Chapter 6 - The Lion's Den
The Drake Hotel looked like a palace built for thieves who bought their way into high society.
Chandeliers the size of small cars hung from gilded ceilings, casting fractured light over hundreds of men in tailored tuxedos and women dripping in diamonds. Classical music floated through the air, masking the predatory murmurs of politicians, cartel bosses, and corrupt judges clinking champagne flutes.
The moment Adrian Voss walked through the double doors with me on his arm, the ballroom went dead silent.
The music didn't stop, but the conversations did. Eyes snapped toward us like iron filings to a magnet. Adrian didn't acknowledge a single soul; he walked with the effortless, lethal grace of a man who owned the ground beneath his feet.
“They’re staring,” I whispered through a tight smile, keeping my hand anchored to his bicep.
“Let them,” Adrian murmured back, his head bent slightly toward mine as if we were sharing an intimate secret. “They thought I was dead in Lake Forest. Seeing me here—unscratched, with you—is costing Victor Marcone a million dollars in lost reputation every second.”
“Happy to be of service to your brand.”
Before he could answer, a man stepped out of the crowd, blocking our path.
He was in his late fifties, with silver hair, a cruel, thin mouth, and cold, pale eyes that swept over me like a snake evaluating prey. Victor Marcone.
“Adrian,” Marcone purred, raising his champagne glass. “I had heard a terrible rumor that you had plumbing issues out in the woods. I was worried you wouldn't make it.”
Adrian didn't flinch. His expression remained a mask of polite indifference. “A minor inconvenience, Victor. Easily disposed of. Like all cheap pests.”
Marcone’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. His gaze shifted directly to me, raking over the emerald dress with greasy familiarity. “And who is this lovely creature? You usually keep your playthings hidden behind locked gates.”
Adrian’s grip on my waist tightened instantly, his thumb digging into my hip with possessive force. The warmth in the room plummeted.
“Her name is Maya,” Adrian said, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “And if you look at her again with that expression, Victor, I will gouge your eyes out with the butter knife on that table, and nobody in this room will move to stop me.”
A collective gasp rippled through the nearby guests.
Marcone stiffened, his face flushing crimson. For three agonizing seconds, nobody breathed. The tension was a wire pulled to the breaking point.
Then, Marcone forced a laugh that sounded like dry leaves scraping over concrete. “Always the dramatic, Voss. Enjoy the evening. The main course hasn't even been served yet.”
He turned on his heel and melted back into the crowd.
I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. “Is that how you normally network?”
May you like
“Only with men I intend to bury by Sunday,” Adrian replied calmly, signaling a waiter for two glasses of sparkling water. “Drink. The show is about to start.”
***