9. Leander
Leander
I pull up to the valet curb of the grand continental and put the car in park, hit the lock release, and glance over at the passenger seat.
She’s so beautiful.
Kara is adjusting the silver earring at her left lobe. The burgundy silk dress catches the warm glow of the hotel's entrance lights. Her hair is swept back into an elegant twist, a few strands framing the sharp line of her jaw.
"You're very quiet," I remark, resting my right hand on the steering wheel.
"I'm mentally preparing for ninety minutes of small talk with people who buy artwork for tax write-offs," Kara turns her head to look at me. "How bad is your father's inner circle?"
"Obnoxious," I quip. "They talk loud, drink too much, and assume everyone in the room owes them money or respect."
"Sounds like a standard corporate board meeting," she replies, a faint, dry smile touching her lips. "I can handle it."
She has no idea what kind of room we're walking into, she thinks it's just a room full of arrogant donors.
I step out and walk around to open her side. She steps out into the cool air, her hand resting against my palm as I guide her toward the revolving glass doors.
The grand ballroom of the Grand Continental is massive—gilded pillars, crystal chandeliers, a full orchestra playing on a raised stage, and about three hundred people in tuxedos and floor-length gowns filling the main floor.
On the surface, it looks like a charity benefit for urban development. But as my eyes scan the room out of habit, I spot four of Cosimo's lieutenants standing near the service exits, their jackets tailored slightly wide at the left rib to hide shoulder holsters.
"Scotch?" I ask, leaning down slightly so my voice carries over the hum of the crowd.
"Single malt," Kara replies, her gaze casually tracking two men standing near the main entrance. "And make it a double."
"Wait here," I tell her as I step toward the secondary bar near the side lounge.
I grab two glasses from the bartender, a double scotch for her and a plain sparkling water with ice for myself. I turn around and before I can take three steps toward her, a hand drops onto my left shoulder.
"You actually showed up," a harsh voice says.
I turn my head. Vincenzo is standing there in a midnight-blue velvet tuxedo, a glass of bourbon in his hand and a smug grin across his face.
"I told Roberto I'd be here," I reply coldly, my eyes dropping to his grip on my shoulder until he gets the hint and pulls his hand back.
"And you brought a date," Vincenzo sneers, looking past me toward the floor to look at Kara who’s back is turned to us. "Where'd you pick her up? The hospital cafeteria?"
"Mind your business, Vincenzo," I say, stepping around him.
"Father wants us at the head table in ten minutes," Vincenzo calls out behind me, his voice dripping with condescension. "The Rossi family just arrived. We're doing the formal introductions before the dinner service."
I don't bother answering. I walk back to Kara and hand her the glass.
"Thanks," she smiles, taking a slow sip and letting out an appreciative breath. "Good scotch."
"We have about ten minutes before the speeches start," I tell her, keeping my body angled between her and the crowd. "We stay near the back, eat dinner, and leave."
Kara looks up at me, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in the tight line of my jaw. "You're more tense than usual, Dr. Sartori."
"I don't like crowded rooms," I answer simply.
"Neither do I," she says, leaning back against the marble pillar. "Which is why I've already located three exits and the security camera blind spots in this corridor."
She really is something else.
"Don't get any ideas," I whisper. "We aren't robbing the place."
"Not tonight," she replies smoothly, raising her glass to her lips.
A loud clinking sound echoes across the ballroom from the main stage speaker system.
Don Roberto stands at the center microphone near the head table, wearing a dark charcoal tuxedo, his silver hair combed back, his posture commanding the absolute silence of the room in three seconds flat.
Beside him stands Cosimo, and to his left is a tall, heavy-set man in his sixties with sharp, dark eyes and a gold signet ring on his right hand.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," Roberto's deep voice carries clearly over the sound system. "Welcome to the annual Grand Continental Gala. Tonight, we celebrate growth, partnership, and the future of our great city."
"Standard speech," Kara mutters beside me, taking another sip of her drink.
"It gets worse," I whisper back.
"Before we begin the dinner service," Roberto continues, his eyes sweeping across the audience until they stop directly on the corner where Kara and I are standing, "I would like to make a special announcement regarding the unification of two historic enterprises.
I invite Antonio Rossi and his family to join us on stage. "
Beside me, Kara goes completely still. Her face has gone pale, her chin held high, her eyes fixed on the man stepping up onto the stage beside my father.
Antonio Rossi. Does she know him?
I know that name. Antonio Rossi controls the eastern shipping docks and commercial transport lines. He's the man my father made the distribution deal with on Thursday.
"Kara?" I ask softly, my brow furrowing as I look down at her. "What's wrong?"
She doesn't answer me. Her eyes are locked on Antonio Rossi as he takes the microphone from my father.
