Chapter 4 - The St. Regis Gala
The grand ballroom of the St. Regis was an ocean of crystal chandeliers, flowing vintage champagne, and predatory smiles. Wall Street titans, corrupt politicians, and high-society socialites mingled under the soft hum of a live string quartet. But the moment Deari Hamilton entered the double oak doors with Caitlyn on his arm, a noticeable hush rippled through the room.
Murmurs erupted behind raised champagne flutes.
""Is that Hamilton?""
""Who is the woman with him? I thought he never brought dates.""
""She’s stunning... look at that green silk.""
Deari moved through the crowd with the slow, effortless confidence of a lion prowling through tall grass. His hand rested lightly against the small of Caitlyn’s bare back, his touch sending faint, electric sparks through her skin. Caitlyn kept her chin up, adopting the cool, unflinching composure she had practiced during two years of hostile corporate takeovers.
""Relax your shoulders,"" Deari murmured near her ear, his warm breath stirring the hair at her temple. ""You look like you're awaiting a firing squad.""
""In this room, Mr. Hamilton, I’m fairly certain half these people would like to hire one,"" she whispered back.
A faint, genuine smirk touched Deari's lips—a rare, devastating expression that transformed his harsh features into something strikingly handsome. ""Smart girl.""
Before she could reply, the crowd parted, and an older man with silver-streaked hair and a tailored charcoal tuxedo approached them. Beside him stood a younger, arrogant-looking man with slicked-back hair and a sharp, cruel sneer.
""Deari,"" the older man said, his voice dripping with false warmth. ""I wasn't sure you'd grace us with your presence after the unfortunate... logistical disputes at the Chicago docks.""
""Vincent Moretti,"" Deari replied, his voice completely devoid of warmth. ""I never miss an opportunity to support the arts. Especially when the hosts are so desperate for funding.""
Caitlyn recognized the name instantly. Vincent Moretti was the patriarch of the Moretti crime syndicate—Deari’s most vicious competitors. The younger man beside him was Julian Moretti, Vincent’s hot-headed nephew, the very man who had ordered the storefronts smashed in Queens only twenty-four hours earlier.
Julian’s eyes drifted toward Caitlyn, raking over her exposed shoulders and the curve of her gown with brazen, insulting hunger.
""Well, well,"" Julian sneered, swirling his bourbon. ""Hamilton brought a pet tonight. Tell me, sweetheart, does he pay you by the hour, or did he pull you off the street corner to keep his bed warm?""
The air in the immediate vicinity turned instantly toxic. Caitlyn felt the muscles under Deari’s tuxedo turn to solid granite. The hand on her back tightened just enough to signal lethal intent. Across the ballroom, Luigi, who was standing near the perimeter in an ill-fitting suit, immediately reached inside his jacket.
Before Deari could unleash violence in the middle of a high-society charity event, Caitlyn took half a step forward. Her eyes locked onto Julian Moretti with cool, cutting contempt.
""I am Mr. Hamilton's senior executive administrator, Mr. Moretti,"" Caitlyn said, her voice ringing clear, elegant, and entirely unbothered. ""Which means I manage ledgers, contracts, and financial audits. And judging by the fact that your shell companies in Brooklyn lost two point four million dollars in unwashed revenue this past quarter alone, I suggest you spend less time evaluating women’s dresses and more time learning how to balance your books.""
A dead silence descended over the small circle.
Vincent Moretti’s eyes narrowed into slits, glancing sharply at his nephew. The financial loss was an intimately guarded secret within their family—information they had no idea Deari possessed. Julian’s face flushed a deep, violent crimson, his knuckles turning white around his glass.
""Why, you little—"" Julian snarled, taking a threatening step forward.
In a fraction of a second, Deari stepped between them, completely shielding Caitlyn. He towered over Julian, his dark eyes burning with pure, unadulterated malice.
""Finish that sentence, Julian,"" Deari whispered, his voice deadly calm, ""and it will be the last sound that ever leaves your throat. Touch her, look at her, or speak her name again, and I won't just take your docks. I will burn your family’s legacy down to the ash.""
Vincent grabbed his nephew’s shoulder, yanking him back with immense force. ""Enough, Julian. We are leaving."" Vincent glared at Deari with murderous venom. ""This isn't over, Hamilton.""
""It was over the moment you thought you were my equal, Vincent,"" Deari replied flatly.
As the Morettis retreated into the crowd, Deari turned back to Caitlyn. For several seconds, he just stared at her, his expression a mixture of profound shock and dark fascination.
""Two point four million?"" he asked softly.
""I memorized the audit sheet you had me pull on the jet,"" she murmured, her heart still racing from the confrontation. ""Was I out of line, Mr. Hamilton?""
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Deari stared down at the shy, quiet girl who had fallen asleep on his shoulder only hours ago. Slowly, the corners of his mouth curved upward into an authentic, dangerous smile.
""Miss Elmore,"" he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly against her bare collarbone, ""you were magnificent.""
