Chapter 3 - The Gala at the Pier
The invitation arrived on Harper’s desk three days later, sealed in black wax stamped with the crest of the Moretti Syndicate.
It was an invitation to the annual autumn benefit at the Pier 54 Pavilion—an event where New York's political elite mixed with the high-society faces of organized crime. Roman had explicitly commanded her attendance, providing a sleek, dark blue floor-length dress that fit her with terrifying precision.
When Roman arrived to pick her up from her temporary apartment, he stopped briefly in the doorway, his eyes sweeping over her. For a moment, the cold, calculating kingpin was replaced by a man genuinely struck by her appearance.
"You clean up well, Miss Evans," he said quietly, offering his arm.
"I’m doing this to monitor the live ledger feeds during the auction," Harper said, ignoring the compliment as she stepped past him. "Not to play dress-up."
"In my world, dress-up is armor," Roman replied, following her to the waiting limousine. "If you look like you belong, people talk freely. If you look like an accountant, they lock their doors."
The pavilion was a spectacle of wealth and implied menace. Crystal chandeliers hung from steel girders; waiters in velvet waistcoats carried trays of vintage champagne; and heavy-set men with tailored suits stood near the exits, their eyes scanning the crowd.
Roman guided Harper through the room, his hand resting lightly at the small of her back. The touch was possessive, a signal to the room that she was under his protection. Every few steps, men bowed their heads or shook Roman’s hand with exaggerated respect, but Harper could feel the underlying tension. The air was thick with paranoia.
"That’s my uncle Silvio," Roman whispered, nodding toward an older man with silver hair and a thick mustache, surrounded by a group of city council members. "And beside him is Matteo."
Matteo was younger, flashy, wearing a suit that was far too bright for the occasion, drinking heavily. Harper watched how Matteo looked at Roman—not with respect, but with hidden resentment.
"Keep your eyes open," Roman instructed. "Silvio is meeting with an investor from Chicago tonight. I need to know if the payment structure matches the Zurich accounts."
Harper moved away from Roman, pretending to browse the silent auction tables while holding a glass of sparkling water. She kept her phone hidden beneath a silk wrap, monitoring an encrypted app she had linked to the Moretti internal network.
As she moved closer to the VIP terrace, she overheard Silvio’s voice through the partially open glass door.
"...Roman thinks he holds the keys to the kingdom," Silvio was saying, his tone bitter. "He’s soft. He spends more time with lawyers than with muscle. The old ways built this empire, and the old ways will reclaim it."
"And the girl?" another voice asked—a voice Harper didn't recognize, smooth and refined with a European accent. "The auditor he hired?"
"A minor distraction," Silvio sneered. "She’s digging through old dirt. She won't find the real pipeline before the winter assembly. By the time Roman realizes his accounts are empty, the board will have no choice but to vote him out."
Harper’s pulse raced. She stepped back into the shadows, tapping a quick sequence into her phone to record the ambient audio through the terrace microphone she had bypassed earlier.
Suddenly, a heavy hand grabbed her wrist.
She turned to find Matteo standing behind her, his breath smelling strongly of bourbon. "What are you doing creeping around out here, shorty?" he sneered, his grip tightening.
"I’m looking for the restroom," Harper said calmly, trying to pull her arm back. "Release me."
"You think because Roman bought you a nice dress you can walk around like you own the place?" Matteo sneered, stepping closer. "You’re just a debt slave. Your brother is a rat, and you’re just cleaning up his mess."
"Let go of her, Matteo."
Roman’s voice was like a blade slicing through the music of the ballroom. He had appeared out of nowhere, his tall frame towering over his cousin.
Matteo sneered, but his hand relaxed slightly. "I’m just welcoming our guest, Roman. No harm done."
Roman didn't speak. He stepped forward, caught Matteo by the collar of his suit jacket, and slammed him back against the marble pillar with shocking speed. The glass in Matteo’s hand shattered on the floor.
"If you touch her again," Roman said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low murmur, "I will cut the hands off your body and mail them to your father. Am I clear?"
Matteo’s face turned pale. He nodded hastily. Roman released him, letting him slump against the pillar, before turning his attention back to Harper. His eyes were dark with fury, but as he looked at her wrist, his expression softened slightly.
"Are you hurt?" he asked softly.
May you like
"I’m fine," Harper said, taking a breath to steady herself. "And I got what we needed. Silvio isn't working alone. There’s someone else backing him—someone who plans to strip your power at the winter dinner."
Roman looked at her, his jaw set. "Then we don't just find the money, Harper. We prepare for war."
