Chapter 6 - THE DANCE|
By ten o'clock, the champagne had loosened tongues, and the air inside the ballroom was thick with political maneuvering and hidden threats.
Beatrice sat at the head table, sipping mineral water, watching Arthur handle the room like a grandmaster playing three chess games at once. He was cold, efficient, and ruthless. But every time a rival captain stepped too close to her, Arthur’s hand would settle subtly against the back of her chair—a silent, possessive boundary line no one dared to cross.
The orchestra shifted into a slow, dark waltz.
Arthur stood up, offering his hand to her across the white tablecloth.
“I told you I don’t dance,” Beatrice said softly, looking up at him.
“I didn't ask if you knew how,” Arthur replied. “I asked you to stand up with me.”
Beatrice hesitated, then placed her hand in his. His palm was large, warm, and calloused—the hand of a man who had built an empire through blood before he bought tailored suits.
He led her onto the center of the parquet floor. The crowd parted around them, making room for the head of the Costello family.
Arthur pulled her close—closer than was strictly professional, his hand settling firmly against the small of her back. Beatrice’s pulse leaped into her throat as they moved together in perfect, surprising synchronization.
“You move well for a man who spends his life behind a desk,” she whispered, looking up into his storm-gray eyes.
“I spend very little time behind a desk, Beatrice,” Arthur murmured, leaning down slightly so his breath brushed her ear. “And you look far too comfortable in emerald silk for an accountant who claims she hates galas.”
“I’m surviving,” she said, her chest heaving slightly. “Although your cousin Marco has been staring at my neck for an hour as if he wants to strangle me.”
“Marco is wondering how you found the six million dollars he hid in the Panama accounts,” Arthur said quietly. “He’s terrified you’re going to tell me.”
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Beatrice blinked in surprise. “You knew about Marco’s Panama account?”
“I knew there was a leak,” Arthur whispered, his gray eyes locking onto hers with terrifying heat. “I just needed an accountant brave enough to put her name on the audit.”
