Chapter 33
Isabella's POV
The Plaza Hotel's ballroom stretched before us like a golden dream. Massive crystal chandeliers cast warm light across polished marble floors, while Manhattan's elite glided between silk-draped tables. The air hummed with quiet conversation and the gentle clink of champagne glasses.
Marco's hand rested possessively on the small of my back as we entered. The moment we stepped into the room, conversations faltered. Heads turned in our direction like flowers following the sun.
"Is that Marco Salvatore?" a woman in emerald Prada whispered to her companion.
"My God, he's even more handsome than the photographs," another replied, not bothering to lower her voice. "Who's the woman with him?"
"She's wearing the Salvatore cross," someone else observed. "That's been in their family for generations."
I felt their stares like physical weight—society women looking at Marco with undisguised hunger, then at me with barely concealed jealousy and calculation.
"They're wondering who you are," Marco murmured against my ear, his breath warm on my skin. "Whether you're worthy of standing beside a Salvatore."
Senator Morrison approached with his wife, both wearing the practiced smiles of career politicians.
"Marco, wonderful to see you supporting the children's hospital foundation," the senator said, extending his hand.
"Senator Morrison." Marco's handshake was firm, controlled. "Allow me to introduce my donna, Isabella Romano."
Mrs. Morrison's eyes sharpened with interest. "Romano... you're related to the construction family in Brooklyn?"
"My father owns Romano Construction," I replied simply.
Her smile turned subtly condescending before she caught herself, remembering exactly who was standing beside me. "How... lovely to meet you, dear."
They retreated with polite excuses, already whispering between themselves as they melted back into the crowd.
"You see how quickly they adjust their attitudes?" Marco guided me toward the mahogany bar. "I could make you queen of this city, Isabella. Every door would open for you. Every slight would be forgotten."
He paused, his dark eyes meeting mine with deadly seriousness.
"Or I could send you back to that basement where I found you. Your choice."
The threat should have terrified me. Instead, I let my gaze drift across the crowd until I found Connor standing near the silent auction tables. He wore a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, his blonde hair styled to blend seamlessly with the other wealthy guests. To anyone watching, he was just another member of New York's privileged class.
Our eyes met for the briefest moment. Connor's slight nod was barely perceptible. Everything's ready.
The sight of him sent my mind racing back to yesterday evening, when we'd finalized the details of our escape plan in the villa's servants' corridor.
"The sedative needs to go into his whiskey at the bar," Connor had explained, his voice low and urgent. "I've already spoken to the bartender—he's one of ours, family of a soldier who died for the Salvatores. He'll make sure Marco gets the drugged glass."
"How long will it take to work?"
"Twenty minutes, maybe less. Marco will start feeling drowsy, maybe a little disoriented. That's when I step in and tell him there's been a security breach at Villa Salvatore—armed intruders on the grounds, alarms triggered, the whole nine yards."
"And he'll believe it?"
"He'll have to. While he's racing back to handle the 'emergency,' I'll disable the security system remotely using his own codes. The cameras will show a loop, the motion sensors will go dark—you'll have a clear window to get out."
I'd felt hope blooming in my chest for the first time in months. "Where do we meet?"
"Grand Central Station, track seventeen. There's a midnight train to Chicago—from there we catch a connection to Las Vegas. By the time Marco realizes what's happened, we'll be halfway across the country."
"Connor, I need to see my father first. Marco promised I could visit him tonight after the gala. I have to tell him I'm leaving."
Connor had nodded immediately. "Of course. We'll make it work—you see your father, then we meet at Grand Central. The midnight train gives us plenty of time."
"You really think this will work?"
"I know it will." His conviction had been absolute. "Trust me, Isabella. Everything's going to go smoothly."
The memory faded as the bartender approached with Marco's drink—Macallan 25, neat, in a heavy crystal tumbler.
"I need to speak with Commissioner Bradley about this federal task force," Marco said, accepting the glass and taking a sip. "Stay here. I'll be back shortly."
He disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone at the bar. I watched Connor move through the guests with practiced ease, playing his role to perfection.
A few minutes later, Marco returned, his expression tight with controlled anger.
"Federal bastards think they can pressure my legitimate businesses," he muttered, finishing his whiskey in one swallow. "They'll learn otherwise."
"Isabella Romano!"
Victoria Ashworth materialized beside us in a stunning red Valentino gown, her smile sharp enough to cut glass.
"Victoria," I replied carefully, remembering her from my previous life in this glittering world.
"My goodness, you look absolutely radiant!" Her gaze swept over my navy dress, lingering on the antique cross at my throat. "I heard you'd been traveling. Europe, wasn't it?"
Traveling. The euphemism almost made me laugh.
"Something like that."
"And now you're with Marco Salvatore." She practically purred the words. "How wonderfully romantic. A real modern fairy tale."
"Indeed," Marco said, his arm sliding around my waist with casual possession. "Isabella and I have quite a history together."
"I'm sure you do." Victoria's eyes glittered with malicious curiosity. "Well, I shouldn't monopolize your time. Enjoy the rest of your evening."
She glided away, already making a beeline for the cluster of socialites near the champagne fountain. Within moments, I could see animated whispers and sideways glances in our direction.
"The vultures are always circling," Marco observed, taking another sip of his whiskey. "But they know better than to touch what belongs to me."
I nodded, my attention divided between Marco's words and Connor's careful positioning across the room. Everything was proceeding exactly as planned.
Trust me, I reminded myself, echoing Connor's confident words from yesterday. Everything's going to go smoothly.