THE SHADOW OF BELLARDI

Before my shock could form into a word, Dominic’s hand slid from my back up to the side of my neck. His broad palm was warm, solid, and commanding. He pulled me gently into his chest, tilted his head, and brought his lips down onto mine.

The kiss wasn't a rushed, desperate ploy. It was deep, deliberate, and undeniably possessive.

A collective gasp rippled through the Grand Sterling Hotel ballroom. The gentle clinking of champagne flutes vanished, replaced by an suffocating silence. I closed my eyes, my fingers instinctively gripping the lapels of Dominic’s tailored black jacket. The faint scent of cedarwood, rich leather, and aged whiskey enveloped me, completely erasing the memory of Nathan’s cheap betrayal.

When Dominic finally pulled back, his dark eyes held mine for a lingering second. A drop of blood had rushed to my cheeks, but my hands were no longer shaking.

Directly behind us, a crystal glass shattered against the parquet floor.

Nathan stood frozen three feet away, his mouth hanging open in complete horror. His jaw worked silently, trying to find words that simply wouldn't come. Beside him, my sister Emily—wearing a tight red sequined dress I had personally paid for—clutched Nathan’s arm, her face drained of all color.

"Mr. Bellardi..." Nathan finally choked out, his voice cracking into a high-pitched rasp. "I... I think there's been a massive misunderstanding. That's my fiancée, Clara Blake."

Dominic turned slowly, placing his hand over mine as it rested on his forearm. He towered over Nathan, his silver-haired presence instantly shrinking my fiancé into a terrified boy in an ill-fitting suit.

"Is she?" Dominic asked softly, his tone laced with razor-sharp indifference. "Because three minutes ago, I watched her stand alone while you held another woman by the waist under the marble arch."

Emily gasped, taking a small step back, her eyes darting nervously to the surrounding high-society crowd, who were now whispering behind their silk gloves and champagne glasses.

"That... that was nothing!" Nathan stammered, sweat breaking out across his forehead. "Emily is my sister-in-law! We were just discussing family matters! Clara, tell him! Tell him to step back!"

I looked at Nathan—really looked at him. The man I had spent four years supporting, the man whose corporate debts my family foundation had quietly cleared, looked pathetic.

"I saw you in the service corridor, Nathan," I said, my voice ringing clear across the silent ballroom. "I saw your hands in her hair. I heard what you promised her."

Nathan’s eyes widened in sheer panic. "Clara, baby, no! You're misunderstanding! She seduced me—"

"Shut your mouth, Nathan," Dominic interrupted, his voice dropping an octave into a register that made the nearest security guards stand up straighter. "You are speaking to the woman whose family foundation built your firm's entire balance sheet. And more importantly, you are speaking to someone currently under my protection."

"Your protection?!" Emily burst out, her artificial arrogance surfacing for a brief second. "You can't just walk into our gala and claim my sister! Who do you think you are?!"

Dominic didn't even grant Emily a look. He simply raised one finger.

A tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark charcoal suit stepped out from the shadows near the entrance—Marco, Dominic’s notorious head of security.

"Marco," Dominic commanded casually. "Pull all investment holdings tied to the Wexler Group from our European portfolios. Freeze the construction permits on their Hudson Yards project by midnight."

Nathan gasped, clutching his chest as if he’d been shot. "No! Mr. Bellardi, please! That project represents eighty percent of our company's capital! It will ruin us!"

"Then I suggest you find another line of work, Mr. Wexler," Dominic replied, turning his back on him entirely. He looked down at me, his gaze softening almost imperceptibly. "Shall we leave, Clara? This room has become remarkably dull."