PART 1 - She Stood Alone at the Party—Until the Mafia Boss Whispered, “Dance With Me”

PART 1

She Stood Alone at the Party—Until the Mafia Boss Whispered, “Dance With Me”

The crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow that seemed to touch everyone but me.

I stood in the corner of the ballroom, my back pressed against the wall as if I could somehow dissolve into the cream-colored wallpaper. The champagne in my glass had gone flat, much like my hopes for the evening. I had not wanted to come to this charity gala in the first place, but my roommate, Liv, had insisted. She had said I needed to network, thrusting the invitation at me because her cousin could not go and the tickets cost a fortune. She told me I had been hiding since that disaster with Jason.

It had been 6 months. Six months since I discovered my fiancé had been leading a double life. Six months of working double shifts at the upscale restaurant downtown to make rent after moving out of our shared apartment. Six months of feeling invisible.

Tonight, I was quite literally invisible. Despite the simple but elegant

black dress I had splurged on, which hugged what few curves I had, not a single person had approached me in the 2 hours I had been there. Liv had disappeared with some hedge fund manager 30 minutes after we arrived.

I took another sip of warm champagne and winced. The ballroom of the Meridian Hotel hummed with conversation and laughter. The air was thick with expensive perfume and the scent of money. Women dripped with diamonds, and men in tailored suits exchanged business cards along with practiced smiles. Everyone seemed to know exactly where they belonged.

Everyone except me.

A waiter passed by, and I placed my glass on his tray, ready to find Liv and tell her I was leaving.

That was when I felt it.

A shift in the atmosphere, like the air before a storm. The crowd near the entrance parted like the Red Sea. Conversation

faltered for a brief moment before resuming at a higher, more excited pitch.

I pushed myself up on my toes, my curiosity momentarily overriding my desire to escape.

A group of men had entered, all in impeccable suits, but it was the one at the center who commanded attention. Even from across the room, I could sense his authority. He was tall, with broad shoulders that filled out his midnight-blue suit to perfection. He moved with the fluid grace of a predator. Dark, artfully tousled hair framed a face that belonged in a Renaissance painting, all sharp angles and perfect symmetry.

A woman standing nearby whispered to her companion that his name was Nathaniel Russo. She said she had not known he was back in the country. Her friend replied that apparently he had been keeping a low profile. They said he had taken over all of his father’s businesses.

The way she hesitated on the word businesses made my skin prickle.

I did not need any further explanation. Everyone in the city knew the Russo name, though it was rarely spoken above a whisper.