Fucking Blue.
By the time the sun starts sinking, my thoughts keep drifting back to the mask.
I take it out again and run my fingertips over the carved roses and dark leaves. The piece is lighter than it looks, sturdy and impossibly elegant. It's the kind of thing that promises beauty and danger in the same breath. When I lift the central crest again and glimpse the hidden steel, a small spark ignites deep inside me.
Brax made this for me.
It's important to him that I'm safe.
I smile and study it for over an hour.
By eight-thirty, I'm fully dressed in a black jumpsuit tailored through the waist and flaring at the legs. My hair's curled, pinned half-up, and I put the mask in my oversized bag.
My phone buzzes.
Fiona: We're here.
Me: Coming down now.
I exit my condo and the building, and their black SUV pulls up to the entrance. Kirill's driver gets out and opens the door.
Zara slides across the seat and tosses me a wide grin. "I'm being protected tonight, too."
I laugh.
Kirill and Fiona sit across from us. He teases, "Three beauties. I'm going to be the talk of the Royal Council."
We laugh, and conversation is easy as we weave our way through town.
I ask, "Are all the Royal Council meetings in Chicago?"
Fiona's face falls. She answers, "Until we find out who tried to overthrow us."
I nod, wishing we knew who all the traitors were.
Kirill's driver takes the next turn, and the city gives way to a stretch of anonymous concrete and steel that could be any corporate district if you didn't know what slept underneath it. The SUV glides into a private underground entrance tucked behind a wall of mirrored glass. There's no signage or visible cameras, but I know we're being recorded just like every other member who enters.
Two men in black stand so still they could be statues, palms resting on the hilts of their weapons. Kirill rolls down his window and says a single word in Russian. The guards step back, and a gate opens.
We descend into the belly of the building. The elevator doors open onto a corridor. Low, amber lighting casts everything in soft shadows.The reinforced concrete walls etched with old symbols make my skin prickle.
Fiona leans toward me as we pass a black iron archway. "Did you bring your mask?"
"Of course." I push my fingers in my bag, tracing the flowers. My pulse stays steady, but the weight of the crest knife presses against my palm like a secret heartbeat.
We approach a black steel door. Kirill puts his mask on. The others follow, and I slide Brax's present over my head. A calm I've never felt floats over me, and I'm confident it's from the hidden blade that's now my insurance.
The antechamber is a circular room with a domed ceiling painted so dark it looks like a night sky without stars. Twelve family crests hang in a circle, each one representing a crime family bound to the Underworld. A single long table sits in the center.
Fiona adjusts her blue filigree mask, then checks mine with a small nod.
Kirill's black-and-silver mask is all hard edges and authority. He says, "Stay close."
"Brax already gave me the same order," I tell him.
"Then obey it twice," he answers, and I can't tell if he's joking.
We step through the final door into the council chamber.
