Chapter 4 - Silk, Steel, and SecretsThe ballroom of the Drake Hotel glittered under ten thousand crystal crystals, a suffocating sea of white-tie tuxedoes, cascading champagne towers, and polite, predatory laughter.
Nina stood near the grand staircase, her breath hitched in the tight bodice of the midnight-blue silk gown Elena had forced her into. The slit up the side of the dress revealed a pair of sleek black heels, and her hair was pinned into an intricate chignon that made her look every bit the high-society heiress.
But the real accessory turning heads across the opulent room wasn't the jewelry or the dresses—it was the massive, muscled pit bull sitting calmly at her side, wearing a custom-tailored black leather harness bearing a polished silver badge.
“Keep walking. Keep your eyes open,” Sebastian’s voice echoed in the tiny wireless earpiece hidden beneath her hair.
“Easy for you to say,” Nina murmured under her breath, pretending to sip from a flute of champagne she had no intention of drinking. “Half the room looks like they want to have Cerberus stuffed and mounted for their den.”
“Let them try,” Sebastian’s rich, low voice rumbled in her ear. “You’re standing by the east balcony. Whitmore is moving through the crowd on your left. He’s carrying a black leather briefcase containing the offshore wire transfer codes for your mother’s apartment block. Get it.”
Nina’s pulse spiked. She scanned the crowd until she spotted Caleb Whitmore, flushed with wine and surrounded by two city councilmen, laughing boisterously as he clutched a heavy leather briefcase like a life preserver.
“And how, exactly, do you suggest I pry a multi-million-dollar briefcase out of a corrupt developer’s hands at a charity gala?” Nina hissed softly into her lapel mic.
“Improvise,” Sebastian replied smoothly. “That’s what I’m paying you for.”
Before she could retort, Cerberus suddenly shifted. The dog’s ears perked forward, his massive body tensing into a coiled spring. A low, vibrating growl rumbled in his chest—not loud enough to draw the attention of the orchestra, but sharp enough to make Nina’s skin prickle.
Caleb Whitmore had broken away from the councilmen and was heading straight toward the balcony doors, his eyes locking onto Nina with a predatory glint.
“Well, well, well,” Caleb slurred, stepping into her path, blocking her exit. His face was slick with sweat despite the air conditioning. “If it isn't the little waitress from The Serpent Room. Trading up, I see. Though bringing a mutt to a charity event? Typical low-class trash.”
Nina stood her ground, her chin raised, though her hands trembled slightly against the folds of her silk gown. “Careful, Mr. Whitmore. You’re making a scene.”
“A scene?” Caleb laughed, stepping closer, his hand reaching out to grab her bare arm. “I’m just admiring the—GAAAH!”
The movement was instantaneous.
Cerberus didn’t bark, didn’t leap, didn’t snap. He simply stepped forward with terrifying, liquid grace, placing his seventy-pound bulk directly between Nina and Caleb. His broad head dropped low, amber eyes locked onto Caleb’s wrist, and a sound like grinding tectonic plates echoed from deep within his chest.
Caleb froze, his hand hovering inches from Nina’s skin, his face draining to a sickly, pasty gray.
“Get that—that demon away from me!” Caleb choked out, stumbling backward into a small marble pedestal supporting a massive floral arrangement.
The vase wobbled, tipped, and crashed to the floor in an explosion of water, ceramic, and orchids, instantly silencing the nearest cluster of socialites.
In the chaos, Caleb dropped his leather briefcase. It hit the marble with a heavy thud, the brass clasp springing open just enough to reveal a stack of legal deeds and a flash drive labeled WEST SIDE ACQUISITION.
Nina didn’t hesitate.
Dropping to her knees amid the shattered porcelain, she scooped up the flash drive and the primary deed to her mother’s apartment building, slipping them seamlessly into the hidden pocket sewn into the lining of her gown.
“My apologies, Mr. Whitmore,” a cool, velvet voice cut smoothly through the sudden uproar.
May you like
Sebastian Crowe emerged from the crowd, looking impeccably tailored in a midnight-black tuxedo, his expression an absolute mask of polite indifference. He extended a hand to help Caleb up, his fingers gripping the developer’s forearm with a bone-crushing pressure that made Caleb whimper.
“It seems my dog has a very low tolerance for clumsy men,” Sebastian murmured, his dark eyes flashing with lethal amusement. “Perhaps it’s time you called it a night, Caleb. Before things get truly awkward.”
