Chapter 7 - The Mykonos Gala
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The private yacht journey to Mykonos was a blur of champagne and crashing waves, but the moment they stepped onto the island, the tension became suffocating.
The charity gala was held in a sprawling, historic cliffside mansion. Hundreds of the wealthiest, most dangerous people in the Mediterranean milled about, draped in diamonds and false smiles.
When Dante entered the grand ballroom with Emily on his arm, the entire room seemed to hold its breath. Whispers erupted like wildfire. The notorious, perpetually single head of the Moretti syndicate had arrived with a stunning, unknown woman wearing a diamond the size of a quail egg.
Emily kept her chin high, anchoring herself to the solid, unshakeable heat of Dante’s arm.
“Smile, mia cara,” Dante murmured, effortlessly guiding her through the crowd of politicians and socialites. “They are absolutely terrified of you.”
“They’re terrified of you,” Emily corrected through gritted teeth, offering a polite smile to a passing Greek shipping magnate.
“By extension, they fear you,” Dante replied, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back.
Halfway through the evening, as Dante was momentarily distracted by a conversation with a prominent judge, a tall, elegantly dressed man approached Emily. He had silver hair and a smile that did not reach his cold, dead eyes.
“Miss Hart, I presume?” the man said smoothly, his Greek accent thick.
Emily froze. Dante had called her Emma in public. Nobody here was supposed to know her real name.
“I think you have me confused with someone else,” Emily said, attempting to step away.
The man blocked her path, stepping uncomfortably close. “I am Nikos Konstantinos. Your father was a very good friend of mine before he decided to burn his own house down. I believe you have something that belongs to me.”
Before Emily could scream, a heavy, massive hand clamped down onto Nikos’s shoulder.
Dante appeared beside her, radiating a murderous, suffocating aura that made the air in the room drop ten degrees. He didn't yell. He didn't draw a weapon. He simply leaned into the older man’s personal space.
“Touch my fiancée again, Nikos,” Dante whispered, his voice dripping with lethal promises, “and I will break every finger on your hand in front of the Mayor.”
Nikos swallowed hard, his arrogant smile shattering. He backed away slowly, raising his hands in mock surrender before disappearing into the crowd.
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“Are you hurt?” Dante demanded, turning to Emily, his eyes frantically scanning her face.
“No,” she breathed, her heart hammering. “But he knows who I am.”
