Chapter 3

The moment Gianna stepped into the ballroom, the entire space seemed to hit mute.

She wore a pure white mermaid gown, the silk fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin, tracing a breathtaking S-line from chest to waist to hips.

Three-inch stilettos made her already long legs look devastating, wrapped in sheer nude stockings that caught the light like pearls.

Soft chestnut curls tumbled carelessly over her shoulders, the ends slightly tousled—lazy, effortless, dangerous.

High cheekbones. Full lips. A jawline that could cut glass.

The ballroom fell into an eerie silence.

Then came the collective intake of breath.

"Jesus Christ... is that Gianna?"

"Newark's former queen... six years, and she still looks like that?"

"Goddamn. I thought the rumors were exaggerated. Now I see..."

The men's expressions shifted from stunned to openly predatory. The women's faces twisted from envy into sneering contempt.

Several self-important businessmen straightened their ties and approached with their most "gentlemanly" smiles. "Ms. Dyson, I'm the VP of the Clearwater Chamber of Commerce. About your father's outstanding loan—"

"Excuse me."

Gianna didn't even glance at him. One elegant hand pushed him aside like a piece of furniture.

The crowd followed her trajectory across the room—toward Halse, which was expected. But when their eyes landed on David Davis, nearly everyone recoiled.

"What the hell is he doing here?"

"That degenerate piece of shit..."

"Didn't he put another girl in the hospital last month?"

Understanding rippled through the room. People stepped back, their eyes filled with pity.

"What a waste. A woman like that..."

"Alliance marriage? Please. Halse just sold her like livestock."

"I give her a year. Tops. Davis is a fucking psychopath."

The rejected businessman slunk away. The other vultures circling her retreated as well.

The Davis family? Even the mayor had to kiss their ring.

By the time Gianna reached her destination, the crowd had scattered, leaving only a few curious socialites watching from a safe distance.

Halse watched with satisfaction, then glanced at David.

The man's eyes were practically glued to Gianna's body. He looked like a starving dog staring at raw meat.

Perfect. This deal was as good as done.

"Gianna may have popped out two bastards," Halse murmured, his voice dripping with calculation, "but she's kept herself in excellent shape. Don't you think?"

He leaned closer, grinning. "Experienced women... they know what they're doing."

Gianna sat down across from Halse, her gaze landing on David.

Sunken eyes. Dark circles. The unmistakable look of a man who'd fucked himself half to death.

Those eyes were crawling over her body right now, appraising her like merchandise.

Six years ago, she would've slapped him across the face without a second thought.

But now...

Gianna pressed her lips together, swallowing the wave of disgust rising in her throat.

Her mother was dead. Her father had remarried. The company shares had been carved up by her stepmother and Halse like a Thanksgiving turkey. Philip was lying in the ICU, his medical bills draining what little dignity she had left.

She didn't have the luxury of choice anymore.

The champagne burned going down. It tasted like poison.

Halse swirled his wine glass, smirking. "So? What do you think, David? Does she meet your standards?"

David bristled slightly at the condescension in Halse's tone, but the sight of Gianna smoothed over his irritation immediately.

He stared at her slender fingers wrapped around the champagne flute, imagining those hands pinned beneath him. Heat pooled low in his gut.

David licked his lips and exchanged a knowing look with Halse. "Absolutely. I'm very satisfied."

Gianna listened to the two men discuss her "marriage" like they were haggling over a used car. She felt nothing.

She'd expected this.

But then... why was it suddenly so hot?

Her head started to spin. Her vision blurred. She saw the two men's expressions shift into something smug and predatory.

The champagne.

Fuck.

"I need some air." Gianna set down her glass, her voice still steady.

She stood, her steps slightly unsteady as she headed toward the rooftop garden.

David immediately rose to follow, his eyes gleaming with triumph.

Marco sat in the back of the stretched Bentley, studying the decaying northern city through the tinted window.

Crumbling buildings. Empty streets. A place that had given up on itself.

But he wouldn't underestimate it.

You didn't claw your way from family reject to controlling half of Meridian's underworld by being arrogant. You did it by staying alert. By thinking like a predator.

Death had circled him too many times to count. The only reason he was still breathing was because he'd been cautious enough to see it coming.

"Don, the banquet's already started," Mike reported quietly.

Marco gave a slight nod and pushed open the door.

Four black Cadillac Escalades lined the curb. A dozen men in tailored black suits emerged like shadows, forming a protective wall around him with military precision.

The valet had never seen anything like this. This kind of presence—this kind of menace—didn't come from legitimate businessmen.

Marco strode into the hotel, his 6'5" frame radiating authority with every step.

His destination: the third-floor ballroom.

But as he rounded the corner of the stairwell, something caught his eye.

The rooftop garden.

A woman in a white mermaid gown was being half-dragged, half-carried toward a secluded corner by a man.

She was limp. Her curls were disheveled. Her face was flushed.

Drugged.

That face...

Marco's pupils contracted violently.