Chapter 2 - THE TARGET ON THE FLOOR
The dark-haired man didn’t pull away. Instead, his right hand moved with terrifying precision, sliding around Emma’s waist. His palm was broad, calloused beneath the manicured exterior, and scorching hot against the cheap polyester of her catering uniform. He pulled her flush against his chest, instantly eliminating any line of sight through his vitals from the tall arched windows overlooking the bay.
"Dance like you love me," Emma whispered against his collarbone, her heartbeat hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She kept her chin lifted, her lips tilted in a staged, breathless smile. "There's a sniper on your forehead. Second crane by the cargo docks. Red beam. It cut across the chandelier three seconds before it found you."
The man turned her into the waltz with effortless power. His chest was granite, his breath steady against her ear. Around them, the social elite of South Florida barely registered the sudden breach of etiquette. To an outside observer, it looked like a handsome, ruthless billionaire seizing an impulsive moment with a server who had charmed him.
"You have very sharp eyes for a girl carrying champagne," he murmured. His voice was a low baritone that vibrated straight through her spine. "I'm Dominic Rossi. And if you’re setting me up, little waitress, you won’t live to see dawn."
"If I wanted you dead, Mr. Rossi, I would have dropped my tray and let the bullet split your skull," she whispered back, leaning her cheek against his shoulder as they spun. "Now turn us again. Left foot back. The beam is drifting toward your ear."
Dominic shifted his weight, spinning her cleanly into the blind spot created by an ornate marble pillar. In that split second, the red dot lost its lock, skimming harmlessly across the marble casing and flickering out. Dominic reached into his jacket lapel with two fingers, clicking a concealed radio unit beneath his collar twice.
"Marco," Dominic spoke into the microscopic transmitter, his face still tucked close to Emma's neck as if murmuring sweet nothings. "South pier crane. Suppressed heavy caliber. Clear the nest. Silent."
A static click answered him.
Emma’s breath shuddered. The adrenaline that had propelled her across the marble floor was starting to curdle into cold terror. She felt the heavy, ink-stained skin of Dominic's throat against her cheek—tattoos winding up from beneath his crisp white shirt, sharp and intricate, disappearing into the line of his jaw. This was no legitimate businessman. The quiet ferocity rolling off him was that of an apex predator.
"Keep moving," he commanded gently, his fingers splaying wide across her lower back, anchoring her trembling frame. "If you freeze now, the room notices. Look at my eyes. Smile, Emma."
"How do you know my name?" she breathed.
"Name tag," he murmured, his dark eyes fixed on hers with an intensity that made the air feel thin. "Tell me where you learned to spot a laser trajectory across a crowded ballroom."
"My father was an army mechanic," she said, her voice shaking slightly despite her best efforts. "I spent my childhood around guns and range finders before he passed away. You never forget the light."
Before Dominic could respond, a low, muffled thump cracked the glass of the upper skylight fifty feet above them. Shards rained down onto the banquet tables on the opposite side of the hall, followed by screams. Panic broke out instantly. Silk and satin scrambled for the double doors as security details drew handguns and surrounded their employers.
May you like
Dominic didn’t flinch. In one swift motion, he stripped off his black tuxedo jacket, draped it over Emma's bare shoulders to mask her uniform, and pulled her behind him toward a private service corridor. "You saved my life, Emma," he said, the ballroom erupting into chaos behind them. "Which means right now, you're the most dangerous loose end in Miami."
---
