CHAPTER 16 #2
THE SETUP WAS ELABORATE, meticulous. Vasily had found the perfect location – a discreet, high-end art gallery opening in Tribeca, one that Councilman Thorne was known to frequent, and which specialized in the very kind of historical pieces I supposedly adored.
Liam had chosen the 'accomplice' not to be Thorne directly, but one of Thorne’s most trusted aides, a man named Sterling Vance.
A slimy, opportunistic sycophant with a known weakness for beautiful, intellectually stimulating women who seemed "above his league.
" Perfect. Vance would be Thorne's eyes and ears, and if he could be turned, the information would flow directly to us.
Liam had insisted on accompanying me, not as a visible presence, but as a ghost in the shadows.
He was dressed impeccably in a dark suit, his usual intimidating aura slightly muted by the refined setting, but still palpable.
He would be in a private viewing room, ostensibly admiring a rare antiquity, but his eyes and ears would be on me, every second.
I wore a dress Liam had picked out himself – a deep emerald green that clung to my curves, highlighting my waist and the swell of my breasts, a dangerous slit running up my thigh.
It was designed to turn heads, to draw attention, to tempt.
My hair was styled in soft waves, my makeup subtle but impactful, emphasizing my blue-green eyes.
I looked nothing like the bruised, terrified captive who’d been dragged through the streets. I looked like a goddess of temptation.
“Remember the plan,” Liam’s voice was a low growl in my ear, his hand gripping my elbow, his thumb stroking my bare skin, sending shivers down my arm.
We were just inside the entrance, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume, old money, and nervous anticipation.
“Draw him in. Flatter his ego. Get him talking about anything related to Thorne. Don’t push.
Let him think he’s charming you. But do not, under any circumstances, let him touch you beyond a hand on your arm. Understood?”
“Understood, Pakhan,” I murmured, using the title I knew both irritated and aroused him. His grip tightened, a silent warning. I met his gaze, a defiant spark in my eyes. “You underestimate me, Morozov. I’m not a fragile flower.”
A dark smirk touched his lips. “No, moya roza. You are a goddamn fire. Just make sure you don’t get burned.” He released my arm, his eyes sweeping over the crowd. “Vasily has eyes on Vance. He’s already here, by the Rodin sculpture.”
I took a deep breath, the scent of fresh paint and old bronze filling my lungs.
This was it. My debut as a femme fatale.
The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating.
I straightened my shoulders, forced a dazzling smile onto my lips, and glided into the crowded gallery, a predator in a world of wolves.
It didn’t take long to spot Sterling Vance.
He was a man of medium height, balding slightly, with a weak chin and an obsequious smile.
He wore an expensive, ill-fitting suit, and his eyes darted nervously around the room, clearly out of his depth.
He was exactly the kind of man who would fall for a pretty face and a few compliments.
I maneuvered myself casually towards the Rodin, pretending to study the intricate details of the bronze sculpture. I could feel Vance’s gaze on me, lingering for a moment too long. Perfect.
“Exquisite, isn’t it?” I murmured, half to myself, half to him, my voice soft, almost ethereal. “The sheer raw power captured in the bronze. It speaks of a history, a depth of emotion that transcends time.”
Vance practically preened, puffing out his chest. “Indeed, indeed. A magnificent piece. Councilman Thorne has quite the appreciation for such... timeless beauty.” He smiled, a practiced, oily smile. “Sterling Vance. Aide to the Councilman.” He extended a hand, his touch clammy.
I took it, my smile warm, my gaze unwavering.
“Rose Collins. A pleasure. I’m an art historian, specializing in restoration.
This is quite an impressive collection.” I released his hand quickly, turning back to the sculpture, but not before allowing my eyes to linger on his just a fraction longer than polite.
His gaze was glued to me, devouring my form in the emerald dress. “An art historian, you say? How fascinating. The Councilman is a great patron of the arts himself. A man of refined tastes.”
“So I’ve heard,” I said, feigning an air of innocent curiosity. “It must be quite something, working so closely with a man of such... influence. Councilman Thorne holds a great deal of power in the city, doesn’t he?”
Vance’s chest swelled further. “He certainly does. A man who gets things done. A true visionary.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “He’s currently involved in some... very sensitive projects. Things that will shape the future of New York, if you catch my drift.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. Sensitive projects.
