Chapter 5 - Whispers in the Glass Tower
By Friday morning, the underworld was ablaze with rumors.
The attack on the Moretti estate had failed, but the message had been delivered: someone was testing Gabriel Moretti’s reign. Yet instead of retreating behind security bunkers, the young don had done something unprecedented. He had formally announced that the annual Moretti Foundation Charity Gala—a high-society gathering attended by senators, judges, and syndicate capos alike—would take place as scheduled at the Plaza Hotel.
And his date was Paige Winslow.
The administrative bullpen at Moretti Logistics had practically ground to a halt. When Paige was escorted down to the lobby by Nico on Friday afternoon to meet with Gabriel’s private tailors, Sylvia had watched her from behind a stack of invoices with wide, disbelieving eyes. The girl who had made a bumbling mistake forty-eight hours earlier was now walking among wolves, draped in the don's protection.
In a private suite at the Plaza, two French stylists bustled around Paige like hummingbirds.
"Turn, please, *mademoiselle*," the lead designer murmured.
Paige stood on a velvet pedestal, staring at her reflection in the gilded triptych mirror.
The dress was a masterpiece of liquid emerald silk. It clung to the curve of her waist, cascading down to the floor in a shimmering pool of fabric, featuring an open back that dipped daringly low between her shoulder blades. Her honey-blonde hair had been swept up into an elegant chignon, secured with diamond pins, leaving the slender line of her neck exposed.
Around her throat rested a necklace of platinum and uncut emeralds—a family heirloom that Gabriel had sent up twenty minutes earlier with a handwritten card:
*Look them in the eye.*
The suite door opened.
Gabriel entered.
He wore a bespoke black tuxedo with satin peak lapels, tailored to an absolute perfection that masked the lethal physique beneath. He looked regal, terrifying, and breathtakingly handsome.
The stylists bowed slightly and vanished into the adjoining room, leaving them alone.
Gabriel stopped at the base of the pedestal. His gray eyes swept over her slowly, taking in every inch of the emerald silk, the exposed curve of her back, the flushed warmth of her cheeks.
For the first time since she had met him, Gabriel Moretti appeared momentarily struck.
"You are stunning, Paige," he said, his baritone rough around the edges.
"I feel like an imposter," she admitted, looking down at her hands. "I'm a girl who couldn't afford pet rent for her dog, Gabriel. These people... they’re millionaires, politicians... killers."
Gabriel stepped onto the pedestal, closing the distance between them. He took her hands in his, his grip warm and steadying.
"They are parasites," Gabriel said coldly. "They hide behind charities and legal trusts, but they are scavengers. You earned every dollar you ever made with your own hands. You survived Vance, you survived Kevin, and you stood up to me in my own office. You outshine every soul in that ballroom."
Paige looked up into his slate eyes, feeling a lump rise in her throat. "Why are you doing this, Gabriel? Is this just about sending a message to Rossi?"
Gabriel didn't answer immediately. He raised one hand, his fingers lightly brushing the emerald necklace against her collarbone.
"At first, perhaps," he murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips. "To show them that what belongs to me cannot be touched. But now? Now I simply want them to see what I see."
He offered his arm. "Shall we?"
The grand ballroom of the Plaza was a whirlwind of black-tie opulence, crystal chandeliers, and champagne towers. A string quartet played softly in the corner, while hundreds of guests mingled beneath the gilded ceiling.
When the heavy doors opened and Gabriel Moretti entered with Paige on his arm, the room went instantly quiet.
Whispers rippled through the crowd like wind across wheat.
*That’s the girl from logistics.*
*The one who called him 'honey'?*
*Look at the Moretti emeralds on her neck...*
Gabriel ignored them all. With arrogant ease, he guided Paige through the parted crowd, his hand resting firmly at the small of her back. Every underboss, every corrupt councilman who caught his eye bowed their head in deferential greeting.
Near the champagne bar stood Salvatore Rossi, flanked by two of his lieutenants. Rossi’s face was dark, his jaw tight as he watched Gabriel approach.
"Gabriel," Rossi said, holding up a glass of champagne. "Quite an entrance. And Miss Winslow... looking far more expensive than she did yesterday morning."
Gabriel stopped three feet from Rossi. The temperature around them plummeted.
"Salvatore," Gabriel said smoothly. "I hear you had an issue with your shipping warehouse in Newark this morning."
Rossi’s smile vanished. "What did you say?"
"A fire broke out," Gabriel continued, his voice calm, casual, as if discussing the weather. "Faulty electrical wiring, apparently. Three of your primary transport hubs burned to the ground at noon. Such a tragedy for your operations."
Rossi’s face turned an apoplectic shade of crimson. "You son of a bitch—"
"Lower your voice," Gabriel commanded, stepping forward, his shoulders blocking Rossi from Paige. "You sent two shooters to my home last night, Salvatore. You broke the garden glass. That was your one warning. The Newark warehouses were my answer. If another pebble hits my property, I will not burn your buildings. I will burn your family."
Rossi took half a step back, the terror finally breaking through his arrogant facade. He looked around the ballroom, realizing that not a single capo, not a single allied family was stepping forward to support him. Gabriel had outmaneuvered him completely.
"Enjoy the champagne, Salvatore," Gabriel said, turning his back on him with absolute dismissal.
He looked down at Paige, his expression instantly softening. "Care to dance?"
Before she could answer, he swept her onto the polished dance floor as the quartet transitioned into a slow, haunting waltz.
Paige let her hand rest on Gabriel’s broad shoulder, her other hand clasped in his. He moved with effortless grace, guiding her through the turns, keeping her pressed close against his chest.
"You burned his warehouses?" she whispered, staring into his eyes.
"He tried to kill you," Gabriel said simply, as if that explained everything in the universe.
May you like
Paige's heart fluttered dangerously against her ribs. In the middle of a room full of monsters, wrapped in the arms of the most dangerous man in the city, she had never felt safer.
***
