The deafening thunder of desperate, sycophantic applause violently shattered the intimate bubble of our waltz. The Obsidian Gala had officially reached its absolute climax. Hundreds of the most dangerous, powerful figures on the eastern seaboard were practically tripping over themselves to show their absolute submission to the Thorne Syndicate.
Valerius did not smile at the cheering crowd. He kept his massive, muscular arm wrapped securely around my waist, his possessive grip completely unyielding as he smoothly guided me off the polished marble dance floor. We ascended the sweeping glass staircase toward the elevated VIP balcony, a highly secured vantage point that allowed us to look down upon our massive, newly established global empire.
"Look at them," Valerius murmured, his gravelly
