Chapter 35 SHARKS AT THE BALL
I pace the foyer, the lighter in my hand. I stop, click it on, watching the flame appear. The routine should calm me.
It doesn’t.
I straighten my tux, fix my bow tie, and pace again.
In less than an hour, I’ll meet The Six.
My hands ball into fists. Fury, my old friend, thrums under my skin.
I imagine putting a bullet in each of them, watching with satisfaction as they drown in their own blood.
Then I’ll destroy everything they own—tear their houses down, brick by brick, reducing their empire to a pile of ashes.
And that’s still not enough.
I blow out a breath. I’m getting ahead of myself. Focus.
Tonight, I have one goal: to find the kill ledger. Dalmat said a copy will be present. From what Aleksei found, this is an insurance policy. By exchanging copies of the ledgers, everyone has dirt on each other.
My phone buzzes. The Syndicate gives me an update for tonight.
Knight Ren
On standby with an AR-15. Winds are calm. Signal if things go south.
Bishop Seb
Sources said it’s small, palm-sized.
Pawn Alek
No shit, Sherlock. You think the kill ledger is in a cute notebook?
Bishop Seb
Shut up before I add you to mine.
Knight Ren
“Sources,” Sebastian? You mean your family.
Bishop Seb
Sources. Mere DNA doesn’t make a family.
Bishop Seb
Cleaners are clearing the floors. Will rendezvous with Rook there.
Pawn Alek
Cleaners you got in because of me. ID swaps and all. Go big or go boom.
King Rafe
I’ll pray for you.
Queen Sofi
He doesn’t need prayers. He’s got me.
My lips twitch. I picture Rafe in his chamber, rosary in hand, praying for our clearly unredeemable souls.
This is the closest I’ve gotten to finding the name of the person who ordered my family to be slaughtered. Vasil ?ela from the Albanian café was a lackey. His partner was the same.
Decades gone. Life wasted. I’ve given up my soul for revenge, and now I can almost taste it.
Will silence ever replace the screaming?
My knees ache, an old reminder of survival.
The air changes before my thoughts settle. It thrums with sudden awareness.
I stop pacing.
Roses wrap around my senses, dragging me back from the brink.
“I’m ready, Elias.”
Her voice is seduction and salvation, innocence laced with steel.
Air rushes out of me as I grit my teeth and turn around.
Lana is a vision in crimson. She can move mountains, drain oceans. She could ask me to jump off a cliff, and I’d do it without hesitation.
And you still want to say you hate her? Please.
The fact that I’m thinking this way is precisely why I made myself scarce after last week.
I exceeded my twenty-eight minutes that day.
I told myself that was for every minute I’d saved up over the years. It was lust, not anything else. After all, lines blur too easily.
Her hips sway, each step revealing her long legs through a thigh-high slit.
Legs, I remember, wrapped around me like a vice, never releasing as I pounded into her.
Heat surges in my groin. Images flashing before me: her sounds, her hot, wet pussy clamping my cock like nirvana. She took me so beautifully amid chaos and blood, a fairy tale turned wicked.
“What did I tell you before?” I ask.
Lana stops inches before me.
“I repeat. What did I tell you before?”
Her brows knit, clearly not understanding. I collar her throat, enjoying her pulse jumping against my palm.
She whimpers, her body compliant. Submissive.
“Remember the club,” I rasp into her ear, and crush her frame to mine.
I groan and trail my finger down her neck—down, down, down—until I reach the swell of her cleavage. Then, I cup her breast, find her nipple, and twist.
She cries out, “Elias—”
My dick throbs in my pants, angling toward my stomach.
Yes, Elias is right.
Kian—the boy who dreamed of saving cats and dogs—would never treat a woman this way. He’d never experience the sadistic pleasure of seeing Lana’s eyes glazing over, her red lips parted, her hips automatically canting forward like she was seeking my cock.
“You feel this?” I ask, still kneading her breast. “This is what every man will think about when he sees you in that dress. It’ll tempt him to do very bad things.”
“And if they do…what are you going to do about it?” she whispers.
I want to hoist her over my shoulders, toss her onto the nearest surface, and have my way with her.
Screw the Benefaction, The Six, The Association.
But my thirst for revenge won’t quit.
I release her, backing away, every muscle protesting.
Before I turn toward the door, I pause long enough to answer.
“If anyone touches you, he won’t live to see another dawn.”
It reminds me of home.
And that horrifies me.
The ballroom of the Berisha’s estate is a study in luxury.
Black-and-white checkered floors, marble imported from Italy like the ones in the Anderson Estate.
Soaring ceilings, gold leaf frescoes of angels dueling with demons.
Sparkling ornaments adorn the massive Christmas tree.
Lake Michigan acts as a backdrop outside the windows, its calm waters deceptive.
Crowds are dressed in their finest.
This could easily be a function at The Orchid.
