Chapter 8 - The Shadow Gala
The trap was set for the annual Syndicate Winter Gala at the Grand Plaza Hotel—the biggest gathering of elite crime bosses, politicians, and high-society brokers on the East Coast.
Marco had spent two days coordinating the event's security detail, assuming he was leading Lucian into a vulnerable position. What he didn't know was that Lucian had secretly replaced the hotel staff and perimeter guards with elite mercenaries loyal only to the Vane bloodline.
I sat in the dressing room of the penthouse suite, staring into the grand gold-framed mirror.
I wore a floor-length dress of heavy black silk, cut low at the shoulders, with a delicate diamond choker wrapped around my neck. My dark hair was styled in soft vintage waves.
I looked at my reflection and gasped. I wasn't just Elina Valdez anymore. I was the living ghost of Clara Vane.
The door opened, and Lucian stepped into the room. He wore a flawless black tuxedo, his hair slicked back, looking every bit the ruthless Don who ruled the city. But as his eyes fell on me, he stopped dead in his tracks.
His dark eyes swept over my body, a flare of pure, unadulterated desire burning in his gaze.
"You look..." Lucian began, his voice raspy. "Incredible."
"Do I look convincing?" I asked, standing up and smoothing down the silk.
Lucian walked over, stopping inches away. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Inside rested a stunning antique platinum ring set with a deep crimson ruby.
"This belonged to my grandmother," Lucian said, taking my left hand. "Clara never wore it—she thought it was too bold. But it belongs on you."
He slid the heavy ring onto my finger. The weight of it felt like a vow.
"If things go wrong tonight, Elina," Lucian whispered, his thumb caressing my cheek, "my men will escort you to the helicopter on the roof. You take Leo and go to my estate in Switzerland. Everything I own is already in your name."
"Nothing is going to go wrong," I said firmly, reaching up to lay my hand against his cheek, feeling the rough stubble beneath my palm. "We finish this together."
Lucian stared at me for a long beat, his dark eyes softening before he leaned down and pressed a firm, lingering kiss against my forehead. "Let's go slay some dragons."
Down in the grand ballroom, crystal chandeliers illuminated hundreds of guests in mask and formal wear.
When Lucian walked in with me on his arm, the entire room went dead silent.
Gasps rippled through the crowd of mobsters and corrupt officials. Whispers tore through the hall like wildfire. “Is that Clara? How is she alive? Did Lucian hide her?”
Across the room, standing beside the bar, Marco Viti choked on his champagne. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he stared at me. Beside him stood Mateo Rossi—a gaunt, cruel-looking man in his sixties with silver hair and a wicked sneer.
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"Now," Lucian whispered in my ear. "Walk to the terrace."
I detached my arm from Lucian's and began walking gracefully toward the grand glass doors leading out to the oceanfront terrace, making sure Marco saw me move alone into the shadows.
