Trapped in Luxury Chapter 30

The Ghost in the Machine

The world narrowed to a pinprick of light. Agent Miller's face, the warning in his eyes, the cold sweat on the back of my neck. The FBI's presence was a variable we hadn't accounted for. Were they here for Valerius? For me? The two missions could catastrophically collide.

I didn't break character. I gave Miller the faintest, almost imperceptible shake of my head, my smile never wavering as I turned to accept a compliment from a vapid socialite. Stand down. Abort. I prayed he understood. My hand, holding a champagne flute, was steady. The signet ring felt like an anchor.

Luca's voice was a low growl in my ear through the comms. "You're tense. What is it?"

"Uninvited guests," I murmured into the crystal rim of my glass, the words masked by the orchestra's swell. "FBI. East quadrant. By the ice swan."

A beat of deadly silence. "Understood. Stick to the plan. They're spectators now."

The plan. Walk the predetermined route. Lure the ghost into the kill zone. But with the FBI here, the kill zone was a powder keg.

I continued my circuit, my skin crawling with the sensation of a thousand eyes. I felt Valerius before I saw any sign of him. A shift in the air. A predator's focus so intense it was a physical pressure. He was close.

Then, the lights died.

Not a flicker. A total, plunging blackout that swallowed the ballroom whole. The music cut off, replaced by a wave of startled gasps and confused murmurs. This wasn't part of our plan. Valerius was changing the game.

My training took over. I dropped into a crouch, the champagne flute shattering on the floor beside me. I was a moving target in a sea of disoriented, standing ones.

"Anna!" Luca's voice was sharp in my ear, laced with a fear I'd never heard before.

I didn't answer. I was listening.

Over the confused babble of the crowd, I heard it. A sound so soft it was almost imagined. The whisper of fabric, the nearly silent intake of breath, moving against the tide of panicked guests. He was coming. He was using the darkness as his cloak.

A hand clamped over my mouth from behind, an arm like a steel bar locking around my waist, lifting me off my feet. I didn't scream. I bit down hard on the gloved hand, my elbow driving backward into a solid, muscular torso. I heard a grunt, but the grip didn't loosen. He was strong. Impossibly strong.

He was dragging me backward, away from the main crowd, toward a service entrance I knew was there. This was his exit.

"Service corridor, west wall!" I hissed into my comms, the words muffled by his hand.

I fought, a silent, brutal struggle in the dark. My heels were useless. My nails scratched at leather. He was a machine, his movements efficient, devoid of anger or emotion. This was just a job.

We burst through the service door into a dimly lit concrete corridor. The sounds of the gala were distant now. He slammed me against the wall, the impact driving the air from my lungs. For the first time, I saw his face in the emergency light's green glow. It was utterly ordinary. Forgettable. Except for the eyes. They were the deadest things I had ever seen.

He didn't speak. He raised a syringe filled with a clear liquid. Not a bullet. A kidnapping. The contract was to take me alive.

As his arm descended, a shot rang out, deafening in the confined space.

Not from a sniper rifle. From a handgun.

Valerius jerked, a bloom of red appearing on his shoulder. The syringe clattered to the floor. He spun, his own weapon appearing in his hand as if by magic.

Standing at the end of the corridor was Agent Miller, his service pistol aimed, his face a mask of grim determination. "Federal agent! Drop your weapon!"

Valerius didn't drop it. He fired twice, the reports thunderous. Miller cried out, stumbling back.

In that split second of distraction, I acted. I reached into the slit of my gown, my fingers closing around the cool, familiar grip of my own small semi-automatic. I didn't aim. I pressed the muzzle against Valerius's side, under his arm, and pulled the trigger.

The sound was a dull thud. He stiffened, his dead eyes widening in a flicker of pure, uncomprehending shock. He looked at me, at the tiny, elegant gun in my hand, as if I had broken some fundamental rule of the universe.

He sank to his knees, then onto his side, his blood pooling on the concrete.

Boots pounded down the corridor. Luca and his men, their flashlight beams cutting through the gloom. He skidded to a halt, his eyes wild, taking in the scene—me, leaning against the wall, breathing heavily, Valerius dead at my feet, and Agent Miller, clutching a bleeding wound in his leg, staring at me with a look of horror and revelation.

Luca crossed the space in two strides, pulling me into his arms, his body trembling. "Dio mio, Anna..."

Over his shoulder, I met Miller's gaze. He had seen it all. He had seen the Donna, the queen of the underworld, execute a man in cold blood. He knew who I was now. What I was.

The ghost was dead.

But he had left behind a witness.

And the witness was the one organization that could still bring my world crashing down.