Chapter 5 - The Gala of Knives
In November, Northbridge hosted its annual Winter Philanthropic Gala at the historic Boston Public Library—an event gathering the city's highest socialites, politicians, and corporate leaders.
It was my responsibility to ensure the evening was flawless.
I wore an emerald green silk gown with a modest neckline, my hair pinned back in soft vintage waves. For the first time in my life, I wasn't serving champagne or taking notes in the back; I was standing at the top of the grand staircase beside Jack Whitmore.
Jack looked devastatingly handsome in a black tuxedo, his dark hair neatly styled, his posture commanding every eye in the room.
"You look extraordinary, Emily," Jack murmured softly as we watched the crowd of three hundred elite guests mingle below us under the grand arches.
"Thank you," I smiled, holding a crystal glass of sparkling water. "I managed to convince the Boston Globe senior editor to sit at your table instead of Mayor Higgins."
"A tactical victory," Jack smiled faintly.
Before I could answer, a woman in a sweeping silver dress stepped up the stairs, accompanied by two tall men in tailored suits. Her blonde hair was pulled into a tight bun, her sharp green eyes locking onto Jack with an icy familiarity.
"Jack," she said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "I see you haven't brought your usual security entourage onto the floor."
Jack’s expression instantly turned to stone. "Victoria."
I recognized her immediately from my deep-dive research files: Victoria Moretti—Dominic Moretti's daughter and the chief financial operator of the Rhode Island syndicate faction.
Victoria shifted her gaze to me, her eyes sweeping over my dress with open condescension. "And who is this? Another temporary secretary from the temp agency?"
"Emily Carter," I said cleanly, stepping forward and extending my hand with unwavering confidence. "Senior Director of Strategic Communications for Northbridge. And you must be Victoria. I’ve been reviewing your family’s asset portfolios all week. Fascinating how much money your shell companies lose in fuel taxes."
Victoria’s smile vanished, her hand freezing in mid-air before she slowly pulled it back.
"You have a sharp tongue for an employee, Miss Carter," Victoria sneered.
"I hire people for their sharp minds, Victoria," Jack interrupted smoothly, sliding a warm, protective hand onto the small of my back, his touch sending a sudden jolt of electricity through my body. "Not for their obedience. Enjoy the catering. The seafood was imported directly from ports we actually control."
Victoria glared at us before turning on her heel and sweeping down the staircase into the crowd.
May you like
I looked up at Jack, feeling the steady, intoxicating warmth of his hand resting against my waist. "Was that wise?"
"No," Jack whispered, leaning down so his lips almost brushed my ear. "But it was magnificent."
