Chapter 5 - The Gala of Wolves
Three days passed in a tense, fragile quiet.
Damian had doubled the guards around the perimeter of the estate. Elena was strictly confined to the mansion, spent her days cleaning, cooking, and surreptitiously checking her burner phone for updates from Mary.
Lily was safe for now, but Mary’s stock of asthma medicine was running out. Elena needed to get out of the house.
The opportunity presented itself on Thursday evening.
The syndicate was hosting the annual Underworld Charity Gala at the Blackwood Hotel in downtown Chicago—a massive, lavish event where the city’s corrupt politicians, judges, business tycoons, and mafia bosses gathered under the guise of philanthropy to divide territorial rights.
Damian was standing in his master dressing room, adjusting his black bow tie in the mirror, when Elena knocked softly on the doorframe.
"Come in," he called out.
Elena stepped inside, carrying a freshly pressed velvet tuxedo jacket over her arm. She was wearing her standard black maid's dress with a white apron, but her hair was tied back neatly, revealing her slender neck. The bruise on her cheek had faded into a faint yellowish shadow.
"Your jacket, Mr. Cross," she said softly.
Damian turned around. He looked devastatingly handsome in his tailored black trousers and crisp white formal shirt. The commanding air he possessed was almost intoxicating.
He took the jacket from her arms, but instead of putting it on, he set it on the leather armchair behind him.
"You're coming with me tonight," Damian said casually, picking up his gold cufflinks from the dresser.
Elena froze, her breath catching in her throat. "What? Mr. Cross, I am domestic staff. I don't attend galas."
"You are not going as a guest," Damian clarified, turning to face her as he fastened his cufflinks. "The event management requested two additional waitstaff from my personal estate to handle the VIP private lounge upstairs. You will be serving drinks in the secure room where I am conducting my negotiations."
Elena’s mind raced. The Blackwood Hotel was downtown. It was only six blocks away from the pharmacy where Mary bought Lily’s medicine. If she could sneak away during the chaos of the gala for thirty minutes...
"I... I understand," Elena said, trying not to sound overly eager. "I will prepare immediately."
"Elena," Damian called out as she turned to leave.
She stopped, looking back over her shoulder.
"You stay in the VIP room," Damian instructed, his silver eyes cold and serious. "The floor below will be crawling with Moretti enforcers, corrupt cops, and mercenaries. Do not wander. Do not talk to anyone. Stay where my guards can see you."
"Yes, Mr. Cross," she lied.
Two hours later, the grand ballroom of the Blackwood Hotel was a sea of glittering diamonds, silk gowns, and tailored tuxedos. A chamber orchestra played softly on the mezzanine level, while waitstaff in black waistcoats carried trays of vintage champagne through the crowded floor.
Elena moved through the VIP room on the second floor, a silver tray resting on her palm, serving glasses of sparkling wine to broad-shouldered men with thick accents and dangerous eyes.
Her eye was constantly on the clock hanging on the far wall.
10:15 PM.
In fifteen minutes, Damian was scheduled to enter the soundproof private conference room at the end of the hall to sign a major distribution deal with an international shipment broker. That negotiation would take at least forty-five minutes.
That was her window.
At 10:28 PM, Damian walked past her, accompanied by four heavy guards. He glanced at Elena, giving her a subtle, firm nod that commanded her to stay put, before stepping into the conference room and closing the heavy mahogany doors behind him. Two armed guards posted themselves outside the door.
Elena waited two minutes. Then, holding her silver tray close to her chest, she slipped through the service pantry door at the back of the VIP lounge.
She rushed down the dimly lit service stairwell, her heart pounding in her chest. She bypassed the main ballroom, exiting through the hotel's rear delivery kitchen into the cool, rain-slicked alleyway behind the building.
The cold air hit her face like a slap. She pulled a dark wool coat she had stolen from the cloakroom over her maid's uniform and pulled the hood up high over her hair.
She ran.
She darted down the wet alleyway, her shoes splashing through puddles, turning onto the main avenue toward the twenty-four-hour pharmacy six blocks away.
She made it to the pharmacy in eight minutes, her lungs burning, her heart hammering against her ribs. She used cash to buy three boxes of Lily’s specific brand of pediatric asthma inhalers, a supply of fever medication, and a box of powdered milk.
She crammed the plastic bags into her coat pockets, checked her watch—10:43 PM—and turned to sprint back toward the hotel.
As she entered the dark, narrow alleyway behind the Blackwood Hotel, a shadow detached itself from the brick wall near the dumpsters.
"Well, well, well," a smooth, sinister female voice echoed through the wet darkness. "Look what the cat dragged out of Damian Cross's house."
Elena stopped dead in her tracks, her blood freezing in her veins.
A tall, elegant woman stepped into the light of the flickering streetlamp. She was wearing a blood-red silk gown, a black mink coat draped over her shoulders, and her long dark hair was styled in sleek waves. Her red lips were curved into a cruel, triumphant smile.
Sophia Moretti.
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Standing behind her were three massive men in dark suits, their hands resting ominously inside their leather jackets.
"Elena Vance," Sophia purred, taking a slow step forward, her heels clicking loudly against the wet pavement. "Or should I call you the little maid who managed to crawl into the tiger's den?"
