But Lexie…Lexie looks likemine.
I adjust my own mask, black, covering most of my face but not my mouth. Phantom-mask worthy with a hint of skeletal bone. No one from the Family will recognize me here.
Lexie gasps again when we step inside the foyer.
Chandeliers drip crystal from the vaulted ceilings, marble floors polished to a shine, and tapestries hang on the walls. Candles flicker in sconces, casting dancing shadows, and the air smells of roses and something darker. Incense, maybe.
“This is incredible,” Lexie sighs.
Christ, she sets me aflame. Before her, my life was hollow automation—nothing but shades of gray until this wittywallflower swept in and saved the sorry bastard who threatened her with a gun. And still, she brought me home and treated me. No police. No threats. From the moment she called me “Sir”, I knew I’d never let her go.
With my hand on the small of her back, I guide her through the masked crowd. Everyone is dressed to the nines with gowns, suits, and elaborate masks. Energy charges the air from the anonymity. No one knows who anyone else is. It’s freeing.
And dangerous.
I lower my voice to tell Lexie, “I need to speak with the host. Will you be alright with River for a bit?”
She nods, her posture dripping with self-assurance. “Of course. I like to dance,” she says sweetly.
River loops her arm through Lexie’s. “Come on, babes. Let’s get on the floor and scope out the competition.”
I watch them disappear into the crowd, then make my way toward the back of the manor. Conor’s office is tucked away in a quiet corner, away from the chaos. He’s always in his office during his galas.
I knock once, then push the door open, removing my mask.
He sits behind a massive oak desk, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He’s a big man: broad-shouldered, with silver hair and sharp eyes which have seen their share of trouble.
“Liam Donovan.” He grins, standing and extending his hand. “This is a surprise.”
I shake his hand, then close the door behind me. “Conor. Good to see you, old friend.”
“Likewise.” He gestures to the chair across from him. “Came for the party?”
“In a way.”
“Sit. Drink?” he offers.
“Aye.”
I lower myself into the chair as he pours me a glass of expensive whiskey and slides it across the desk. I take a sip, savoring the sting, then set it down.
“So,” Conor leans back in his chair, “What brings the head of the Irish Family to my humble party?”
I smirk. “Humble. Right.”
He chuckles. “Fair point. But seriously, Liam. You’re not here for the ambiance.”
“I need a favor. And discretion.” I cut to the chase. “There’s a situation. A traitor in my organization. I’m lying low for a bit, and I need a place where no one will ask questions.”
Conor’s expression sobers. “You’ve got it. You know I owe you a life debt, Liam. Your ruthless business practices for the procurement of my manor cannot compare to what you did for me back in Ireland…” He shakes his head. “I’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”
“You’d have done the same.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He sips his whiskey and drums his fingers on the table. “Either way, you’ve got full access to the manor. Anything you need—rooms, food, drink—it’s yours. No questions asked.”
“Appreciated.”
“One other matter, old friend,” I add.
