Chapter 4 - The Gala of Wolves
3 days later, the reality of Marcus’s confession was still rearranging every thought in my head. He had watched over me, protected me, and kept me at a distance out of some twisted sense of mercy. But the fragile bubble of our private sanctuary was about to be burst by the harsh realities of his underworld life.
It was a Friday evening, and the penthouse was a hive of frantic activity. Mrs. Gable and a team of stylists had descended upon me like a whirlwind, dressing me in a breathtaking floor-length crimson silk gown that hugged every curve of my slender frame, my hair swept up into an intricate cascade of dark waves. A diamond necklace, glittering with stones that looked like frozen tears, was fastened around my neck.
“The boss is waiting in the foyer,” Mrs. Gable said approvingly, stepping back to admire her work. “Tonight is the annual Valentino Syndicate Gala at the Grand Continental Hotel. You will be by his side every second.”
My stomach churned with terror. For 3 years, I had been hidden away from the public eye. Marcus never took me to his business events, intentionally keeping me out of the crosshairs of his enemies. To the underworld, I was a ghost—a non-existent wife. Taking me out tonight meant he was changing the rules. He was declaring to every rival boss, assassin, and traitor in the city that I was his acknowledged queen.
When I hobbled out to the foyer using a much more discreet silver-handled cane, Marcus was waiting. Dressed in a bespoke midnight-black tuxedo, he looked like an angel of death—devastatingly handsome, untouchable, and lethal. When his eyes landed on me, the breath seemed to leave his lungs entirely. He crossed the space between us in an instant, his gaze sweeping over the crimson dress and the glittering diamonds.
“You are stunning, mia regina,” he murmured, his voice a low, rough caress meant only for me.
“Marcus, are you sure about this?” I asked, my fingers clutching the fabric of my dress. “If your enemies see me—”
“Let them look,” he interrupted fiercely, taking my hand and sliding it through the crook of his arm. “Let them stare. Tonight, the entire underworld is going to learn exactly who belongs to me, and God help anyone who dares to look at you the wrong way.”
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The ride to the Grand Continental Hotel was spent in tense silence. When the black bulletproof limousine pulled up to the red carpet, flashbulbs blinded me through the tinted windows. Alessandro opened the door, and Marcus stepped out first, immediately turning to offer his hand. I placed my gloved hand in his strong grip, stepping out into a barrage of cameras and whispered murmurs.
The ballroom of the hotel was a palace of crystal chandeliers, gold leaf, and high-society predators. As Marcus walked through the double doors with me on his arm, the roaring chatter of the room instantly died down. Hundreds of powerful men and terrifying syndicate bosses turned to stare. Their eyes widened in shock as they took in the young, pale woman walking beside the most feared man in the country—a woman they didn't even know existed. Marcus held his head high, his grip on my waist firm and possessive, broadcasting a silent, unmistakable message to every single person in the room: She is mine. Touch her and die.
