Chapter 8 - The Gala
The Annual Detroit Children’s Hospital Gala was held at the historic Fox Theatre.
The city’s wealthiest citizens—politicians, judges, real estate moguls, and socialites—filled the grand ballroom in silk gowns and tuxedos.
At eight o'clock, the main doors opened, and Leonardo Castellano entered.
He wore a bespoke black tuxedo that fit his broad, imposing frame perfectly. His dark hair was combed back, his blue eyes sharp and commanding.
Beside him walked Beatrice.
She did not look like the thin, fragile society women who usually graced Leonardo’s arm.
She wore a deep emerald-green velvet gown that hugged her broad hips, her strong waist, and her thick shoulders with magnificent, unapologetic regal power. Her dark hair was styled in soft waves falling over one shoulder, and around her neck sat a three-strand diamond necklace that belonged to the Castellano family vaults.
She walked beside him with her head held high, her left leg moving with that familiar, subtle limp, her hand resting firmly in the crook of his arm.
A quiet hush swept across the ballroom.
"Is that... the nurse?" a politician’s wife whispered from the balcony.
"She doesn't look like a nurse," her husband replied, staring at the way Leonardo looked down at her—his face filled with a soft, fierce pride that no one in Detroit had ever seen before.
A wealthy developer named Vance Sterling, who had spent ten years trying to muscle Leonardo out of the real estate market, stepped into their path holding a glass of champagne.
"Castellano," Sterling grinned fake-warmly. "I see you brought a... new guest tonight. I heard rumors you found her in an emergency room."
The implication was clear. It was a subtle, aristocratic snub meant to remind the room of Beatrice's working-class background.
Leonardo’s blue eyes turned into ice. His hand tightened on Beatrice's arm. "Sterling, if you finish that sentence—"
Beatrice raised a hand, stopping her husband mid-threat.
She stepped forward, looking Sterling up and down with the cool, clinical gaze she usually reserved for men who had managed to get lightbulbs stuck in places they shouldn't be.
"Mr. Sterling," Beatrice said, her voice carrying clearly across the surrounding crowd. "You have a slight facial droop on your left side and your speech is slightly slurred. Given your weight and the third glass of champagne in your hand, I’d suggest you cut down on the sodium before I have to pull your medical records in Trauma Bay Two."
A muffled snort of laughter broke out from the crowd behind them.
Sterling’s face turned bright red. He stammered, pulled at his collar, and quickly backed away into the crowd.
Leonardo looked down at Beatrice, his dark smirk spreading wide across his face.
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"You are terrible," he whispered into her ear.
"I'm a nurse, Leonardo," she smiled, taking a glass of sparkling water from a passing tray. "I know where everyone's pressure points are."
