10. Hyacinth
TEN
HYACINTH
The dress is going to get dirty. Chrys is going to get mad at me for ruining yet another one of her masterpieces, but I’m not sure what she expected when she’d designed it in white like I’m getting ready for some fucking wedding.
Even walking from our car to the restaurant has the New Valence grime seeping into the hem of the dress.
I should ditch the event. It’s going to be boring, anyway. I’ll have to stand off to the side, pretending to be some demure damsel while my cousins do whatever it is they came here to do.
Dante had been extremely insistent I come along, though.
No, let me rephrase.
He’d ordered me to come along, and there’s no disobeying him.
“Thanks for coming with us,” Avery says as we approach the entrance.
“I didn’t have a choice,” I say, glaring at the back of Dante’s head. “Don’t you have actual bodyguards?”
“They’re not nearly as much fun,” Avery replies brightly. “Besides, they wouldn’t help me spy on Jayce.”
Dante didn’t invite me to spy on Jayce Santos.
He wouldn’t tell me why he’d ordered me to come along, though.
“Sure,” I answer, even though I have no intention of obeying Avery.
We get through security, and they only find one of my knives. Score one for ceramic knives and various hidden pockets with lining to hide the metal tools. I’m not going to question Chrys on how she does it.
White, though?
I follow Dante as he makes his way to one of the property developers. I think I recognize him—one of the men who would have been bribed for our businesses.
As I expected, it’s boring. Avery is asking about zoning regulations for something nightclub related, while the developer is keen to make nice with Dante.
It’s been at least five years since I’ve been to a party like this.
The last time…
Well, the last time was a disaster.
Why the fuck did you show up? You can’t show your face to anyone!
I’m not showing my face now. I get a few curious stares. The veil makes me even more conspicuous than if I’d shown up without it.
“Ma’am?” One of the catering staff holds out a tray for me. “Are you lost? There’s no wedding party here today.”
I laugh, and I keep my voice light and feminine. “No. I’m supposed to be here. My fiancé wanted to show me off.”
I take a shrimp appetizer off the tray.
My eyes catch on a strange bulge near the caterer’s pocket.
A cloth napkin, bunched up and stuffed into his pocket?
But that doesn’t seem right. And now that I’m paying attention, I notice how stiffly the server is holding himself.
“Thank you,” I say, moving away from him.
Dante knows something I don’t.
If he wanted me here for protection duty, why the fuck didn’t he say as much? I can’t help him if I don’t have all the information.
I’ll need to force it out of him. I glance around the room to see where he’s gone off to—
And freeze when I see Keith Harrington.
What the fuck.
Why is he here?
My heart tightens in my chest.
No.
He can’t be here. This isn’t a fundraiser for him. Dante wouldn’t do that to me.
Except he doesn’t know about what happened. Only Forest does.
Shit, shit, shit.
I quickly turn away so Keith doesn’t notice me. I need to get out of here. Screw Dante and Avery. I’m not sticking around for this.
I reach into my skirt pocket, where I’d hid a thin razor blade.
I could murder Keith.
Yes.
That’s what I need to do. Kill him, kill the fucker, let him bleed out here in front of everyone and let them all know what it means to hurt me.
But a razor blade would be slow, and it would be too easy for paramedics to save him from shallow cuts.
I’ll need to use a real weapon.
I head to the restrooms, taking the women’s and locking the door behind me. The knife is sheathed on the inside of my thigh, underneath the layers of skirts.
It’s still not as large as I’d like, but beggars can’t be choosers.
I have to do it before Keith says a single word to me.
If he talks, I might not be able to go through with it. So that means stabbing him from behind, when he least expects it.
And unlike Zane Vilani, he wouldn’t be able to fight back. He wouldn’t dodge out of the way, or turn the tables on me to fight me and force me to my knees.
That’s the plan, then.
Keith Harrington dies today.
I look at myself in the mirror. The veil obscures my face well enough. The dress—and it doesn’t quite look like a wedding dress, despite being white—pulls in at my waist to give me a feminine frame. The long skirt helps cement the illusion.
This was the me that Keith rejected.
Too effeminate. One of the shameful gays, giving all the real men a bad name.
Do real men know how to take a man out with a single stab? Do real men kill all those who hurt them?
I grin, and a hint of my smile is visible through the veil.
“We’ll see who the real man is,” I whisper.
I leave the restroom again, going back down the hall and past the door to the kitchen to the main event space.
I stop when I notice somebody blocking the path in front of me.
