Chapter 10 - The Lion's Court
The Grand Continental ballroom was a spectacle of decadent luxury and concealed violence. Crystal chandeliers dripped from gilded ceilings, champagne flowed like water, and men in four-figure tuxedos exchanged pleasantries while their bodyguards stood shoulder-to-shoulder along the perimeter with hands tucked inside their jackets.
The moment Roman and I stepped through the grand archway, the low hum of conversation withered into total, suffocating silence.
All eyes locked on Roman Vane. And then, inevitably, shifted to me, his arm wrapped firmly around my waist, his thumb possessively resting against the curve of my hip.
Whispers rippled through the crowd like venom.
*"That's her?"*
*"The girl from the firebombing?"*
*"Vane went to war with the Russians over a nobody?"*
Roman didn't flinch. He walked into the lion's den with the arrogant stride of a predator who owned the cage. He guided me toward the VIP lounge, nodding curtly to terrified city commissioners and allied capos who parted like the Red Sea.
Suddenly, a sneering voice cut through the orchestra’s music.
"Ah, the legendary Roman Vane. Come to show off his latest charity case?"
A burly man with silver hair, a scarred face, and cold blue eyes stepped into our path, flanked by four hulking guards.
Petrov.
The air in the ballroom instantly turned to ice. Guests subtly took three steps back, clearing a lethal perimeter.
Roman’s grip on my waist didn't tighten, but his posture shifted, coiled and ready to strike. "Petrov. I’m surprised you found the courage to show your face after your dogs failed so miserably on my balcony last night."
Petrov chuckled darkly, his eyes raking over me with sickening hunger. "A lucky break, Vane. She’s pretty, I’ll give you that. But a street rat in silk is still a rat. Tell me, sweetheart... how much does Roman pay you to pretend you aren't terrified of sleeping with a monster?"
The insult hung in the air, heavy and lethal. Roman’s hand reached beneath his tuxedo jacket, his knuckles whitening.
Before Roman could draw his weapon and ignite an all-out bloodbath in the ballroom, I stepped forward.
My heart was pounding like a war drum, but the memory of Petrov’s men destroying my home, threatening my life, ignited a burning fire in my chest. I looked Petrov dead in the eyes and offered a slow, venomous smile.
"He doesn't have to pay me anything, Mr. Petrov," I said, my voice carrying clearly across the quiet hall. "Unlike your men, Roman actually knows how to finish a job. Perhaps you should spend less time gossiping like a jealous schoolgirl and more time wondering where your dock shipments went at midnight."
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A collective gasp echoed across the grand hall. Petrov’s face turned deep purple with rage. Roman looked down at me, his gray eyes flashing with an unholy mixture of shock and sheer, intoxicating adoration.
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