As I approach my new closet, I pull and tug at all the new clothes. Nothing seemsright. Nothing seemsenough. My hands land on the skin-tight PVC dress for the second time today, and I pause for a moment before ultimately deciding that’s not the first impression I want to make.
I pause on one dress. The dress Elias bought me before Tether’s gig. I hold it up, remembering how powerful I felt in that moment on stage in front of him. This is the fucking energy I need today. I put it on, dropping my panties to the floor, and appreciate the feel of it on my body.
I’ve missed this fucking dress.
I swipe some burgundy lipstick on my lips and tousle my hair. When I finally look at myself in the mirror, I smile.
Girlfriend of a mafia boss, indeed.
Forty-Five
Kat
Not Falling - Mudvayne
Elias pulls the Bentley to a slow stop inside the parking garage. The ride here was almost silent, although his hand was on my knee the whole time, grounding me. Sweat beads on the back of my neck. I have no idea what I’m walking into. A flicker of nerves flutters in my stomach—but it’s muted. Where there would normally be fear and indecision, there’s now power and composure.
The headlights blast against the concrete pillars before the engine goes quiet. For a moment, neither of us moves. I glance around at the vehicles parked nearby—black sedans, a couple of shiny motorcycles, a sleek silver Porsche. I swallow hard, and Elias gives my knee a small squeeze.
“Once we’re in there… it’sdifferent,” he says, emphasizing the last word. “I can’t show weakness, not even for you. They need to see the leader of The Circle. Not the Elias you know.” He pauses, searching my face for a reaction. “I don’t want you to think that’s me. Not with you.” A muscle in his jaw ticks as a flash of something passes over his face.
I take his hand in mine, giving it a firm squeeze. “You don’t have to protect me from you. I’ve already seen the real you, and I’m not afraid.”
He smiles, pulling me forward and giving me a soft kiss on my forehead.
We both take a deep breath as we exit the car. He opens my door for me, taking my hand and helping me out. I’m aware of every inch of exposed skin in this dress, but instead of shrinking from it, I own it. I plant my stilettoed foot on the floor, the fabric pooling at my hips, exposing my skin from ankle to hip, and rise from the car.
The air in the garage is cooler than outside, goosebumps peppering my exposed legs. My heels click against the concrete floor as we make our way to the elevator. The sound echoes further than I expected, but something about it makes me feel divinely feminine.
Entering through the doors, it’s eerily quiet. There’s a big metal detector scanner in front of the elevator doors, and three big security men guarding the entrance. But other than that, it’s just an empty, shiny, white room. I lengthen my stride as we approach the scanners. I get ready to take off my jewelry, but Elias holds my hand firmly and pulls me through the scanner with him. It screams out an alarm, but none of the security guards move to intercept us. They just incline their heads and let us walk.
Standing outside the elevator, Elias presses his thumb against the scanner before hitting the call button. He takes my hand, the gesture instantly grounding as I feel the heat from his hand move through my arm and into my body. A small camera sits in the corner above the elevator, red light blinking like a beacon. I straighten my spine, knowing someone is watching right now.Let them watch.
As the elevator door closes, Elias leans in close. “Your choice of dress is fucking cruel, little rebel,” he says, trailing his fingers up my bare thigh.
I playfully bat his hand away. “Show no weakness, boss man.”
His mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile, and a low rumble comes from his chest. The air is thick with tension as the elevator doors open, the top floor coming into view. The room swallows me the moment I step inside. White walls stretch in every direction. The air smells faintly of disinfectant and something else. Something metallic and cold. Every surface gleams under the fluorescent lights. Glass, steel, marble—all immaculate without so much as a fingerprint. No art. No clutter. Nothing unnecessary.
I don’t know what I expected the headquarters of a syndicate to look like, but it definitely wasn’t this. It looks like a tech company. Everything is clean, organized, and quiet.
Why is that more unnerving?
There are maybe fifty computers, but only about five are manned at the moment. People stop what they’re doing as we pass. Heads lift to watch us as we walk towards a partitioned room at the back. I pull my shoulders back and lengthen my stride. The fabric of the dress sways with my movement, letting slivers of skin peek out with each step. One man slowly removes his headset, eyes following us. Another woman pauses mid-typing, her fingers hovering above the keyboard as she listens.
Inadequacy creeps up my spine through instinct, but I don’t let it fully form. I just tilt my chin up and fix my gaze on a point on the wall ahead. If they’re going to look, they can look at someone who isn’t intimidated by them. I’ve survived worse than this room, and I’m not fucking prey anymore.
Standing outside of the boardroom, Elias allows me to take a breath before opening the door and motioning me to enter. I step inside and immediately know I’m not supposed to be here. The boardroom is long, all sharp angles and polished surfaces that reflect the overhead lights in a blinding way. The white walls from the control room carry through, giving the room an unnatural cleanliness to it. Gareth and Cain sit to the left of a large mahogany table, and eight more men occupying the other seats. Power clings to them like a second skin.
As the door closes behind us, the small murmur of conversation dies, and their eyes turn on me in unison. The weight of their stares hits me like a physical force. But don’t let it shrink me. Some stare at me with curiosity, trying to figure out who I am and why I’m here. Others look at me with pure disgust—one even has his lip curled. My spine stiffens when I realize he’s wearing a biker cut, and two of the men don’t even bother to hide the slow drag of their gaze over my body. I catch a brief tick of Elias’s jaw in my periphery.
One man lifts a single eyebrow while another adjusts his cufflinks without breaking eye contact. No one speaks. They don’t have to. I already know I’m breaking some kind of rule just by breathing the air in this room. That thought alone is enough to send my mind into a flurry. I guess I now know the meaning ofdrunk on power.
In the corner of the room, Gareth rises from his seat. The scrape of his chair against the hardwood floor echoes resoundingly in the quiet room. He moves to the corner and pulls out a thick leather chair—and places it directly beside the head of the table. Beside Elias’s seat.
A ripple moves through the room. Shock and anger. One of the men straightens in his seat. Another leans forward, his arms resting against the table with his fingers steepled. I don’tneed anyone to tell me this has never been done before—I can see it, in the tightening of jaws and the stiffening of shoulders around the room. They’re fucking pissed. One of the men in a biker cut lets out a sharp exhale through his nose.
Elias leads me to the head of the table, his hand never leaving mine, and he takes his seat. I take my seat right beside him.
