Chapter 6 - The Eye of the Storm
The grand ballroom of the Waldorf Astoria was a sea of glittering crystal chandeliers, champagne fountains, and three hundred of New York’s most powerful citizens. Mayor’s assistants, district attorneys, real estate tycoons, and senior police commanders stood in small circles, laughing over silver trays of caviar and vintage champagne.
Julian walked through the room like a king inspecting a conquered territory.
Every conversation paused as we passed. Eyes flicked from his face to mine, whispers rippling through the crowd like wind over high grass. Men bowed their heads slightly in respect; women stared at my emerald dress with sharp, calculating eyes.
"Keep your head up," Julian whispered against my ear, his hand sliding down from my elbow to rest firmly against the bare skin of my lower back. His palm was hot, steady, and anchor-like amid the ocean of fake smiles. "Look at them as if you own the room."
"I don't own the room, Julian," I murmured through a fixed, polite smile. "I'm terrified."
"Fear is useful," he replied softly. "It sharpens the senses. Use it."
Suddenly, the crowd near the center stage parted.
A man in his sixties walked toward us, surrounded by four heavy-set security guards in sharp tuxedos. He was short, thick-chested, with white hair cut close to his scalp, skin tanned to the color of old saddle leather, and dark, bulbous eyes that looked like black olives.
Victor Moretti.
He held a glass of red wine in his right hand. As his eyes fell on me, his stride stumbled for half a second. The red wine sloshed against the edge of his crystal glass.
"Julian," Moretti said, his voice coarse and raspy, like iron dragged over stone. "I didn't expect to see you tonight. The rumors said you were... occupied with internal matters."
"Rumors are usually started by men who lack imagination, Victor," Julian said smoothly, stepping forward and extending his hand.
Moretti stared at Julian’s offered hand for two long seconds before shaking it with a tight, brief squeeze. His dark eyes flicked to me, burning with a cold, murderous fury that made my breath catch in my throat.
"And who is your charming companion?" Moretti asked, his raspy voice dropping into a dangerous key. "She looks... familiar."
"This is Elena Voss," Julian introduced me, his hand tightening subtly against my lower back, drawing me an inch closer to his side. "She is my personal guest. And as of yesterday, the chief supervisor for my family’s charitable foundation."
Moretti’s jaw twitched. "Is that so? I heard a girl with that name worked at a little bar down on West 4th Street. A bar that had a rather unfortunate accident last night."
"Accidents happen when people use cheap labor, Victor," Julian said softly. His grey eyes locked onto Moretti’s with the cold, deadly promise of an executioner. "I prefer to invest in permanent security. Miss Voss is completely protected under my roof. Forever."
Moretti’s dark eyes narrowed into slits. "New York is a dangerous city, Julian. People fall out of windows. People get caught in crossfire. Protection is an illusion."
"Try me," Julian whispered.
The air between the two men turned so toxic that three nearby council members quietly stepped away from the circle, sensing the sudden drop in atmospheric pressure.
Before Moretti could answer, a sudden commotion broke out near the grand entrance doors of the ballroom.
A loud voice shouted, followed by the heavy sound of tables being knocked over.
"Police! Nobody move! Federal search warrant!"
The double doors burst open, and twenty uniformed NYPD officers accompanied by twelve federal agents wearing dark blue jackets with yellow "FBI" lettering pushed into the ballroom, their hands resting on their holstered sidearms.
At the head of the law enforcement squad stood a tall man with silver hair at his temples and a scar on his left hand.
Thomas Kross.
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He wasn't wearing a suit anymore. He wore a tactical vest, a federal badge clipped to his belt, and carried an official judicial seizure order in his left hand.
He had turned state’s evidence. He hadn't betrayed Julian to Moretti—he had betrayed both of them to the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
