Chapter 5 - the gala at the penthouse
Three days later, the rain had cleared over Manhattan, leaving the sky crisp and starry above the twinkling lights of the city skyline.
On the top floor of the Grand Regency Hotel, the annual Brooklyn Syndicate Charity Gala was in full swing. Crystal chandeliers, jazz music, and champagne glasses filled the grand ballroom, where wealthy socialites, politicians, and high-ranking mobsters moved in tailored tuxedos and silk gowns.
Standing near the high arched glass windows was Rico. He looked devastatingly handsome in a midnight-black custom tuxedo, his dark hair styled back, his intense eyes scanning the room with calm, lethal vigilance. Standing beside him was Dante, his massive frame anchored like a stone wall.
Down the grand staircase stepped Clara.
Gasps rippled softly through several high-society wives nearby. Clara wore a breathtaking dark emerald silk evening dress provided by Rico's personal stylist. Her soft brown hair was styled into an elegant updo, revealing her fair, rosy skin, while the delicate silver locket rested pristine against her collarbone.
In her arms she held little Leo, who wore a miniature navy suit and white shirt. The toddler was completely calm, his small arm wrapped securely around Clara's neck, his face resting against her shoulder without a single tear.
Rico turned his head, and for a fraction of a second, his terrifyingly calm expression cracked into pure, breathless awe. Clara looked stunning, exuding an effortless, gentle grace that commanded the room without trying.
Rico stepped forward, offering his broad hand to guide her off the last stair. "You look extraordinary, Clara," he murmured, his deep voice low and intimate.
Clara offered a faint, shy smile, her cheeks flushing rosy pink. "Leo wanted to wear his shiny shoes."
Leo giggled softly, patting Clara's cheek. "Mommy Clara made my shoes shine!"
Rico's dark eyes softened with profound warmth at his son's words, though the term Mommy Clara made Clara's heart skip a frantic beat.
Suddenly, the crowd near the entrance parted.
Stepping into the ballroom was Dominic Valenti—the ruthless, fifty-year-old boss of the rival Manhattan syndicate. Tall, grey-haired, and flanked by four broad-shouldered enforcers, Valenti walked straight toward Rico's table with a cold, predatory smile on his face.
"Rico," Valenti purred, his voice like gravel. "It's good to see you out of mourning. And who is this lovely young lady holding your son?"
Valenti's eyes dropped to Clara's neck. The moment his gaze locked onto the silver locket, his cold smile instantly froze.
"Where did you get that pendant, girl?" Valenti demanded, taking an aggressive step forward.
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Before Valenti could take another inch, Rico stepped directly between Valenti and Clara, his massive frame blocking the rival boss completely. Rico's dark eyes burned with an icy, lethal fury that chilled the air between them.
"Touch another step toward her, Valenti," Rico growled in a voice like thunder, "and you won't leave this penthouse on your feet."
