We walk down the halls, past all the old busts on pillars and art, down the grand staircase, into the chaos, where I notice Raven is helping the musicians in the corner on a small dais set up. Past all the people running around in little penguin suits, down another short hallway to a den where the authors are setting up all of their things, through another corridor, and to where Aleksi and Niko stand in suits with Damon.
“Ready?” Sabrina asks. They nod.
We go through a final door, where they’ve been waiting for us. More guards are inside, both Russian and Italian, all eyes on us as we step through the threshold. Every head is there—including their wives.
“Sabrina,” Mr. Albertini greets from the sofa, where they’re all gathered.
The door closes behind me, and I feel Raven rather than see her. She pats my arm before going to Damon, who’s patiently waiting for her. Sabrina takes a second to search the room, everyone quieting down to let their Duchess speak. My heart fills with pride at how she’s taken this role so easily. Diving in headfirst, without a glance back.
“Aleksi has put cameras in all areas to capture anything the Syndicate says or does. They trust they are safe here, which is exactly what we want for this to work. While Aleksi has headquarters back at the Winters’ Manor, he also has a small one here, located upstairs. Each person here has a job—from the croupiers to the wait staff. All of them are wired. While we are on a mission, I hope you do enjoy yourselves. While it is all an act on my part, I beg you to keep your drinking down to a minimum, if not at all. I need everyone to keep their wits about them.”
The capos nod, as do their wives and each guard.
“Well then.” Sabrina looks down at her watch then back up, leveling her shoulders and lifting her chin. “It seems it's a curtain call. It’s showtime.”
Chapter Eleven
Sabrina.
The ballroom is loud; people cheer, laughing whilst they gamble away frivolously absurd amounts of ancient blood money. I run my hands down my simple, satin, black cocktail dress. There’s a slit that goes from midthigh down to the floor, showing off my heels with butterflies on the straps encasing my ankle. They’re beautiful. I'll have to burn them as soon as tonight is over. My stomach coils and dives and bounces, but as soon as I put my hand on the banister of the old grand staircase, I swallow it all down, shoving all of those emotions lower, lower, until it’s nothing but a low burning pit of embers.
Parker waits for me at the base of the stairs, once again taking his role as my bodyguard and nothing more. I hate that. But I find strength in it—that no matter what, at any point in time, he’ll be watching over me. I may be in control of myself, but everything I do past this point is nothing but a reaction to whatever is said or done to me.
I am the epitome of sophistication. I am pink, and I am sleek, and even though I rage, I am the pink after flares of magenta bloom across the sky. I am perfect. I amTheDuchess. I have come to say hello to my people. I have come to enjoy the act set before me upon a stage. I am my husband’s wife. I do this for him. I am elegance and I am grace as much as I am fury roiling like waves below a tumultuous tsunami rising, set to destroy.
My wedding ring feels as heavy as my heart.
Don’t break.
I just want my husband back. I want to go uppies. I want to make him laugh that annoyed huff. Goddamnit, I want to hear himgruntat me.
I’ve lost my fucking marbles.
And I don’t want them back.
I greet and smile at everyone I come into contact with, thanking them for coming, telling them to check out the authors waiting nearby, tohave a grand old time. Mother watches me from afar, only to join me once I have a non-alcoholic flute of champagne in my gloved hand. She has one as well. “Hello, Tink.”
“Mum.”
She raises her flute to her lips. “The turnout was incredible for being such short notice.”
“Yes, well, everyone wants to be part of something you create. You’ve done very well for yourself, considering most of these arseholes were Father’s colleagues and hunting buddies,” I droll. I’ve been meaning to ask her if he ever truly hunted at all.
She looks me over, a small frown marring her face whilst taking a sip. “You don’t think you have?”
I shrug. “Mum, I currently do not have the mental capacity to have this type of conversation at the moment. I’m afraid I'm bad company, seeing as I’m not allowed to slit Kane’s throat until I have Maks’s location.”
“Alright,” she hums. “Well, if you do get to slit his throat, try to do it on the red rug, not the hardwood. Less mess and a much quicker cleanup. Oh! There’s Theresa. Hello, Theresa!” She waves at the waif of a woman in red. “The old hag owes me five hundred pounds,” she murmurs from the corner of her lips. “I’ll talk to you later, darling.” She leaves me to chase after Theresa as more guests come through, dressed like opulent statues with pinched faces.
I groan, searching the chandelier for patience when I feel them—dread-like fissures crawling over my flesh like tarry leeches in dark water, ready to engulf me. Ever so slowly I deadpan, only for my gaze to connect with hazel eyes that seem to change from green to blue—like a serpent shedding its skin before my very eyes. I smile my most flirty smile at Kane, tip my flute to him, take a sip, then send him a wink.
I stride towards the room where the newbie authors are, speaking to each of them, thanking them for coming on such short notice, letting them know to please put aside one book for me as I’ll be purchasing them all later. I make jokes, I speak to everyone, and I let the time whir around me like grains of sand falling all around me, settling like ash.
I feel his presence ashegets closer every hour, following me.
A memory hits me like a bolt of lightning. It’s so strong I have to dive behind a pillar.
“I’m to marry you, Sabrina. You’ll be my wife. We’ll have four children.”
