Chapter 5 - THE PRICE OF ADMISSION
The St. Regis ballroom was a sea of crystal chandeliers, clinking champagne flutes, and the suffocating scent of expensive perfume. This was not a gathering of the rich; it was an assembly of the powerful. Mayors, senators, and corporate titans mingled in tailored tuxedos and designer gowns, completely insulated from the reality of the city outside.
When Roman and Sadi walked through the gilded double doors, the ambient noise in the room didn’t stop, but it distinctly shifted.
Heads turned. Conversations dropped by a crucial octave.
People knew who Roman was, even if they pretended they didn't. He was the ghost that kept the city’s darkest gears turning, the man whose legitimate enterprises were just the visible tip of a terrifying, deep-sea iceberg.
But tonight, they weren’t looking at Roman.
They were looking at Sadi.
She walked with her spine perfectly straight, the midnight-blue silk of her gown moving like liquid smoke around her legs. She didn’t cling to Roman’s arm like a frightened accessory. She walked beside him, an equal force of gravity in a room full of orbiting planets.
“Breathe,” Roman murmured, his lips barely moving as he guided her toward the center of the room. “Look for the Judge. Where the Judge is, the child will be.”
Sadi’s eyes scanned the crowd, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
She didn't care about the senators. She didn't care about the wealth on display. She was a heat-seeking missile, entirely focused on one target.
Then, she saw him.
Across the room, standing near a towering ice sculpture, was Trevor.
He had changed out of his ruined navy suit and was now wearing a sharp, custom tuxedo. He was laughing, holding a glass of scotch, playing the role of the charming son-in-law to a circle of older, wealthy men. Beside him stood Chloe, looking radiant in a white beaded gown.
And holding Chloe’s hand, looking terribly small in a tiny velvet tuxedo, was a little boy with dark, unruly hair.
Leo.
Sadi’s breath hitched. A physical pain lanced through her chest so sharply she almost stumbled.
He was taller. His cheeks had lost their baby fat. But it was him. Her brother. Her boy.
Sadi took a step forward, but Roman’s hand tightened firmly on the small of her back.
“Not yet,” he warned quietly. “Look to Trevor’s right.”
Sadi forced her eyes away from Leo and looked at the man standing beside Trevor.
He was older, in his late sixties, with a mane of silver hair and a sharp, aristocratic profile. He radiated an aura of absolute, unquestioned authority. Judge Harrison.
But it wasn't the Judge that made Roman’s voice go cold.
Standing directly behind the Judge, sipping a glass of water and looking entirely out of place in a tuxedo, was a man with a thick, jagged scar running from his ear to his collarbone.
“Who is that?” Sadi whispered.
“Marcus,” Roman replied, his tone laced with venom. “The underboss of the Moretti family. The man who orchestrated the adoption.”
Answer one: The Morettis weren’t just watching from the shadows; they had infiltrated the Harrison family's inner circle.
“Why is a mafia underboss standing next to a Supreme Court Judge?” Sadi asked, her mind racing.
“Because the Judge doesn't know who he is,” Roman explained softly. “Marcus poses as a private security consultant for high-net-worth individuals. He’s the one who approved Trevor’s background check. He’s the one who handed Leo to the Harrisons. He is keeping Trevor on a leash, making sure Trevor finds your father’s ledger.”
The reversal struck Sadi with sickening clarity.
Trevor thought he had played everyone. He thought he had sold Leo, paid his debts, and secured a golden ticket into high society.
He hadn’t won anything. He was just a puppet wrapped in expensive strings.
Suddenly, across the room, Leo pulled his hand free from Chloe’s grasp. He had dropped something on the floor—a small, die-cast toy car. As the little boy bent down to pick it up, his dark eyes scanned the room.
And then, he stopped.
Through the sea of suits and gowns, Leo’s gaze locked directly onto Sadi.
Sadi’s heart stopped. She forgot about Roman. She forgot about the Morettis. She took a step forward, the magnetic pull of her brother entirely overriding her logic.
Leo didn’t look away. He clutched the toy car to his chest, his brow furrowing as if trying to solve a very difficult puzzle. Three years was a lifetime for a child. He was only two when he was taken. He shouldn't remember her.
But the soul remembers what the mind forgets.
Leo took a hesitant step toward her.
“Leo?” Chloe’s voice carried over the low hum of the crowd. She turned, looking for the boy.
Trevor turned as well.
His eyes followed Leo’s line of sight, and the smug, arrogant smile on his face vanished so fast it looked as though he had been slapped.
Trevor saw Sadi.
Not the poor girl in the oversized sweater. The mafia queen in midnight silk, standing beside the most dangerous man in the city.
Panic—raw, unfiltered, and desperate—exploded in Trevor’s eyes. He dropped his scotch glass. It shattered against the marble floor, the sharp crack echoing like a gunshot.
The music stopped. The room went dead silent.
Trevor lunged forward, grabbing Leo by the arm and pulling the boy violently behind him. Leo let out a sharp cry of fear.
“Get her out of here!” Trevor shouted, his voice cracking hysterically as he pointed a shaking finger at Sadi. “Security! Throw them out! They’re trespassing!”
Judge Harrison turned, his aristocratic brow furrowing in deep confusion. “Trevor, what on earth is the matter with you? Calm down.”
“She’s stalking us!” Trevor lied, his chest heaving. He looked at the Judge, desperate to maintain his facade. “That’s the vagrant from the mall, Richard! She’s unhinged! She’s trying to hurt Chloe!”
Sadi didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t scream.
She simply unclasped her silver clutch, reached inside, and pulled out the folded diner napkin.
She held it up.
From across the room, Marcus, the scarred underboss, went completely rigid.
May you like
He didn't look at the napkin. He looked at Sadi’s face. He recognized her.
“She doesn't want the girl, counselor,” Marcus said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that carried perfectly through the silent ballroom. He stepped out from behind the Judge, a nasty, knowing smile twisting his scarred face. “She wants the boy. Because she knows exactly who he is.”