These people—I swallow my dismay as I recognize familiar faces and longtime Anderson clients—are our people.
And they’re monsters.
Soft laughter fills the air. An orchestra plays in the corner.
But I feel their gazes on me.
The dark elite have clear cliques—small groups gathered in corners, talking in hushed tones. I spot the Berishas. Shkelzen raises a glass in my direction, like he didn’t assault me at the club.
Sweat beads on my palms. I paste on my PR smile. Years of etiquette classes and putting out fires have taught me at least this.
Never show weakness, especially if you’re a woman.
The world would eat you alive otherwise.
“The lovely Lana Anderson. A pity we haven’t met before now,” a deep voice murmurs to my right.
I turn to the imposing man who has crept up next to me. Tall and broad-shouldered, thick brown hair, his muscular frame poured into an expertly fitted tux. A signet ring with the letter C rests on his finger.
Startling light blue eyes, the color of an iceberg, meet mine.
He’d be handsome except for the hardness in his gaze.
And the fact his last name is Caruso.
“Gabriel Caruso,” I extend my hand, smile intact, “I’ve heard about you. And it’s Lana Kent now.”
My heart skips a beat. It’s the first time I’ve used Elias’s last name.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend. And Sofia is right. Like it or not, Elias is my only ally here.
Gabriel’s lips curve, just barely. He grabs a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and hands it to me. “Where’s husband dearest?”
“Mingling. Doing manly things.” Frustration coils inside me, but I keep my tone light. The damn bastard deposited me in the corner the moment we arrived, only to tell me to stay put until dinner.
“How chivalrous. If I had a wife as beautiful as you, I’d never leave her alone in a den of wolves.”
“Don’t worry. I know how to kill a man in ten seconds.”
That might be a stretch, but it feels good to say.
“The queen of the underworld, how savage,” he muses, eyes glinting. “Fitting.”
Leaning in, he draws a stiff inhale. Goosebumps ripple down my arms. “You smell good.”
I shift to the side. “Apparently, money doesn’t buy you manners.”
“Or maybe, it makes me more discerning…good at spotting cracks in the foundation.” Gabriel presses his body to my side. “Do me a favor. Don’t try so hard to stand out. It only makes us want a piece of you.”
Unease twists my gut, and he chuckles. “Tread carefully. These waters are rough. Who you align yourself with can have…consequences.” Gabriel points his finger at a group of Asians. “Over there…the Kongs. Brutal bastards. If you think the Berishas are cruel, you haven’t met them yet.”
A rowdy cheer erupts in the room, followed by the clinking of glasses. “The Ivanovs. Control Eastern Europe. Your Berishas hate them. The Russians are buddies with the O’Callaghans. I think it’s the alcohol.”
“They’re not my Berishas.”
“They aren’t? Interesting. Probably a good thing.
The Berishas aren’t doing well, and they know it.
” He hums under his breath. “Finally, on your far right are the Alvarezes. Don’t be charmed by their good looks.
You’ll lose a limb before you notice.” He raises his glass toward a group of stunning brown-haired men and women.
“And let me guess,” I point to the group of dark-haired men and women, who have hair so blond it’s almost white, “the Carusos. Your family. The pure angels?”
He clasps his chest, looking wounded. “Why, of course. I’m here welcoming you, aren’t I?”
I roll my eyes. “Why are you telling me all this?”
“I have a vested interest in your husband. I’d like him to stay alive…longer.”
A wiry man walks to the center of the room and checks his watch. He looks familiar. “It’s six-thirty. Dinner begins in half an hour.”
Gabriel snorts. “The Scheduler. He’s a stickler for dates and times, in case you can’t tell.”
The name tugs the memory from my mind. He was the man at the vault, and during the other night at the club, the Berishas mentioned him being against Gabriel. Something about an impending coup.
“Does he have a name?”
“He does.” His lips flatten. “But it’s not important. Some people are destined to be inconsequential and to do menial tasks. My family doesn’t like the spotlight.”
A pillar of heat materializes to my right.
“Caruso,” Elias’s voice cuts in, tight and deadly, “what are you doing with my wife?”
The wiseass shrugs and steps back. “Keeping her company. A doe like her will be devoured in minutes. A gentleman wouldn’t leave the vulnerable unattended.”
His smile ices over when he looks at me. “If you ever need an ally, I’m one call away.”
He stuffs a card into my hand and walks away.
I gape, flabbergasted.
“What is it with you attracting motherfuckers who give you their numbers?” Elias snaps.
Indignation straightens my spine. “Maybe everyone senses this whole thing is a farce and they want to rescue me, husband,” I seethe.
I down my drink in one gulp and set it on the table. “I’m going to the restroom. Excuse me.”
I feel his gaze burning into my back as I walk away.
Den of wolves, my ass.
It’s a sea of sharks—each one smelling blood.