Chapter 5 #2
I look ahead as we continue through the entrance hall. "That would have been useful information."
"You still got in."
I exhale softly through my nose. "Fair enough."
We move deeper into the mansion as waiters carrying champagne disappear between guests dressed in velvet, silk, diamonds, and expensive anonymity. The ballroom is alive with quiet conversation, the music weaving effortlessly through the crowd.
Everywhere I look, I recognize power. Politicians. CEOs. Investors. People who smile publicly while destroying lives privately. A masquerade ball truly is the perfect setting for them.
Stefano reaches into his jacket and briefly holds up my invitation card again.
Only then do I notice the embossed number pressed subtly into the corner.
11.
My brows pull together faintly. "What’s the number for?"
"Access." He slips the card back into my hand. "The party is open to more people. The auction isn’t."
"So not everyone here gets invited to the auction."
"No." His gaze drifts lazily across the crowd. "Only the interesting ones."
I look down at the number again. Eleven. For some reason, it feels less like an invitation and more like being selected. Before I can think about it longer, movement near the center of the ballroom draws attention toward a raised platform.
A man in his late fifties lifts a champagne glass with practiced ease. Victor Langford.
Even behind the mask, I recognize him instantly. Founder of Langford Global Investments. Public philanthropist. Ruthless businessman. Apparently auction host too.
"Ladies and gentlemen." He says smoothly, voice carrying across the ballroom. "Tonight is about connection. Influence. Opportunity."
Soft laughter spreads through parts of the crowd.
"To powerful partnerships."
Glasses rise around the room.
The music swells again afterward, louder this time, and conversations resume almost immediately.
I watch the crowd carefully. "Interesting guest list."
"That’s one way to describe it."
"You sound unimpressed."
Stefano takes a drink from a passing tray before answering. "I’ve learned wealthy people become significantly less fascinating once you know what they do in private."
"That cynical?"
"That realistic."
I almost smile at that. Almost.
My attention drifts toward the ballroom again. "So how long before the auction starts?"
"When they decide everyone’s drunk enough to loosen their morals."
I glance sideways at him. "You’re participating too."
It isn’t a question.
The corner of his mouth lifts faintly beneath the mask. "Of course I am."
"You really think Domenico will accept someone’s offer tonight?" I ask.
Stefano’s gaze moves slowly across the room before settling somewhere behind me.
"He doesn’t care much about money."
There’s something unreadable in his tone now.
"Then what does he care about?"
A pause. "I told you. Interest."
Something about the way he says it makes my stomach tighten slightly.
Then Stefano looks toward the far side of the ballroom and sets his champagne glass aside.
"It’s almost time."
We move through the ballroom slowly after that, blending into the crowd without truly becoming part of it.
Conversations overlap around us beneath the music, glasses clink softly against silver trays, and somewhere near the center of the room, a couple begins dancing beneath the chandelier light like this is an ordinary high-society party instead of whatever this actually is.
Stefano seems perfectly comfortable among them. People greet him as we pass. Small nods, quiet handshakes, brief exchanges hidden beneath masks and practiced smiles. He belongs in rooms like this.
I’m still deciding whether that should concern me.
"These events happen often?" I ask quietly as a waiter passes with champagne.
"Often enough."
Not much of an answer.
I glance sideways at him. "You’re being vague intentionally."
"That’s usually the safest way to survive gatherings like this."
Fair point.
A woman in emerald silk brushes past us, perfume lingering heavily in the air. Stefano waits until she’s gone before speaking again.
"Most people here aren’t interested in morality, Ms. Krogen. Only leverage."
My gaze drifts across the ballroom again. "Yes, I noticed."
"You say that like you’re different."
"I am different."
That earns me a brief look. Not mocking. Assessing.
"Dangerous mindset." He murmurs.
"I thought dangerous was the theme tonight."
A faint hint of amusement touches his mouth beneath the mask.
We stop near one of the tall windows overlooking the estate grounds. Outside, the gardens disappear into darkness beyond the lights.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. Then Stefano says casually, "I heard about your board meeting."
Of course he did. News travels fast around powerful people. Especially failures. Or near-failures.
"And?" I ask.
"And trying to clean an empire like yours too quickly will make people nervous."
"That’s their problem."
"No." He says calmly. "Eventually it becomes yours."
I fold my arms loosely, watching two men laugh loudly near the bar. "The old structure was unstable."
"It was profitable."
"But it was reckless."
Stefano studies me for a second before looking away again. "You sound more like a strategist than Marcus ever did."
The comment catches me slightly off guard. Dad rarely got compared to anyone. Especially not unfavorably.
I glance at him. "You knew Dad?"
"Briefly." Stefano replies. "We crossed paths a few times professionally."
A faint pause follows.
"He was intelligent." He continues. "But he relied too much on fear. Fear builds fast. It also collapses fast."
I absorb that quietly. For some reason, hearing someone speak honestly about dad feels stranger than hearing praise ever did.
"I’ll choose to take that as a compliment."
"It was."
A silence settles again, easier this time.
Oddly enough, talking to Stefano doesn’t feel exhausting the way most business conversations do. He listens more than he speaks. And when he does speak, it usually matters.
A soft movement near the staircase catches his attention suddenly. His posture shifts almost imperceptibly.
"It’s starting soon." He says.
I feel my pulse quicken instantly despite myself.
Across the ballroom, staff members have begun quietly approaching certain guests. The numbered ones.
No announcements. No spectacle. Discreet. Like everything else tonight.
Stefano’s gaze drops briefly toward my invitation card still resting in my hand. "Still interested?"
I look toward the hallway where the selected guests are slowly disappearing one by one. Then I think about the Keegans, the empire, the resistance waiting for me back home, and the man known as Il Fantasma.
Curiosity alone should not feel this dangerous. But somehow, tonight, it does.
"I didn’t come here to hesitate." I say finally.
Stefano holds my gaze for a second longer before offering me his hand. I slip mine into it, and together we follow the others toward the private wing.