Chapter 70 Bad Omens
Chapter seventy
Bad Omens
Marco
Almost six weeks later
It’s the day of the Law Gala. I feel the same way I have for the last month and a half—empty.
I miss Sophia. In a few short weeks, I got used to her bookmarking my day the way the sun and moon signal it’s day and night.
It all begins and ends with her. Even now, when uncertainty about our future claws at me, there is no question: she’s mine.
There’s also no certainty she’ll choose to be with me, but I’d give it all up to make her mine forever.
We agreed it was good for us to continue communicating, though she made it abundantly clear my tongue and mouth were for talking only.
I wholeheartedly disagree in theory, but in practice, I know to get back to a good place, we need to take it slow.
I guess we kinda did it backwards going straight to third base.
Now it feels like we’re in that early get-to-know-each-other stage.
I just hope she lets me round third again soon.
Tonight will be my first time seeing her in a few weeks.
She’s been working around the clock on legal cases with Raf, plus all the prep for tonight’s big event.
I’ve been preoccupied managing Vault and Bella Donna responsibilities alongside my investment interests with AJ.
He’s been uncharacteristically MIA recently, and against my better judgement, I didn’t tell him what I know about the waitress he seems to know well.
My gut feeling is there’s something he’s not telling me about his connection to her.
If I told him my suspicions about how she knows Arty, I’m almost positive he would have found a more permanent solution ten-feet-underground to deal with the problem.
Objectively I agree, but by the same token, it feels far too painless a punishment for the fucker.
I check my watch. Guests will start arriving for the red carpet entrance soon.
Yep, this night is like the Oscars for legal eagles.
I feel unusually edgy tonight. I don’t know if it’s because I despise that Sophia must play nice with Arty as co-chair, or because I’m petrified that once Patrick finds out that I knowingly let his only daughter put herself in danger, he’ll literally kill me himself.
We’ve met with GG a few times over the last few weeks, but she’s done most of the hard work to covertly put all the plans in motion for tonight’s surprise finale.
I get chills every time I think about the part Sophia will play in the exposé, but there was no talking her out of it.
Instead, I beefed up security, and I will be boots on the ground, with my eyes and ears amongst the guests.
There’s no way I was giving up my seat next to Sophia on the Princi & Associates table, regardless of our couple status.
With the events of the gas leak at Bella Donna still fresh in my memory, I’ve been hyper-vigilant about vetting every supplier and staffer working the event.
The official police report for the gas leak states human error, which is true to some extent, except the human happened to be a trifling City Worker Arty paid off to tamper with our gas mains.
Obviously, with said asshole’s prominent role in tonight’s gala and the starring role he doesn’t realize he’s about to play, I had to tamp down my desire for my own special brand of retaliation.
My team of fifty men arrived at the venue hours ago to complete all the security checks and receive my briefing.
My mom and Evie have overseen event organization and styling, so I am confident every detail is on lock.
A small mercy when I can’t shake the regret I feel from not seeing the incident at Bella Donna coming and the anxiety about something like that happening again.
“Media is all set up. Red carpet will start in fifteen minutes,” one of my men announces into the micro earpiece I’m wearing.
I usually stay as far away from front of house duties as possible, but not tonight.
I make my way to the front entrance where all the cars pull up to drop off guests walking the red carpet.
Seb arrives in his midnight blue Porsche 997.
An attendant opens the door to let out the passenger.
My breath hitches in my throat. Sophia looks like a goddess sent from heaven.
I stride over to her, my hands tingling at the need to have her in my arms. Her delicious curves are wrapped in a fitted beaded gown that twinkles when it catches the light, and her hair has been styled into an effortless up-do with loose bits framing her face.
Winged eyeliner gives her a sixties pin-up vibe, making her eyes look even bigger.
All I want to do is unwrap her like a gift and worship her body all night.
When she spots me, she hits me with a nervous smile. “Like what you see, Marco-Boy?” she teases, a slight shake in her voice, but the familiarity of a shared joke works to calm my anxiety.
“Fucking hell, Kitten. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more breathtaking in my entire life,” I tell her softly, unable to stop the nickname falling from my lips.
“Glad you approve,” she says, shyly roaming her gaze over me top-to-toe.
“You don’t scrub up too badly yourself.” My styling brief to Evie was: help me win back the love of my life.
She executed with precision, so I know I fit the part in my classic tailored black Tom Ford suit, white shirt complete with cuff-links—which I notice have an oyster-colored face that match Sophia’s dress—a black velvet bowtie, and black patent lace-ups.
She goes to lift the train of her dress, but I beat her to it.
“Fuck, that’s heavy,” I say incredulously. “You’re going to get a workout wearing that all night.”
“I know. But I couldn’t resist. It’s exquisite.
” I hold the train of her dress as she carefully balances on her high heels and steps up onto the pavement.
She nods to indicate I can let go of the train, and feeling bold, I step in close behind her, marveling at the way the dress hugs her like second skin.
“I could always escort you down the red carpet if you need help with your dress.” I mean it as a joke, but it falls flat.
“Marco, I think it’s best we stick to our plan of staying platonic and in our professional roles. Tonight is important for my dad and the firm. I don’t want gossip about our relationship status to overshadow it.”
I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched. It’s not what she said so much as how. The resignation and finality in her tone registers immediately. She’s made her choice. I’m losing her. I just know it.
“I’m going to get this over with,” she says, waving a hand towards the red carpet. “Raf just got here, and I know Dad wanted us to enter as a firm. I’ll see you in there.”
She takes in my worried expression and adds softly, “It’s all going to be okay. This ends tonight.” The logical part of me knows she’s talking about what we’ve got planned, but the part of me that’s spiraling is certain she’s also putting an end to us. Fuck.