Chapter 6 - The Gala of Masks
The annual Maritime Trade Gala at the Grand Plaza Hotel was the crown jewel of the city's winter social season. It was the one night of the year when high-society politicians, federal judges, foreign diplomats, and underworld bosses put on tuxedos and evening gowns to drink champagne together under crystal chandeliers.
For Helena, attending the gala as Adriano Moretti's official guest—and chief legal counsel—was a declaration of war against the social circles that had discarded her after her divorce.
She stood in front of the full-length mirror in her private dressing room at the estate Adriano had arranged for her. She wore a floor-length gown of deep emerald silk that clung to her curves before trailing into a modest train. Her dark hair was styled in an elegant, swept-up undo, secured with emerald pins.
The door opened, and Adriano stepped into the room. He was dressed in a bespoke black tuxedo that highlighted his broad shoulders and commanding height. He froze when his eyes fell upon her, his usual stoic expression fracturing into pure, unadulterated admiration.
"You are breathtaking, Helena," he said, his voice lower than usual.
"I feel like an imposter," she confessed, adjusting the silk strap on her shoulder. "A month ago, I was eating frozen dinners in a cramped kitchen."
Adriano walked up behind her, stopping so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body in the mirror's reflection. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a velvet box. Inside lay a breathtaking necklace of platinum and emeralds that matched her dress perfectly.
He lifted the heavy necklace, his warm fingers brushing against the bare skin of her collarbone as he fastened the clasp behind her neck. Helena caught her breath at the sensation of his touch, her heart fluttering violently against her ribs.
"You are no imposter," Adriano murmured, his lips hovering inches from her ear. "You are the smartest woman in this city. Tonight, they will all know it."
When they entered the Grand Ballroom twenty minutes later, the effect was instantaneous. Conversations died down in waves as head after head turned toward them. Helena felt hundreds of eyes locked onto them—some filled with awe, others with intense jealousy, and many with raw, palpable fear.
Sitting at a prominent table near the center of the room was Lord Carmine Rossini, the elderly, ruthless patriarch of the rival Rossini syndicate—the man who had secretly backed David Vance's failed contract trap.
As Adriano led Helena toward the head table, Lord Rossini stood up, his wrinkled face twisted into a polite, deceitful smile.
"Adriano, my boy!" Rossini greeted, extending a hand adorned with gold rings. "And this must be the famous Miss Selenus. The attorney who has been causing such a stir in the municipal courts."
Helena took Rossini's hand, meeting the old cobra's gaze without flinching. "Lord Rossini. I believe you are familiar with my work on the Sector 4 lease agreement."
Rossini's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes flashing with dangerous anger before he recovered. "Ah, yes. A minor administrative misunderstanding. I hear your ex-husband was recently disbarred. A tragic end to a young career."
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"It wasn't tragic, Lord Rossini," Helena said, her voice crystal clear and loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear. "It was justice. In my experience, people who rely on hidden traps usually end up springing them on themselves."
Adriano placed a protective hand on the small of her back, his gray eyes shining with fierce pride. "Well said, my dear. Now, if you will excuse us, Lord Rossini, my legal counsel and I have a city to run."
