Chapter 5 - THE DANCE OF BLADES
The champagne in my glass was crisp, dry, and chilled to perfection, but every sip felt like swallowing liquid ice.
Nicholas introduced me as “Gabriella” to supreme court judges, shipping magnates, and senior capos. He never once used the word maid, nor did he offer a fake, elaborate pedigree. He simply presented me as a woman who commanded his presence, and the sheer, terrifying reputation of the DeLuca name ensured that nobody dared ask for my lineage.
Yet, I could feel Roberto’s stare boring into my back from across the gilded ballroom like a loaded barrel.
When Nicholas stepped away for three minutes to speak privately with an elderly council leader near the terrace doors, the predator struck.
I was standing by a marble pillar, admiring the floral arrangements, when a shadow fell over me.
“Emeralds become you, Gabriella,” Roberto’s smooth, accented voice purred behind me.
I turned around slowly, keeping my spine straight and my chin lifted. “Signor Ferraro.”
Roberto smiled, tilting his head. He had shed his jacket, wearing a silk vest that strained against his broad chest. Up close, his charm was oily, predatory. “A maid promoted to consort in twenty-four hours. Nicholas must be more desperate than I thought. Or perhaps you possess talents that don’t show on a housekeeping resume?”
I didn't blink. I took a slow, measured sip of my champagne, letting the silence stretch until the smirk on his face began to stiffen.
“Mr. DeLuca values discretion and competence,” I said in a calm, clear voice that carried to the nearby patrons. “Qualities that I imagine are quite foreign to a man who must brag about his conquests before he even makes them.”
A flash of genuine rage darkened Roberto’s eyes, replaced instantly by a cruel, mocking amusement. He took a half-step closer, invading my personal space until I could smell the tobacco on his skin.
“You have a sharp tongue for a girl from the outer boroughs,” he murmured, lowering his voice. “Do you really think Nicholas cares about you? You are a chess piece. A decorative shield. When I break his empire, Gabriella—and I will—he will discard you. But I? I am generous to pretty things that know how to kneel.”
He reached out a hand, his fingers aiming to touch the emerald necklace resting on my chest.
Before his skin could even graze the platinum, an iron grip caught Roberto’s wrist.
The snap of bone pressure was audible. Roberto gasped, his face twisting in sudden pain as Nicholas twisted his arm back with terrifying, surgical precision.
Nicholas stood beside me, an aura of pure, unadulterated violence radiating from his towering frame. His tuxedo was pristine, his expression utterly blank, but his eyes were black with murderous intent.
“Touch her,” Nicholas said, his voice dropping into a register so cold it silenced the entire corner of the ballroom, “and I will cut your fingers off one by one and feed them to the stray dogs on Pier 42.”
“Nicholas,” Roberto hissed through gritted teeth, struggling fruitlessly against the grip. “We are in public. Don't be a fool.”
“I don't give a damn who is watching,” Nicholas replied. He slowly increased the pressure until Roberto’s knees buckled slightly. “Gabriella is under my protection. You look at her again, you breathe in her direction, and this city will not be big enough to bury what’s left of your family.”
With a contemptuous shove, Nicholas released him. Roberto stumbled back against a cocktail table, his face flushed with humiliation and fury. Several high-profile guests pretended to look away, terrified of being caught in the crossfire.
Roberto adjusted his cuffs, glaring at Nicholas with venomous hatred. “You’ve gone soft over a servant, DeLuca. It will be your undoing.”
Roberto turned and vanished into the crowd.
Nicholas turned to me immediately, his hands coming up to cup my face. His touch was shockingly gentle compared to the violence he had just displayed. His thumbs smoothed over my cheekbones, searching my face for any sign of distress.
“Did he touch you?” he demanded, his breathing slightly elevated.
“No,” I whispered, looking into his fierce, burning eyes. “I was handling him, Nicholas.”
A breathless, incredulous laugh escaped his throat. “You were insulting him to his face. I heard you. You are completely fearless, aren't you?”
“I have to be,” I said softly, my heart thumping wildly against my chest—not from Roberto’s threats, but from the searing intensity of Nicholas’s gaze. “I’m standing with you.”
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Nicholas stared down at me, his thumb brushing against the corner of my wine-stained lower lip. For a fleeting second, I thought he was going to kiss me right there in front of high society.
Instead, his jaw tightened, and he took my hand in his. “Let’s go home. The vultures have seen enough.”