That was my cue. “Oh, I certainly do,” I said, my voice dropping, imbued with a hint of playful intrigue.
I leaned a little closer, allowing him a tantalizing glimpse down the V-neck of my dress.
The scent of my perfume, strategically applied, wafted towards him.
“A man like that must have a great many secrets. And a great many... loyalties.”
He chuckled, a nervous, almost breathless sound.
His eyes darted around, making sure no one was listening, then settled back on me, his gaze now openly lustful.
“Secrets are the currency of power, Miss Collins. And the Councilman has a wealth of them. As for loyalties... well, those can always be... rearranged.”
He was practically drooling. The thrill of the manipulation coursed through me, a potent drug. This man was a pathetic excuse for a villain, a slimy pawn, but he was a pawn with access.
“I find history fascinating,” I said, my hand accidentally brushing his as I gestured towards another sculpture.
My fingers lingered for a fraction of a second, sending a jolt through him.
“The way power shifts, the hidden currents that drive men to great deeds... or great deceptions.” I paused, my eyes meeting his, a playful challenge in their depths.
“Tell me, Mr. Vance. What truly drives Councilman Thorne? Is it purely ambition? Or is there something... deeper? Something darker beneath the surface?”
He swallowed hard, his face flushed. “The Councilman is... complex. Very complex. He has powerful friends. Very powerful. Friends who ensure his... longevity.” His voice was practically a whisper, drawn in by the web I was weaving.
“He’s always looking out for number one, of course.
Always ensuring his own position is secure.
And sometimes, that means making certain...
accommodations. With certain... individuals.
Individuals who prefer to remain in the shadows. ”
“Shadows are where the most interesting stories reside, wouldn’t you agree?
” I purred, my gaze still locked on his, my fingers tracing the delicate curve of a marble plinth.
I knew Liam was watching, listening to every word.
I could almost feel his possessive anger radiating from the private room, but I pushed it down.
This was for the mission. This was for us.
Vance took a step closer, his hand reaching for my arm, his touch bolder this time, more insistent.
“Indeed they do, Miss Collins. Perhaps... perhaps we could explore some of these stories together. Over a more private setting. A more... intimate discussion. I have access to things... documents... that would astound a historian like yourself.” His eyes were burning with lust, practically undressing me.
My internal alarm bells screamed, but I forced myself to maintain the seductive facade.
I allowed his hand to rest on my arm, for a moment, just a moment, before gently, almost imperceptibly, pulling away.
“That sounds... intriguing, Mr. Vance,” I said, my voice still soft, but with a hint of burgeoning retreat, enough to make him eager to pull me back.
“But I am a woman of discretion. And I require... trust. Complete trust, before I delve into such sensitive historical matters.”
He puffed out his chest again, mistaking my hesitation for genuine interest. “Oh, you can trust me, Miss Collins. Absolutely. I’m a vault.
I have a private apartment nearby. A very...
secluded space. We could discuss art. And history.
And anything else that might... pique your interest.” His eyes dropped to my lips, his intent unmistakable. He was moving in for the kill.
My heart was pounding, a wild drum in my chest. This was it. The moment of truth. I had to push for information, but I couldn’t let him cross the line. Liam would go nuclear. And frankly, so would I.
“Perhaps you could give me a hint, then, Mr. Vance,” I said, my voice now a throaty whisper, my gaze fixed on his mouth.
I leaned in, my body language a clear invitation, my hand provocatively touching his lapel, straightening it.
“Something truly juicy. Something that proves you’re not just all talk.
Something about these ‘powerful friends’ of Councilman Thorne. Who pulls their strings?”
His eyes widened, his breath hitched. He was so close. So incredibly close to spilling secrets for the promise of physical gratification. “Well, there’s... there’s an old name. A very old name. Someone even the Councilman defers to. A real puppet master. Konstantin...”
Just as the name was about to fully form on his lips, a sudden, powerful hand clamped down on Vance’s shoulder, a grip of iron that made him yelp in pain and surprise. Vance spun around, his face paling, his eyes wide with terror as he looked up into the frigid, steel-gray gaze of Liam Morozov.