Chapter 11
ADELINA
Everything would be fine. We had covered all of our bases. I couldn’t let my subordinates walk into this alone. We needed to move as a unit if we wanted the information we came for. Then I could leave.
Just breathe.
A hand crept onto my shoulder and squeezed gently. Dorin. My rock. The one who kept me from drowning in my own damn mind. We looked at each other and shared a casual nod. Time to step inside.
Not wanting to draw attention, I chose a black dress.
Long. Silky. A slit up the leg that was higher than I expected, something I realized way too late.
At least my underwear wasn’t showing. The sleeves hid my tattoos.
I usually liked showing them off, just not here.
The V-neck revealed more cleavage than Dorin preferred, though there was nothing I could do about that.
I didn’t normally wear things like this.
Most days, I looked borderline homeless.
Dorin leaned in, his voice low. “You look nice, Lina. If this becomes overwhelming, let me know and we’ll leave immediately.”
I nodded, and we split off in different directions.
Given that my hair was painfully memorable, I opted for a wig. The damn thing itched nonstop. At least it matched my dress and blended into the black length. The less noticeable I looked, the better.
As I scanned the room, someone caught my attention. No way. He was here too. I tried not to stare. I just needed to pretend he wasn’t breathing the same air as me. It felt like Cezar was everywhere. Sometimes I swore he knew more than we did, which was not comforting in the slightest.
Fuck, he looked good. All the heat in my body dropped straight to my lower half.
Why did he have to look like that? Even with his face covered, I could recognize him instantly. That blond hair falling over the full-face mask that he clearly favored. Metal, though light enough to move with him. Probably uncomfortable as shit.
Wonder where he got it.
The jawline was pointed and unmistakably masculine. It had this strange elegance to it that didn’t match his personality at all. Never judge a book by its cover, they say. Cezar was still a pervert.
Dark red details broke up the black of his suit. It had this vintage Victorian pattern to it. The fabric, silky like my dress, caught the light when he moved. The jacket had a subtle textured pattern too, running from the shoulders to the neck, like dragon scales along the sleeves.
He is so extra…
The tie he wore had red roses on it. Subtle as a damn billboard. Or maybe I was reading too much into it. As I watched him from the corner of my eye, he strolled to the bar and grabbed a couple of drinks.
I wonder if he is here with anyone?
Sitting there stealing glances only made it worse. And of course, the one time he had to look my way, our eyes met. Brief and too familiar. The bartender set my drink down, and I was quick to take advantage of the interruption.
I pushed to my feet, intent on being anywhere else in the room, but Cezar blocked my path.
Fuck.
“Care to dance?” He extended his hand, and I could practically feel that insufferable smirk hiding behind the mask.
I didn’t want to act suspicious. There was no way he knew it was me. He was probably just a horn dog looking for a warm body to grind on.
“Sure,” I replied, lowering my voice just enough to try to throw him off.
To my surprise, he was a good dancer. I wasn’t exactly skilled, but Dorin had taught me enough to fake my way through tonight. I stepped on Cezar’s toes a few times, but he didn’t say a word. I wouldn’t look at him either, even though I could feel his piercing gaze burning right through me.
A dance for the damned.
The atmosphere grew warm as he moved my body with his, his stare locked onto me like I was the only person in the room. Cezar was intense in every encounter we’d ever had. Probably like that with every woman.
Pissed. Wait, why do I care about that?
“Your dress—elegant, sexy. Suits you.” His voice was low and raspy, sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine.
I wanted to ask what exactly “suits you” meant. My figure? Typical man.
“Thanks.” The word came out barely above a whisper as I kept my head tucked close to his chest, forcing myself not to look at him.
He smells so nice.
His hand traveled down the middle of my back, unhurried and deliberate. Heat followed in its wake. When he reached the slit in my dress, he paused at the top of it, his body crowding mine. I could hear his breathing. If not for that mask, I’d feel it too.
“Is this an invite, Petal?” he growled in my ear, his hand gripping my bare leg.
My face burned, thankfully hidden from view. I didn’t move. Deep down, I didn’t really want to.
“H-how did you know it was me?” I murmured, my voice hushed and a little shaky.
Get your shit together!
“How could I not? Those captivating eyes… You’ll be etched into my memory forever. Every god damn beautiful detail,” he replied, lifting my chin.
His icy blue stare cut right through me; the glint of his scar barely visible. Time slowed, or maybe I just forgot everything else for a second. Then his gaze moved slightly to the right.
A gentle pressure guided me aside. Screams erupted across the room, and a rush of memories from that night slammed into me. My mind spun, telling me to breathe, to calm down, to hold it together.
Dorin would usually be the one pulling me back.
But it wasn’t Dorin. It was still Cezar. He never let me go.
His concern was obvious. He knew at least some of the things I had done. Even after I let him see too much, even after a vulnerable side of me had shown through, he didn’t exploit it. He stayed close, as if expecting something else to go wrong.
What is this strange feeling?
My senses returned piece by piece, and when I finally glanced down, Cezar had a fucking machete in one hand, his other still gripping my waist. The blade was stained with blood, droplets dripping on the pristine floor.
A pathetic man sat on the ground nearby, tears streaking down his face, surrounded by a few startled onlookers.
“What the fuck did you do?” another man snapped as he rushed over, ripping his mask off. He must have known the guy. Otherwise, why the hell would anyone care in a place like this?
“He was going to touch her.” Cezar’s eyes landed on me, darkening with something disturbingly satisfied. He was enjoying this.
The now one-handed man barked, “I didn’t touch her, you fucker. You motherfucker. My hand. My fucking hand.”
“You didn’t,” Cezar replied, calm and cold, “but you were going to. You were going to slap her ass right in front of me. Ballsy move. You’re lucky I didn’t cut those off instead.
” He let go of me and gave me a brief look that said he’d be right back.
Then he walked toward the man, the machete resting on his shoulder, blood falling onto his suit.
Cezar said something to him. Whatever it was, it made him shut up. Then he was back at my side. I never needed anyone to take care of me. I didn’t even remember what it felt like to be taken care of.
I could become addicted to this.
Dorin watched everything unfold. We had signals for moments like this, and I was ready to use them, but I never needed to during this masquerade.
Why did Cezar bring me so much comfort and anxiety at the same time? This was all becoming very confusing.
Before I could fully understand what was happening, Cezar had my hand in his, pulling me away from the chaos and into the quieter corridors of the mansion. We walked in silence, his grip firm, like he was afraid I’d vanish if he didn’t hold tight enough.