By Friday evening, the battle between Roman Moretti and Vincent Rossi had moved from the legal courtrooms to the highest halls of New York society.

The annual Metropolitan Charity Gala was held at the Plaza Hotel—a lavish gathering where billionaires, corrupt politicians, and syndicate lords mixed under crystal chandeliers to launder their reputations.

Roman arrived at 9:00 p.m.

He wore a custom black tuxedo cut impeccably to his broad frame. But the entire ballroom froze when they saw the woman on his arm.

Sadi was breathtaking.

She wore a floor-length dress of deep midnight-blue silk that draped elegantly over her graceful figure. Her dark hair was styled in soft waves, and around her neck hung a simple, magnificent sapphire necklace from Roman’s private vault. She walked with her chin held high, moving through the sea of diamonds and designer suits with an effortless, regal authority.

"They're staring," Sadi whispered low, her lips barely moving as they passed a group of wealthy socialites whispering behind their champagne glasses.

"Let them stare," Roman replied calmly, his hand resting securely over hers on his arm. "Half the men in this room owe me money, and the other half are terrified I'll stop taking their calls. You look like a queen, Sadi."

At the far end of the ballroom, standing near the grand staircase, was Vincent Rossi.

Rossi was a broad, silver-haired man in his fifties, surrounded by four dark-suited enforcers. When he saw Roman and Sadi approaching, a greasy, arrogant smile touched his lips.

"Roman," Rossi sneered, holding up his champagne glass. "I heard you had some trouble with the federal authorities this week. I was worried you wouldn't make it tonight."

"It takes more than a amateur forgery to keep me away, Vincent," Roman said smoothly, stopping two feet from him.

Rossi’s eyes drifted toward Sadi, his gaze predatory and dismissive. "And who is this charming creature? A new paralegal from Vance’s firm?"

Sadi stepped forward slightly, her green eyes cold as ice as she looked directly at the man who had ordered Arthur’s murder.

"My name is Sadi," she said, her voice clear and carrying effortlessly through the surrounding circle of elite onlookers. "And I'm the person who read Section fourteen, subsection B of Arthur’s contract before Roman signed it."

Rossi’s greasy smile froze completely. The color drained slightly from his face as he realized who stood before him—the waitress who had ruined his fifty-million-dollar trap.

"Ah," Rossi whispered, his eyes narrowing into venomous slits. "The smart girl from the diner. You should have stayed behind the counter, Sadi. High society is dangerous for girls who like to read fine print."

"High society is dangerous for men who hire cheap lawyers, Mr. Rossi," Sadi retorted without a second of hesitation. "Your Panamanian shell company, Aegis Global, just lost its tax-exempt status in Delaware an hour ago. I filed an injunction with the State Treasury at 4:00 p.m."

A collective gasp echoed from the surrounding high-society onlookers.

Rossi’s jaw clutched so tightly a muscle twitched violently in his cheek. He stepped closer to Sadi, his voice dropping into a lethal whisper. "You're playing a game you don't understand, little girl."

Roman instantly stepped into the space between them, his massive frame shielding Sadi entirely, his dark eyes blazing with a terrifying, primal fury.

"Touch her or threaten her again, Vincent," Roman warned, his low voice chilling the air in the room, "and I won't use lawyers to destroy you. Do you understand me?"

Rossi swallowed hard, stepping back into the safety of his bodyguards as Roman took Sadi’s hand and led her gracefully toward the dance floor.