Chapter 11 - The Gala Begins
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The sun set, plunging the estate into darkness, but the mansion itself blazed with brilliant, artificial light. The grand ballroom was a masterpiece of extravagant wealth, dripping in crystal, white orchids, and dangerous secrets.
Hundreds of guests poured through the front doors. Politicians, wealthy investors, corrupt judges, and the heads of rival syndicates operating under tentative truces all mingled, drinking expensive champagne.
Bethany Garcia stood at the center of the room, wearing a stunning, floor-length crimson gown. She looked every inch the future queen of the empire, clinging to Dominic’s arm, accepting compliments and posing for the society photographers she had secretly invited.
Dominic wore a bespoke black tuxedo, looking incredibly handsome and terrifyingly lethal. He played the part perfectly, smiling politely at the Senator, but his eyes constantly scanned the perimeter, searching the crowd for threats.
Charlene stood near the grand marble staircase, wearing her formal black uniform and a crisp white apron. Her back throbbed with a dull, persistent agony, but she refused to sit down. She held a tray of champagne flutes, keeping her head bowed, playing the invisible servant.
“The Irish have arrived,” Vincent murmured into his earpiece, standing near the balcony doors.
Declan O'Rourke and his heavily armed entourage entered the ballroom. The music seemed to falter for a fraction of a second as the undisputed king of illegal weapons distribution made his presence known.
Dominic smoothly detached himself from Bethany, ignoring her annoyed sigh, and walked to meet O'Rourke.
“Declan,” Dominic nodded respectfully. “Welcome to my home.”
“It’s a beautiful party, Hamilton,” O'Rourke chuckled, his pale blue eyes sweeping the room. “But I’m not here to drink champagne. Are the papers ready?”
“In the West Wing study,” Dominic confirmed, gesturing toward the secure corridor. “My lawyers are waiting.”
As they turned to leave the ballroom, Bethany intercepted them.
“Dominic, darling,” Bethany pouted loudly, ensuring the nearby guests heard her. “You can't leave now. Daddy is preparing to make his toast. Our announcement toast.”
Dominic stopped. He looked at the Senator’s daughter, the woman who had tormented the mother of his child for eight agonizing months. The cold, dead expression in his eyes made Bethany’s smile falter.
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“The toast can wait, Bethany,” Dominic stated, his voice a low, echoing rumble. “I have a kingdom to secure.”
He walked past her, leaving her standing humiliated in front of her friends.
