Chapter 7 - The Gala of Snakes
The annual Hayes Global Logistics Charity Gala was held at the historic Drake Hotel's Grand Ballroom. It was the premier event of the Chicago high-society calendar—a gathering of politicians, judges, billionaire investors, and high-ranking Syndicate bosses hiding behind silk tuxedos and diamond necklaces.
Tonight, I wasn't wearing my janitor scrubs or my plain black work suit.
Vincent had ordered a team of stylists to my Gold Coast apartment four hours before the event. I now wore a stunning floor-length emerald green silk gown that hugged my curves perfectly, with an open back and a subtle side slit. My hair was styled in an elegant loose updo, and around my neck rested a vintage diamond necklace provided by Vincent's private vault.
When I stepped into the penthouse lobby to meet Vincent, he stopped dead in his tracks.
He was wearing a bespoke black tuxedo with a crisp black bow tie. He looked devastatingly handsome, like a dark prince from a fairytale. His gray eyes swept over me, dark with an unspoken, fierce admiration that sent a shiver of warmth through my core.
"You are breathtaking, Claire," Vincent said softly, offering me his arm.
"I feel like an imposter," I admitted, slipping my hand through his arm. "Everyone at this gala knows who I was last week."
"Let them look," Vincent said coldly, his hand resting reassuringly over mine. "Tonight, you walk beside me as my equal. If anyone dares to look down on you, tell me, and I will buy their company and fire them by midnight."
I couldn't help but smile. "You really are terrible."
"Only to my enemies," Vincent murmured, kissing the back of my hand.
When we arrived at the Drake Hotel, the grand entrance was swarming with photographers and journalists. Flashbulbs went off like starlight as Vincent guided me down the red carpet.
"Mr. Hayes! Is this your new executive assistant?" "Vincent! Any comment on the security breach at Hayes Tower?" "Miss! Who designed your dress?"
Vincent ignored the press, walking through the grand mahogany doors into the dazzling ballroom. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, classical violin music filled the air, and waiters carried trays of champagne through the wealthy crowd.
Almost immediately, the room shifted. Conversations hushed, and eyes turned toward us.
"Look at them," I whispered to Vincent, keeping a polite smile on my face. "They look like sharks waiting for blood."
"They are sharks," Vincent replied smoothly, taking two glasses of champagne from a passing tray and handing one to me. "Maintain your composure. Dominic is at the bar with three board members."
Across the room, Dominic Hayes was standing with a glass of scotch in his hand, chatting with an elderly senator. When his eyes caught mine, his expression turned dark and bitter. But beside him stood someone far more dangerous.
A young man in his early thirties, with slicked-back dark hair, a sharp nose, and cold, reptilian eyes, was watching us from a velvet booth in the corner. He wore a white tuxedo jacket and had a faint scar running down his right jawline.
"Julian Moretti," Vincent whispered beside my ear, his tone turning instantly to ice.
My pulse spiked. "He dared to come here?"
"He holds ten percent of Hayes Logistics stock through a shell company," Vincent said, his body shifting subtly into a protective stance. "He has a legal right to attend. He's here to provoke me."
Julian stood up from his booth and began walking toward us, holding a glass of amber liquid. Two large men in black suits trailed behind him like shadows.
"Vincent!" Julian called out, his voice dripping with false warmth. "What a magnificent evening! I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up after your... recent mechanical troubles."
Vincent didn't move an inch, his posture composed and imposing. "Julian. I see your parole officer finally let you cross city lines."
Julian’s smile tightened for a fraction of a second before he turned his cold, calculating gaze onto me. He looked me up and down with an oily, predatory gaze that made my skin crawl.
"And who is this exquisite creature?" Julian asked, stepping closer and reaching for my hand. "Don't tell me this is the famous Claire? The floor-cleaner who saved the great Vincent Hayes from a gas pipe?"
Before Julian’s hand could touch mine, Vincent stepped forward, blocking Julian completely with his broad frame.
"Touch her," Vincent said, his voice dropping to a lethal, quiet register that made the surrounding guests freeze, "and I will cut your hand off right here in front of the mayor."
Julian’s eyes flashed with manic amusement. He slowly lowered his hand, raising his shoulders in a mock gesture of surrender.
"So defensive, Vincent!" Julian laughed softly. "You used to be so cold, so logical. But now... you bring a soft little weakness right into the light where everyone can see it."
Julian leaned in slightly, his voice dropping so only Vincent and I could hear.
"You think you secured B4?" Julian whispered maliciously. "You think you found the leak? You haven't seen anything yet, Hayes. Before the night is over, you will watch everything you love crumble."
Julian winked at me, turned on his heel, and walked away into the crowd, his loud laughter echoing above the violin music.
My heart was pounding like a hammer. I looked at Vincent. His jaw was set so hard I thought his teeth might shatter, his knuckles white around his champagne glass.
"Vincent," I whispered urgently, touching his arm. "He's planning something tonight. Right here."
"I know," Vincent said calmly, though his eyes were sharp as razor blades. He tapped his earpiece. "Luke. Initiate Lockdown Protocol Bravo. Secure all exits and double the security on the penthouse server feeds."
“Copy that, Boss,” Luke’s voice crackled through the earbud. “Wait—Boss! We have a breach on the west wing grid! The power control for the ballroom just— ”
May you like
CRACK!
Before Luke could finish his sentence, every single chandelier in the grand ballroom went dark, plunging hundreds of screaming, panicked guests into absolute, terrifying pitch-black darkness.
