Chapter 7 - The Gala at the Fairmont
Three months later, the grand ballroom of the Fairmont Hotel in San Francisco was a dazzling sea of crystal chandeliers, silk gowns, and tailored tuxedos.
The city’s elite—politicians, CEOs, and syndicate leaders who knew better than to miss a Gallow family event—mingled beneath the soaring ceilings.
The double doors swung open, and a ripple of absolute silence swept through the room.
Frankie pushed open the entrance, standing at attention.
And then, walking through the doors under his own power, stepped Desmond Gallagher.
He wore a tailored black tuxedo that fit his broad shoulders with razor-sharp precision. He walked with a heavy, deliberate limp, using a custom silver-handled cane, but he was walking. Every step required immense, agonizing concentration, but he did not falter.
Beside him walked Sadi, wearing an emerald-green silk dress that hugged her curves, her hair styled in soft waves.
Whispers erupted instantly among the crowd.
“Isn’t that Gallagher? I heard he was permanently paralyzed...”
“Who is the woman with him?”
Desmond ignored them all. He led Sadi to the center of the ballroom, his gaze never leaving her face.
The live band drifted into a slow, sweeping jazz ballad.
Desmond stopped, leaning his weight onto his cane with one hand, and extended his other hand toward her.
“Care to dance, Sadi?” he asked, his voice low and rich. “Though I must warn you, my footwork is terrible.”
Sadi looked down at his hand, then up into his eyes, where the coldness had been completely replaced by an unconditional, profound warmth.
“Only if I get to step on your toes,” she whispered, slipping her hand into his.
He pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her waist. As they swayed to the music, Desmond buried his face softly in her hair, breathing in the scent of jasmine and rain.
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“You saved my life, Sadi,” he murmured against her ear.
“You saved mine first, Desmond,” she replied softly, resting her head against his broad shoulder. “By giving me a reason to stay.”
