Chapter 5
Zora
The city outside my office windows is already drowning in darkness by the time I finally step away from my desk.
Manhattan glows beneath me in cold gold and white lights, restless and alive, but tonight my attention cannot stay on the skyline for long.
My thoughts keep circling back to the invitation in my phone sitting on the table beside me.
The Blackwell House. A masquerade ball. An illegal auction hidden beneath expensive fabrics, polished smiles, and old money.
Even now, the entire thing sounds absurd.
A room full of powerful people wearing masks while bidding on a man known as Il Fantasma. It feels less like reality and more like the kind of dangerous story that ends with blood on marble floors.
And yet I am going.
I stand in front of the mirror near the corner of my office, adjusting the holster strapped securely against my thigh.
The cool metal of the gun resting against my skin steadies me slightly.
Without a weapon on me, I always feel exposed.
Vulnerable. It is irrational, perhaps, but growing up around the Krogen Empire taught me early that danger rarely announces itself before arriving.
Behind me, Erin stands near my desk, scrolling through something on her tablet while occasionally glancing at the clock.
Efficient as always. Calm. Unlike me, she looks completely unaffected by the fact that tonight could either open new doors for my company, or become one of the worst decisions I have ever made.
"Is the dress ready?" I ask finally, breaking the silence in the room.
Erin looks up immediately. "Caleb is bringing it up now."
I nod once before walking back toward the desk, slipping my phone into my clutch. "And security?"
"Three men will stay outside the property." She says. "No direct visibility unless necessary. They already mapped the surrounding exits and streets."
"Communication?"
"Encrypted line only."
Good. At least someone here is still thinking rationally.
A knock sounds against the office door. Erin moves to open it, revealing Caleb standing outside with a garment bag resting over one arm and a matte black box in the other.
Like always, his expression is unreadable.
Professional. Controlled. Caleb rarely speaks unless necessary, which is exactly why I trust him.
He steps inside and hands the items to me without wasting movement.
"Vehicle’s downstairs." He says simply. "Route’s clear for now."
I carry the garment bag toward the couch and slowly unzip it. The rich fabric spills out instantly, deep wine red melting into black velvet beneath the office lights. For a moment, I simply stare at it.
The gown is striking. Dark. Expensive. Dangerous.
The corset bodice is covered in intricate jeweled embroidery, the ruby details catching the light like scattered drops of blood.
Delicate silver chains drape elegantly along the waist and neckline, while sheer off-shoulder sleeves soften the otherwise commanding silhouette.
The velvet looks impossibly smooth beneath my fingertips as I trace the detailed stitching near the hem.
Then my eyes move toward the slit running along the thigh. It’s functional. Not decorative. Perfect access to the weapon holstered beneath it.
A faint smile pulls at my lips despite myself.
Erin notices immediately. "You approve?"
I nod.
The smaller black box contains the mask. Matte black Venetian design. Elegant silver filigree curves around the edges while tiny ruby gemstones are embedded carefully into the detailing. Thin chains drape delicately from the sides, subtle enough not to feel theatrical.
A masquerade ball. The thought still feels surreal. Rich people truly have a talent for romanticizing corruption.
I disappear behind the privacy screen in my office to change. The process is quicker than expected, though fastening the holster comfortably beneath the gown takes longer. When I finally pull the dress fully into place and secure the mask against my face, I pause for a second before the mirror.
The woman staring back at me hardly looks like the CEO sitting behind a desk an hour ago.
She looks like someone built for dangerous rooms. Someone who belongs among secrets.
The slit in the gown shifts slightly as I move, revealing only a glimpse of my thigh before the fabric settles back into place. Enough elegance to blend into the crowd. Enough practicality to survive it if necessary.
I step out from behind the screen.
Erin’s eyes flick over me first, assessing rather than admiring. Caleb’s attention lingers only briefly before returning to the room itself.
He moves toward the door first. "We should leave."
By the time we leave the office building, Manhattan has fully transformed into something colder and more dangerous. The streets glow beneath neon lights and blurred headlights, crowded with people who have no idea what kind of world exists behind closed doors and private invitations.
Caleb opens the rear door of the Mercedes for me without a word.
