Chapter 7 - Unmasking the Traitor
The massive mahogany dining table was lit by a single wrought-iron chandelier, casting long, dramatic shadows across the room. At the head of the table sat Lucia Russo, flanked by Dante, while Vincenzo stood stiffly near the double doors. I sat at the far end, feeling profoundly out of place among the aristocracy of the East Harbor underworld.
Dante slammed a heavy manila folder onto the center of the table. Photos spilled out across the polished wood—grainy surveillance stills, bank statements, and encrypted chat logs.
“The federal hit squad wasn't working on rogue authority,” Dante announced, his voice slicing through the silence like a scalpel. “They were being funded by a shell corporation controlled directly by our own chief legal counsel, Marcus Vance.”
Lucia’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Marcus? My father trusted him with his life.”
“Marcus wanted the syndicate modernized—or rather, dismantled and sold off to the highest bidder in Washington,” Dante continued, leaning forward. “He leaked my schedules, he coordinated with the Moretti family, and he hired the corrupt federal agents to eliminate me so he could step in as the puppet master of East Harbor.”
“And where is Marcus now?” Lucia asked coldly.
“Celebrating his victory at the grand charity gala downtown,” Dante replied, a dangerous, predatory smile spreading across his face. “Which is currently being hosted by the city's elite, including the very federal judges who signed off on his black-ops budget.”
I looked between them, a cold realization dawning on me. “You’re going to the gala.”
“We are all going,” Dante corrected, looking directly at me. “Tonight, Marcus Vance thinks he’s won. Tonight, we take everything back.”
“Dante, no,” I protested, standing up from my chair. “I’m a waitress, remember? I don't belong at a high-society charity gala wearing designer gowns and walking into the lion’s den.”
Lucia stood up, walking over to me with a brilliant, calculating smile. She placed her hands on my shoulders. “My dear, tonight you aren't a waitress. You are Eleanor Russo’s guest of honor—and the secret weapon that is going to bring Marcus Vance to his knees.”
An hour later, I stood in front of the grand mirror in the suite, staring at my reflection in sheer disbelief. The woman looking back wore a backless, emerald-silk evening gown that hugged my frame, my blond hair styled in cascading waves, and a diamond necklace that sparkled under the vanity lights. I looked like royalty. I looked lethal.
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When I stepped out into the hallway, Dante was waiting. He wore a sharp, bespoke tuxedo that made him look every bit the dangerous syndicate boss he was. When his eyes landed on me, he stopped dead in his tracks. The air in the hallway seemed to vanish.
“Breathtaking,” Dante whispered, stepping close enough for me to feel the heat radiating off him. “Marcus won't know what hit him.”
