Chapter 28 THE VELVET TRAP
The New York Public Library was a temple of marble and hushed secrets, but tonight, it was a shark tank scented with expensive gin and desperation.
The “Unity Gala” was a masterclass in high-society hypocrisy with men in five-thousand-dollar tuxedos shaking hands of the very people they were systematically robbing in the dark.
I stepped out of the black armoured SUV, my hand resting on Silas’s arm.
The fabric of my gown was a liquid silk the color of a deep, arterial red hissed against the pavement.
The diamond necklace felt like a brand against my skin, a sparkling declaration of who I belonged to in this hierarchy of monsters.
“Stay close,” Silas murmured as we ascended the grand staircase, his voice a low vibration that barely carried over the clicking of the paparazzi.
“The cameras are already on us. Give them the ‘Power Couple’ narrative. Let them speculate. The more they wonder about our alliance, the less they look at what you’re doing with your hands.
”
The flashes were blinding, a rhythmic pulse of white light that I used to be on the other side of.
Now, I was the subject, the focal point of the city’s hungry gaze.
I kept my expression neutral while my thumb surreptitiously activated the remote trigger for the micro-lens built into the silk of my evening bag.
Inside the Rose Main Reading Room, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of lilies and cold ambition.
Councilman Arthur Halloway was in the center of the room, glowing under the massive chandeliers.
He looked every bit the saviour of the city, his silver hair catching the light as he charmed a circle of donors.
“Silas! And the enigmatic Miss Thorne,” Halloway boomed, approaching us with a wide, practiced smile.
He didn’t see the predator in Silas’s eyes.
He only saw the prestige of the Vane name and a pretty girl on his arm.
“I was beginning to think you’d snubbed us for your private archives.
”
“Wouldn’t miss it, Councilman,” Silas said, his voice a smooth, dangerous silk.
“Marlowe has been very interested in your... recent initiatives. Especially the waterfront redevelopment zoning.”
Halloway’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second with a micro-expression of panic that my hidden lens captured in high-definition.
“Ah, yes. A complex project. Many moving parts, as they say.”
“And many missing pieces,” I added, my voice light but sharp as a glass shard.
I adjusted my clutch, the infrared sensor tracking the heat signature of the thick envelope tucked into his inner breast pocket.
“It must be exhausting, keeping track of where everything... lands.”
“I manage,” Halloway snapped, his eyes flicking to Silas, searching for a sign of a joke.
He found none. “If you’ll excuse me, I have the Deputy Chief to attend to.
”
As he walked away, Silas leaned into my ear, his breath warm against my skin.
“He’s spooked. He’s going to make the handoff early.
He needs to move the physical drives before the Board’s auditors arrive at his office tomorrow morning.
”
“He’s heading for the Rare Books room,” I whispered, my eyes tracking his movement through the crowd.
“There’s a private corridor behind the stacks that leads to the service elevators.
I memorized the floor plans while we were in the car.
”
“Go,” Silas commanded, his hand sliding from my waist. “I’ll stay here and occupy the Deputy Chief.
You have ten minutes before the security rotation resets.
If you encounter anyone, don’t scream. Just document.
”
I slipped into the shadows of the library, the “Ghost” returning to her natural element.
I didn’t need a high-visibility camera here.
I moved through the stacks, my red silk dress blending into the shadows of the mahogany shelves.
I found Halloway in the dim light of the Milton collection, far from the music and the laughter.
He was handing a small, silver canister and the kind used for high-capacity data storage to a man in a waiter’s uniform.
The micro-lens captured the exchange.
The waiter’s face not a waiter, but a known mercenary from the Bronx files.
I turned to slip away, my mission complete, but a heavy hand slammed against the bookshelf next to my head, blocking my path.
The scent of stale tobacco and cheap adrenaline filled the air.
“You’re a long way from the ballroom, Miss Thorne,” a voice hissed.
I looked up. It wasn’t the mercenary.
It was Kael, Elias Reed’s former enforcer, the one Silas was supposed to have “archived” weeks ago.
He looked ragged, his face a map of fresh scars, and he was holding a serrated blade that caught the faint light of the corridor.
“Kael,” I said, my voice cold, my hand sliding toward the stiletto Silas had hidden in my garter.
“You really should have stayed a ghost.”
“I missed the spotlight,” he whispered, his eyes wild.
“And I think it’s time the Witness finally went out of focus. ”