Kenia POV:
I turned my back on the crowded banquet hall. My high heels clicked against the thick Persian rug in the hallway. Every step felt like walking on broken glass.
I pushed past the main corridors and found a secluded guest restroom at the far end of the east wing.
I pushed the heavy door open and locked it behind me.
I walked up to the mirror. The starry blue silk was ruined. The dark red wine looked like a massive bloodstain spreading across my chest and stomach. My throat tightened, and the hot sting of tears threatened to spill over.
I turned on the cold water. I cupped the water in my hands and rubbed it into the silk, but the fabric only absorbed more water, making the stain look larger and darker.
Suddenly, a sharp cramp twisted in my lower abdomen.
I stopped breathing. I dropped my hands and grabbed the edge of the sink. I closed my eyes and took deep, slow breaths, silently begging my baby to be okay.
As the pain slowly faded, I heard footsteps in the hallway outside. They were slow, heavy, and deliberate. Then, the sharp, metallic *snick* of a lighter wheel turning broke the silence.
I opened my eyes and looked through the slight crack in the bathroom door.
A tall shadow leaned against the Roman pillar in the dim hallway. The man wore a perfectly tailored black three-piece suit. A thick Cuban cigar rested between his fingers, the tip glowing orange in the dark.
He felt my gaze. He turned his head slightly, revealing a sharp, hard jawline and a profile carved from stone.
My breath caught in my throat. I knew that face.
It was Gael Russo. The Don of the Russo family. He was Holden’s deadliest rival, a man who controlled the docks and half the city’s underground. Holden had told me Gael was a monster.
Panic spiked in my chest. I reached for the door handle to pull it completely shut.
But Gael had already crushed his cigar into an ashtray. He pushed off the pillar and walked toward me. His long legs covered the distance in seconds.
A heavy, terrifying pressure filled the air as he approached. I stepped back, my spine hitting the edge of the marble sink.
Gael stopped just outside the open door frame. His deep green eyes swept over me. He looked at my wet, stained dress. He looked at my red-rimmed eyes.
There was no pity in his gaze. There was no disgust. It was a calm, piercing look that seemed to see right through my skin.
He reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out a neatly folded, dark grey silk handkerchief.
He extended his arm, offering it to me. His movements were slow, polite, and completely controlled. His fingers stayed inches away from mine, ensuring he didn't touch me.
I stared at the expensive silk. My hands trembled as I reached out and took it from him.
"Thank you," I whispered. My voice shook.
I pressed the dry silk against the wet stain on my chest.
"The cut of the shoulder is brilliant," Gael suddenly said. His voice was a low, rough rumble. "The asymmetrical draping elevates the entire piece. It’s a shame about the wine, but the talent is obvious."
I snapped my head up. My eyes widened in shock.
He was the first person tonight to look past the stain and see my work. He understood my art.
Gael met my eyes. For the first time in my life, I wasn't being looked down upon. Coming from an orphanage, I was used to eyes full of pity or contempt. Holden looked at me like a possession. But Gael looked at me as an equal. The intensity of his respect slammed into my chest, breaking through my defenses.
Down the hall, the heavy thud of security boots echoed. Holden’s guards were patrolling. Gael knew he couldn't stay in enemy territory.
He adjusted his silver cufflinks. He turned to walk away.
After two steps, he stopped. He turned his head, looking back at me over his broad shoulder. His green eyes locked onto mine, burning with a quiet intensity.
"You don't belong in this cage, Kenia."
