Chapter 16 - The Masquerade
Dante absolutely refused my plan for exactly three hours.
He yelled, he punched a hole in the plaster wall, and he ordered me to be locked in the panic room for my own safety.
But I stood my ground, refusing to back down from the terrifying dragon who had become my protector.
"If you go alone, they will gun you down before you even speak," I argued, cornering him in his office.
"If Alexei thinks his ghost has returned to haunt him, he will hesitate."
"And hesitation is all you need."
Dante stared at me, his chest heaving, realizing for the first time that I was just as stubborn as he was.
"If a single bullet touches you, I will burn the world down," he vowed, finally conceding defeat.
Rosa, who had treated me with nothing but venom since I arrived, was the one who helped me prepare.
She unlocked the forbidden black doors and dressed me in Elena’s clothes.
I slid into a tailored black suit that fit me perfectly, pulling my hair back into the severe, elegant knot my sister used to wear.
Rosa applied dark, dramatic makeup to my face, painting my lips the color of crushed berries.
When I looked in the mirror, my heart stopped.
I was no longer the exhausted waitress counting tips to survive.
I was the mafia boss's wife, a creature of high society and lethal secrets.
Rosa handed me a small, pearl-handled Derringer pistol.
"Elena kept this strapped to her thigh," Rosa said quietly, a new respect in her eyes.
"Make sure you aim for the heart."
I secured the weapon and walked downstairs to where Dante was waiting by the armored SUV.
When he saw me, he stopped breathing.
The pain, the betrayal, and the lingering ghosts of his past vanished from his expression.
He didn't see the woman who had tried to kill him; he saw the woman who was willing to die for him.
"You are devastating," he murmured, taking my hand and kissing my knuckles right over his own dragon tattoo.
We drove to the shipyard in silence, a small army of Dante's best men trailing invisibly in the shadows behind us.
The docks were cloaked in heavy sea fog, the massive shipping containers looming like steel monoliths.
Alexei Volkov stood in a clearing under a single halogen spotlight, flanked by ten heavily armed guards.
Dante and I stepped out of the SUV together.
I linked my arm through his, adopting the cold, haughty posture of a queen walking among peasants.
As we stepped into the light, Alexei’s smug smile faltered.
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He stared at my face, at the exact replica of the weapon he thought he had lost, and took a hesitant step backward.
The masquerade had begun.
