“Hey.” Milk’s hand fell on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, getting to my feet, ignoring how my stomach twisted. “I’m good.”
“No one will be paying attention. I took a sneak peek at the event; people are packed in, and I don’t think anyone is listening to the band playing. This is just a background thing.”
“Okay, I’m ready.” I turned to the other dancers, two girls who looked about my age, fixing each other’s jewelry pieces. “You guys good?”
“Yes,” one of them answered.
“I was hoping Fatima’s stomachache would subside before it was time,” the smaller one said. “She practiced so hard for this.”
“Yes, poor Fatima,” I said distractedly, picking up my phone and sending anotherCan we talk? Text me backmessage to Elio. It was delivered.
I waited a few seconds for a response, but nothing came.
Milk snatched the phone from my hand with a glare. “I never expected you to be a clingy girlfriend,” she said. “It’s pathetic.”
“I know. I’m just stressed. It might be more from the fact that he thinks that I’m trying to sabotage his relationship with Devil.”
“I understand, but let’s get through this first, okay?”
I nodded. “Right, yeah, you’re right, okay.”
The place was packed, as Milk had said. I was grateful for the dim lighting and the chatter of people around.
When we got onstage, I allowed my body to get familiar with the environment, let my eyes roam the crowd: the men and women were all in casual clothing, and the air was chill. You could tell only rich people were here, the smell of expensive perfumes, calculating smiles, old costly wine in elite-looking wineglasses.
My eyes zeroed in on the target.
Kareem Fadel. Late fifties. Wealthy, the philanthropist of all philanthropists. According to everything else we’d dug up, this man sought perfection, enchantment, and orderliness. He saw people for who they were, hence why he was who he was and still breathing.
Word from the people was that he was kindhearted; he shared his things as if the people he helped were family. It was admirable.
And I had to ace this right out the gate.
“Hey,” I called to the two girls. “I’ll give you ten thousand dollars each if you get off this stage and leave this to me.”
They frowned, eyes filling with confusion.
“You have that kind of money?” one asked.
“And more, if you want. Quick decisions. We don’t have time.”
“You’re not some… assassin, are you?”
“Do I look like I carry a fucking gun with me?”
One of them nodded. The other shook her head.
“Great, then. Are you leaving or not? It’s either ten thousand each, or I fuck up this dance and have you both on Kareem’s bad side. Time is ticking.”
They looked uncertain at first but then hopped quietly off the stage. I spotted the DJ frowning at them and then at me with confusion. I nodded for him to carry on.
My eyes settled on Kareem again as the lights started to dim. I swallowed my nerves. Then something silver glinted beside Kareem.
Rings.
Familiar rings.
