Chapter 5 - The Gala at the Drake
The annual Winter Philanthropic Gala at the Drake Hotel was the one night of the year when Chicago’s high society, judicial elite, and underworld royalty pretended they didn't know where each other’s money came from.
The Grand Ballroom was a sea of crystal chandeliers, cascading white orchids, and champagne towers.
At the center of the room, standing beside a group of federal appellate judges and shipping magnates, stood Lorenzo Rossy. He was magnificent in a bespoke black tuxedo, his posture straight as an iron compass needle, holding a crystal tumbler of neat bourbon.
The double doors of the ballroom opened, and the room experienced a sudden, collective drop in ambient conversation.
Chloe Bennett stepped onto the marble landing.
She wasn't wearing an oversized thrift-store blazer. Rosa had taken her to an Italian bridal atelier on Oak Street forty-eight hours earlier, under strict orders from the Don to 'make her untouchable.'
She wore an off-the-shoulder evening gown of deep emerald velvet that hugged her curves with razor-sharp elegance, pooling into a small, graceful train behind her. Her dark curls were pinned back in an intricate, sweeping chignon, leaving her pale throat bare save for a delicate platinum chain supporting a teardrop emerald that matched her eyes.
She looked breathtaking. Regal. Sovereign.
And then, on the third step of the grand staircase, her left heel caught on the hem of her velvet train.
Chloe gasped, her arms flailing, her gold clutch flying into the air.
The four hundred guests held their breath, expecting a catastrophic, bone-breaking tumble down twenty marble steps.
A shadow moved with the terrifying, supernatural speed of an apex predator.
Before Chloe could fall six inches, a massive, warm arm clamped around her waist like a steel beam, lifting her effortlessly against an expanse of starched white linen and broad, iron muscle.
A large, scarred hand caught her falling gold clutch out of the air with a single, contemptuous snap.
Chloe looked up, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped hummingbird.
Lorenzo looked down at her. His flint-gray eyes were ablaze with an intensity that completely incinerated the four hundred people watching them from the ballroom floor.
"You're remarkably consistent, Miss Bennett," Lorenzo whispered, his deep baritone vibrating straight through her velvet gown into her bones.
"The train was longer than the architectural blueprints suggested, Mr. Rossy," Chloe whispered back, her face burning with a furious, beautiful blush.
Lorenzo didn't let her go. He kept his arm securely around her waist, pulling her flush against his side, his thumb stroking the soft velvet at her hip as he turned to face the stunned room.
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"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," Lorenzo announced, his voice carrying the effortless, unshakeable authority of a king presenting his consort to the court.
"Allow me to introduce my partner. Chloe Bennett."
