Chapter 4 - The Gala of Knives
They avoided the ambush at the corporate office by slipping through the subterranean freight tunnels beneath the financial center.
By nightfall, the battlefield shifted from corporate corridors to high society.
The annual Saint Regis Charity Gala was an event no prominent family on the coast could afford to skip.
To stay home was to signal fear, and Lorenzo Duca refused to show weakness to anyone.
The grand ballroom was a glittering cathedral of crystal chandeliers, silk draperies, and champagne towers.
Matteo stood near the marble balcony wearing a bespoke midnight-navy tuxedo.
Beside him stood Mia.
She was not in her tactical charcoal suit.
Under Matteo's direct orders, she had been fitted in a floor-length emerald silk evening gown with an open back.
The silk concealed a lightweight ceramic dagger strapped along her left thigh and a micro-earpiece hidden in her hair.
Matteo leaned down, his lips brushing dangerously close to her ear.
""You clean up remarkably well for someone who tripped over a trash bin three days ago,"" he murmured.
""Keep your eyes on the perimeter, Mr. Duca,"" Mia replied through a frozen, polite smile.
""My eyes are currently on the room, Callaway.""
""And half the men here are looking at you instead of my financial portfolio.""
""Then they are making a fatal tactical error,"" she muttered.
Across the ballroom, Lorenzo Duca stood surrounded by city aldermen and high-ranking judges.
The old patriarch watched Mia and his son with cold, calculating scrutiny.
Beside Lorenzo stood Captain Marco Silva, whose jaw was set in rigid anger.
Marco clearly resented that Mia had handled the afternoon's close call without calling for estate backup.
""Look at the catering line near the eastern entrance,"" Mia whispered suddenly.
Her voice lost all its playful banter.
Matteo didn't turn his head, but his posture stiffened.
""What am I looking for?""
""The waiter carrying the vintage champagne tray on the far right,"" Mia said.
""Notice his footwork.""
""He walks on the balls of his feet, keeping his center of gravity low.""
""Catering staff walk heel-to-toe to balance twenty-pound trays.""
""Look at his jacket hem.""
""The fabric is pulling two inches lower on his left rib cage.""
""He's carrying a subcompact firearm with an extended magazine.""
Matteo’s fingers tightened around his champagne flute until the crystal groaned under the pressure.
""The Ferrettis?"" he asked quietly.
""No,"" Mia replied, scanning the room with razor-sharp speed.
""The catering team is handled exclusively by Blackwood Manor's internal security clearance.""
""Marco Silva signed the vendor credentials this morning.""
Matteo went entirely pale.
""You're saying Marco sold us out?""
""I'm saying there are four men in tuxedo jackets moving toward the power distribution panels behind the orchestra,"" Mia said.
""And none of them are checking the wine list.""
Before Matteo could reply, the grand chandelier flickered once.
A heavy, unnatural hush fell over the room as the ambient chamber music abruptly stopped.
""Stay behind me,"" Mia commanded, her hand already slipping down the slit of her emerald gown to find the hilt of the ceramic blade.
""Callaway, wait—""
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""I don't wait, Mr. Duca.""
The ballroom went completely black.
