away?”
“Elena left because of you,” Dominic growled, his jaw tightening. “You tried to blackmail my family. You cut the brake lines on her car.”
“Prove it,” Vance hissed, leaning in. “You have no evidence. And while you’re standing here playing the grand protector, do you really think your estate is as safe as you think?”
My blood ran cold. “Dominic...” I whispered, grabbing his arm.
Vance pulled a small remote device from his pocket and pressed a button.
Suddenly, the grand ballroom's projection screens—normally displaying charity sponsors—flickered to life.
A live video feed appeared on the screens.
It showed the interior of the Moretti estate. The security cameras were bypassed. Figures in black tactical gear were moving through the dark hallways of Dominic’s house!
May you like
The crowd gasped in horror.
“You distraction-loving fool,” Vance whispered maliciously in Dominic’s ear. “Did you really think I’d attack you here? I brought you to the gala so my men could take what matters most to you. Your son... and that little girl.”