He’s holding a gun.
“Mr. X is going to be collecting all your cellphones. If you try something, you’re dead!” somebody else shouts.
Well, that’s interesting.
I slow my steps and approach carefully.
A robbery, now? I can’t see much of the event room, but while I do hear Dante’s voice, the words themselves are inaudible to me.
I understand why Dante forced me to join, now. He knew this would happen.
I peer past the guy in front of me—and spot Zane on the floor, only a few feet away.
The robber kicks Zane, and a hot flash of anger courses through me.
Zane shouldn’t be on the floor. He shouldn’t be prone or weak. A man like him is destined to sit at the top of the world.
“Set the phone on the floor and kick it away, Vilani,” the robber says.
I don’t think so.
It’s not about conscious thought anymore. Instinct alone guides my hand as I drive my knife into the robber’s back. I get him perfectly between his ribs to get to his heart.
Blood splashes out and onto the dress.
I knew it was going to get dirty.
I shove the man forward. He falls flat onto his face, right next to Zane.
Zane starts to try to get up, but his bodyguard grabs him and shoves him down again.
I take one step toward him.
The first gunshot goes off.
Whatever control the leader had over this group, it’s gone. Every trigger happy little man starts shooting, bullets whizzing through the air.
Well, shit. Maybe I should have been less public about the stabbing.
Zane’s bodyguard uses one of the dropped canape trays to shield Zane and herd him in my direction.
Zane is half-standing, staying low to the ground to avoid the trajectory of the bullets.
I catch a glimpse of his face, which is usually stoic and calm, and there’s an edge of something I don’t recognize in it.
For a second, I think it’s fear, but that can’t be right.
A man like Zane doesn’t fear anything. He’d stared me in the eyes and fought back.
I don’t bother checking on my cousins. If they die, that’s their own fault. Dante knew this was going down; he could have avoided the venue entirely.
I step back enough to allow Zane and his bodyguard to take refuge in this hallway.
“Fancy meeting you here,” I say, extending my hand to Zane.
“What’s a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?” he drawls, taking my hand.
I pull him up. His grip is tight and confident, no hint of cowardice in it.
Good.
“I came to kill someone,” I lie. “Not you, this time. But you really want to taste death.”
“No attack of opportunity, then?” Zane asks.
His bodyguard steps in to put distance between us, glaring at me.
Zane gives him a blithe look, but he takes a step back.
“We’re leaving,” Stefan says. “The back entrance—”
I point at the kitchen doors. “Is through there. But good luck getting past whoever they left in there.”
I listen for gunshots. I hear Avery yelling, louder than everybody else: “Fuck you, Dante! You couldn’t have…”
His nice-and-gentle mask must have slipped.
Three more gunshots, and somebody screaming. A female voice, one of the few women who joined for the event today.
“It’s safer through here than the front door,” Stefan mutters. He braces himself on the door, his glare fixed on me. “You don’t follow us.”
I smile at him, though the veil still obscures my expression. “You can’t stop me.”
“I can, actually,” Stefan retorts. He takes a menacing step in my direction. “You’re trying to kill Mr. Vilani. Do you really think I want you at our backs?”
“It’s to his benefit to stick with us until we’re all out of here,” Zane says pragmatically. “If he’s going to try to kill me, he’ll wait until he’s safe.”
“Or he’ll use the chaos to go for you, Boss!” Stefan argues, his face flushing red.
I blow a kiss at Stefan. “I’m good in a fight. You’ll want me to help. Or if you’re lucky, somebody else will—”
Before I can finish that sentence, somebody blocks the entrance to the hall, casting a long shadow.
“Nobody is leaving!” he shouts, aiming his gun at us.
I don’t bother to wait. I shove the door and dash inside. Stefan yelps as he stumbles through.
Zane gets in, the door swinging shut behind him, right as a bullet embeds itself into the door.
Of course, we’re now standing across from three armed men.
They stare at us, dumbfounded.
“I hope you’re quick on your feet,” I say to Zane before I duck under the metal kitchen island.
He goes left, and Stefan goes right.
The men must not have expected to be rushed by the guests, because their reaction times are slow.
Amateurs.
Zane reaches the man on the left and grabs his arm, twisting it. I hear the gun clatter to the ground as a shout rings out, but I don’t have time to watch their tussle when I have my own goon to deal with.
“What the fuck?” my opponent says. “A woman?”
I laugh, and I make sure to keep my voice light enough to maintain the illusion. “I’ll beat you anyway.”