Chapter 5 - The Gala Trap
Three days later, the rain had cleared, replaced by a crisp autumn chill that swept through the streets of Manhattan.
The Cavanaugh family was attending the annual Metropolitan Waterfront Gala at the Plaza Hotel—a high-society event attended by the city’s elite, business tycoons, and under-the-table mob bosses. It was a mandatory appearance for Damien to demonstrate strength after the rumors of an internal security breach had begun to circulate through the criminal underworld.
Evelyn stood near the edge of the grand ballroom, holding a glass of sparkling water.
She looked breathtaking. Damien had personally ordered a custom floor-length dress made of deep emerald silk. The gown was cut specifically for her body, hugging her waist, accentuating her full chest, and cascading down over her broad hips in heavy, liquid folds. She wore a diamond choker around her neck—a gift from Damien that sat heavy against her skin.
Nearby, Lucas and Theo were sitting at a private table under the watchful eye of Viktor and two undercover guards dressed in tuxedos.
"You look like a queen," a voice whispered beside her.
Evelyn turned to see Damien standing next to her, looking impossibly handsome in a tailored black tuxedo. He offered her a glass of champagne, but she shook her head softly.
"I need to stay sharp," she said, her eyes scanning the crowd of three hundred people. "The Sokolovs lost Sergei. They know we have Marcus's intel. They're going to make a move tonight."
"Let them try," Damien said smoothly, taking a sip from his glass. "The entire security team on this floor belongs to me. No one gets within twenty feet of my boys without my permission."
"It's not the boys I'm worried about tonight," Evelyn murmured, her gaze stopping on a tall, dark-haired man in a white dinner jacket standing near the VIP bar. "Who is that?"
Damien followed her gaze, his expression instantly darkening into stone. "Dmitri Sokolov. The head of the syndicate himself."
Dmitri turned, catching Damien’s eye, and offered a cold, mocking toast with his martini glass. Beside him stood two broad-shouldered men with subtle bulges beneath their jackets—concealed firearms.
"He's bold," Evelyn noted, her muscle memory kicking in. "Attending a public gala right after trying to hit your house."
"He thinks he's untouchable because the Mayor is standing three feet away from him," Damien said, his knuckles turning white around his glass. "He wants to show the city that the Cavanaughs are weak."
"Then let's prove him wrong," Evelyn said softly.
Before Damien could stop her, Evelyn smoothed her emerald dress, squared her broad shoulders, and walked straight toward Dmitri Sokolov.
Dmitri’s eyes widened slightly as the stunning, curvaceous woman approached him. He was used to thin, frail society women who laughed at his bad jokes. Evelyn moved with a grounded, powerful grace that demanded absolute attention.
"Miss Pearce, I presume?" Dmitri said in a smooth Russian accent as she stopped in front of him. "The famous nanny who broke my enforcer's arm."
"Mr. Sokolov," Evelyn said, her voice dripping with cool politeness. "I wanted to thank you personally."
Dmitri blinked, amused. "Thank me? For what?"
"For sending amateurs to my playroom," she said, stepping into his personal space, her size eighteen frame towering slightly over his lean five-foot-ten build. "It gave me a chance to show Mr. Cavanaugh why I'm worth every penny of my salary."
Dmitri’s smile vanished, his eyes narrowing into slits. "You speak very boldly for a servant girl. You think because you know a few martial arts moves that you're safe in this city? You're a target now, Miss Pearce. A big, fat target."
Evelyn didn't flinch. She leaned down, bringing her face inches from his, her eyes flashing with pure lethal intent.
"I'm not a target, Dmitri," she whispered, her voice so low only he could hear it. "I'm the wall your men keep crashing into. And if you ever come near Lucas or Theo again, I won't just break an arm. I'll take your entire foundation down."
Dmitri’s hand instinctively twitched toward his coat, but before he could touch his weapon, Damien’s heavy hand clamped onto his shoulder like a steel trap.
"I'd listen to her, Dmitri," Damien said softly from behind him, his voice carrying the chilling weight of a death sentence. "She's much less patient than I am."
Dmitri looked between the two of them—the mob boss and the formidable nanny standing shoulder-to-shoulder, an unbreakable wall of power and mass—and slowly pulled his hand away from his coat.
"This isn't over, Cavanaugh," Dmitri hissed, backing away with his guards. "The night is still young."
As Dmitri disappeared into the crowd, Damien looked down at Evelyn, a look of fierce pride burning in his eyes.
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"You shouldn't have confronted him alone," Damien said, though the smile on his face contradicted his words.
"I wasn't alone," Evelyn said, looking up at him with a warm smile. "You were right behind me."
