Chapter 5 - The Gala of Wolves
The Grand Regency Hotel in downtown Boston was a palace of gold leaf, crystal chandeliers, and polished black marble.
Tonight, it hosted the annual Harbor Benevolent Gala—a charity event attended by the city’s highest politicians, wealthiest socialites, and discreetly, the heads of the major logistics families.
It was also the location of the secret Commission meeting scheduled to take place in the hotel’s private executive suite on the top floor.
It had been eight weeks since I took the job.
I stood near the entrance of the ballroom, wearing a midnight-blue velvet evening gown that Elena had insisted on purchasing for me. My dark hair was styled in soft waves over one shoulder, a simple silver bracelet wrapping around my wrist.
Beside me stood Marco, wearing an immaculate tuxedo that barely concealed two concealed pistols beneath his arms.
"You look like you belong here, Miss Fitzgerald," Marco murmured, taking two champagne flutes from a passing waiter’s tray and handing one to me.
"I feel like a sheep surrounded by wolves," I admitted softly, scanning the opulent crowd.
"Don't worry," Marco smiled darkly. "The biggest wolf in the city is about to enter."
The heavy brass doors of the ballroom swung open.
A sudden, dramatic hush fell over the three hundred guests in the room.
Massimo Pascale stepped through the doorway.
He was not in a wheelchair.
He wore a custom-tailored double-breasted tuxedo that highlighted his broad shoulders and narrow waist. He held a simple, elegant black cane in his right hand, using it with effortless grace to support his left side. His head was held high, his jaw set, his gray eyes sweeping over the crowd with absolute, sovereign authority.
He walked with a subtle, barely perceptible stride, but he was standing on his own two feet.
I held my breath, tears of pure, overwhelming pride stinging my eyes as I watched him navigate the room. Only I knew the hundreds of hours of excruciating pain, the tears, and the relentless willpower it had taken for him to take those steps tonight.
Massimo walked directly toward me, ignoring the whispering crowds and flashing camera lights.
He stopped two feet away, looking down at me in my blue dress. His gray eyes softened instantly, a look of profound, breathtaking admiration shining in his gaze.
"You look extraordinary, Tessa," he said softly, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine.
"And you," I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion, "are walking."
"Because you refused to let me fall," Massimo replied quietly. He extended his left arm toward me. "Will you walk with me?"
I slid my hand over his arm, feeling the rock-hard muscle beneath his suit coat. "Always."
Across the ballroom, a group of men stood near a private curtained archway. Among them was Don Donato—a heavy, gray-haired man sixty years old, wearing an ostentatious velvet suit and holding a glass of cognac.
When Donato saw Massimo walking across the floor, his face drained of all color. The glass of cognac shook in his hand.
"Impossible..." Donato gasped under his breath. "He was paralyzed... my sources said he was a cripple..."
Massimo led me straight up to Donato’s circle.
"Donato," Massimo greeted smoothly, his voice cool and terrifyingly calm. "I hear you've been taking an interest in my shipping manifests while I was away."
Donato swallowed hard, sweating under his heavy collar. "Massimo... we... we heard rumors about your health. We thought it best to ensure the port stability was maintained."
"My health is exceptional," Massimo said, leaning slightly onto his cane, his eyes locking onto Donato’s like a hawk targeting its prey. "And my memory is even better. The Commission meeting begins upstairs in ten minutes. I suggest you bring your checkbook, Donato. You owe my family three million dollars for broken seals in Marseilles."
Donato stammered, nodding rapidly like a terrified child before hurrying away toward the elevators with his guards.
Massimo turned back to me, a small, triumphant smile playing on his lips.
"That was amazing," I whispered, giggling softly.
"That was just the warm-up," Massimo smiled.
Suddenly, a waiter leaned in toward Marco, whispering an urgent message in his ear. Marco’s face instantly darkened. He stepped up to Massimo, leaning close.
"Boss," Marco reported quietly. "Security spotted two unidentified vehicles pulling into the underground parking garage. They cut the hardwire feed to the service elevators."
Massimo’s smile vanished. "Donato’s men?"
"Looks like a desperation play," Marco confirmed. "They know if you walk into that Commission room upstairs, Donato is finished. They're going to hit the private elevator bank."
Massimo looked at me. The protective instinct in his eyes flared like a furnace.
"Marco, get Tessa out through the service exit now," Massimo ordered, his voice laced with absolute command.
"No!" I said, clutching his arm tightly. "Massimo, your leg muscles are at max capacity tonight! If you get into a physical altercation, your knee will buckle!"
"I am not leaving you in harm's way, Tessa!" Massimo growled, grabbing my hand.
"Then we go together!" I insisted.
Before Marco could move us toward the exit, the lights in the grand ballroom suddenly went out!
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Panic erupted through the crowd! Women screamed, glasses shattered, and hundreds of people surged toward the main doors in total chaos!
Through the darkness, three armed figures in tactical gear burst through the side service doors, their weapons drawn!
