Chapter 5 - The Doors Open
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At 9:47 PM, the string quartet playing softly in the corner of the grand ballroom abruptly stopped.
It wasn't a planned intermission. The first violinist simply lowered his bow, his eyes fixed on the entrance of the ballroom. The sudden, suffocating silence rippled through the massive space. The clinking of glasses ceased. The low murmur of political negotiations and illegal threats died in the throats of the elite.
Dominic frowned, annoyed by the interruption. He turned toward the heavy mahogany double doors at the far end of the room.
The doors had been pulled wide open by the Palmer House security guards, who were now backing away, their heads bowed in an unnatural display of absolute submission.
Stepping through the threshold was Evelyn.
Dominic’s breath caught in his throat. He barely recognized the woman walking into the light. She was not wearing the modest, elegant dresses she usually chose. She wore a custom, form-fitting black velvet gown with a neckline that slashed dangerously low and a slit that exposed a striking length of leg with every step. Around her neck rested a collar of flawless, blood-red rubies.
She looked terrifyingly beautiful. She looked like a woman who owned the building, the city, and every soul in the room.
But it wasn't the dress that made the color completely drain from Dominic’s face, leaving him pale and instantly nauseous.
It was the man walking beside her.
Gabriel Cross.
Dominic’s grip on his scotch glass tightened so violently the crystal nearly shattered. The air left his lungs in a sharp, painful hiss.
Gabriel did not walk ahead of Evelyn to shield her. He did not walk behind her like a bodyguard. He walked perfectly in step beside her, his hand resting lightly, possessively, on the small of her back. It was a physical declaration of absolute equality.
“Who is that?” Vanessa whispered, leaning into Dominic, oblivious to the sheer terror radiating from his body. “Who does she think she is, showing up here like that?”
Dominic couldn't speak. He couldn't breathe.
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He had spent fifteen years building his empire on the strict, terrifying rule of never borrowing money from Gabriel Cross. Gabriel was the shadow bank. He was the man the cartels feared, the man who funded the wars in New York and the politicians in Washington.
And as Gabriel’s pale amber eyes scanned the room and locked directly onto Dominic, the horrifying reality finally crushed him. Gabriel Cross hadn't come to Chicago to collect a debt from Dominic. He had come to escort Dominic’s discarded wife.