The customized Brabus sits beneath the building lights like a weapon disguised as luxury.
Sleek black exterior, reinforced frame, bulletproof glass hidden beneath elegance expensive enough to avoid suspicion.
After Dad’s death, I had most of the vehicles connected to the empire modified. Protection first. Appearance second.
I slide into the back seat carefully, adjusting the slit of the gown before pulling the door shut behind me. The leather smells expensive and familiar, grounding me slightly. Caleb moves into the driver’s seat while the engine hums softly to life beneath us.
The city begins moving outside the tinted windows almost immediately.
A few minutes into the drive, headlights appear consistently behind us. Same distance. Same lane changes.
I already know who it is before Caleb confirms it.
"Our men are behind us?" I ask quietly, my eyes still on the mirror.
"Yes." Nothing more.
The SUV remains several cars back, blending easily into late-night traffic. Invisible unless someone is specifically looking for it. Good.
Tonight already feels dangerous enough without making our security obvious.
Silence settles again after that, heavy but not uncomfortable. Caleb focuses on the road while I lean back against the seat, letting the city blur around me.
Somewhere in this city, powerful people are preparing to drink champagne beneath chandeliers while bidding on violence like it is art. Men with old money and clean public reputations gathering behind masks to hire a criminal they would publicly condemn in daylight.
And somehow, tonight, I am one of them.
I glance down at my reflection faintly visible against the darkened window. The black mask sharpens everything about my appearance, making me look colder than I feel. More untouchable.
Maybe that is a good thing. Because beneath the calm exterior, something restless keeps shifting inside me. Part anticipation. Part caution. And, frustratingly, part curiosity.
Domenico Valenti. Il Fantasma. The Ghost. Even thinking about the name feels dangerous.
The drive stretches longer than expected as we move farther away from the brighter parts of Manhattan. Buildings slowly grow older, quieter, wealth hidden behind iron gates and old architecture instead of glass towers.
Eventually, music becomes audible even through the closed windows. Deep bass. Muted laughter. The distant sound of a party already in motion.
Then the mansion comes into view.
The Blackwell House rises behind massive gates and perfectly trimmed hedges, lit with warm golden lights that spill across stone walls and towering windows. Luxury cars line the private driveway while elegantly dressed guests disappear behind masks and velvet into the estate.
From the outside, it looks like the kind of place wealthy elites gather for charity galas and political dinners. Not an illegal auction.
I exhale slowly.
Caleb parks near the entrance before stepping out first. By the time he opens my door, I already feel the shift settle over me completely. That familiar cold focus I wear before entering dangerous rooms.
I step out carefully, heels pressing against the stone driveway as the cool night air brushes against my skin. Somewhere behind us, the black SUV disappears farther down the road, our security team melting into the shadows exactly as planned.
My gaze lifts toward the mansion once more. Too elegant. Far too calm for the dangers within.
Caleb moves beside me as we approach the entrance together. Two security guards immediately step forward, their attention sweeping over us with trained suspicion.
"Invitation, please." The guard’s voice is calm, professional.
My steps slow slightly. Invitation?
I glance briefly toward Caleb before looking back at the guard. Stefano never mentioned needing one. For a second, irritation flickers through me. The security guard notices the hesitation immediately. His posture shifts subtly.
Suspicious. Wonderful!!!
Before I can say anything, a familiar voice cuts through from behind us.
"She’s with me tonight."
Relief would be too strong a word for what I feel hearing Stefano’s voice, but it comes close.
He steps beside me wearing a perfectly tailored black suit, dark mask concealing the upper half of his face. Even hidden behind it, confidence practically radiates off him.
Of course it does.
Stefano hands over two black invitation cards between his fingers like he owns the place. Maybe he does.
The guards scan them quickly before stepping aside at once.
"Enjoy your evening, Mr. Rinaldi." The change in attitude is immediate enough to be almost amusing.
We move past them into the estate and warmth immediately spills over my skin along with the sound of music and conversation.
I glance sideways at Stefano. "You neglected to mention invitations."
"I assumed it would be easier if I handled it personally." He replies calmly, adjusting the cuff of his suit. "Events like this tend to have… particular entry requirements."