"Thank you, Don Roberto," Antonio says into the mic, his voice deep and full of cold authority. "Tonight is about security and family. To seal the agreement between the Rossi transport network and the Moretti enterprise, my daughter and I have agreed to a formal union."
The Rossi agreement.
The betrothal contract Santoro brought to the estate on Thursday night.
Antonio Rossi turns his gaze directly toward the marble pillar where Kara and I are standing. "Kara," he calls out over the speaker, his voice cutting through the quiet room like a blade. "Come up to the stage, my dear. Your fiancé is waiting."
Silence falls over the entire ballroom, and three hundred heads turn in our direction.
What the actual fuck?!
I stand frozen beside her. The glass of sparkling water in my hand feels heavy as lead. My mind pulls apart every conversation, every detail, every piece of information I've collected over the last three weeks.
Kara.
Kara Rossi.
Not just an attorney at Metro General. Not just a sharp legal liaison who works in a basement office.
She's Antonio Rossi's daughter.
I slowly turn my head to look at her.
Kara is staring up at me. Her eyes are wide, filled with a sudden, terrifying realization that mirrors my own. Her gaze drops from my face to the signet ring on my father's hand at the front of the stage, then back to my eyes.
"Leander..." she whispers, her voice barely audible over the murmur of the crowd. "Your father... is Don Roberto Moretti?"
"Yes," I nod.
"You're a Moretti," her breath catching in her throat as the realization hits her like a physical blow. "But Sartori..."
"Is my mother's name.” I mutter.
This is so messed up. We both had no idea who the other person was.
Before either of us can say another word, footsteps crunch against the carpet behind us.
"What the hell is this?" a harsh, furious voice barks out.
Vincenzo comes storming around the pillar. His face is dark red, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles in his neck are bulging, his eyes darting wildly between Kara and me. He looks at my hand near her arm, then back at my face.
"What the fuck are you doing with her, Leander?" Vincenzo snaps, stepping right into my personal space, his voice rising loud enough to draw the attention of the surrounding guests.
"Back off, Vincenzo," I warn, my voice dropping into an icy, dangerous register.
"Back off?" Vincenzo sneers, a bitter, hysterical laugh escaping his throat. "Back off from my wife?"
Kara steps back an inch, her hand dropping to her side, her posture going rigid. "I am not your wife, Vincenzo."
"You're my fucking betrothed!" Vincenzo yells, pointing a finger directly into her face, his finger touching her forehead. "Your father signed the contracts! You belong to me!"
The word belong snaps something inside me.
I step directly in front of Kara, putting my shoulders between her and Vincenzo. Before Vincenzo can react, my left hand shoots out, grabbing him by the collar of his velvet jacket, and I yank him forward until his face is three inches from mine.
"Touch her again and I'll tear your throat out right here on this floor."
"Let go of me, you bastard!" Vincenzo snarls, grabbing my wrist with both hands, trying to shove me back. "She's mine! Father gave her to me!"
"She doesn't belong to anyone," my grip tightens on his jacket until the fabric tears near the lapel.
"Hey! What is the meaning of this?!"
Antonio Rossi comes marching down the stairs from the stage, flanked by two bodyguards. His face is thunderous, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he stares at me holding his daughter's fiancé by the throat.
"Get your hands off him!" Antonio demands, pointing at me. "Who the hell are you?"
"He's my brother," Vincenzo spits out, his eyes glaring at me with pure hatred. "He's the bastard surgeon!"
Antonio stops dead in his tracks, his eyes darting from me to Kara, who is standing behind my shoulder.
"Kara," Antonio says, his voice low and dangerous. "What are you doing with Roberto's second son?"
"I came as his guest, Father," Kara replies, her voice smooth, level, and completely devoid of fear.
"His guest?" Antonio shouts, his face turning purple. "You are betrothed to Vincenzo Moretti! You do not walk into this room on the arm of his outcast brother!"
Authoritative footsteps echo from the hardwood stage steps.
The crowd parts like the Red Sea as Don Roberto walks down the center aisle, flanked by Cosimo and four armed guards.
Roberto stops five feet away from us.
His eyes look at Vincenzo, whose jacket is still bunched in my left fist. He looks at my right hand, which is held flat, ready to strike if anyone moves toward Kara. Then his gaze shifts slowly to Kara, taking in her calm posture, and the way she is standing directly behind me.
Finally, Roberto's eyes lock onto mine.
For three long seconds, the patriarch of the Moretti empire looks genuinely shocked.
"Leander," Roberto starts, his deep voice carrying a stunned weight that echoes off the high ceilings. "What is this?"
"She's with me, Roberto," I say with absolute clarity. "And nobody in this room is touching her."
The entire ballroom holds its breath as Don Roberto stares at his outcast son, the realization settling over the room like a suffocating blanket.