Chapter 3

Harlee

My heart is pounding in my chest as Ethan effortlessly guides me through the dance. Our steps are subtle, yet perfectly synchronized and in tune with the festive music being played by the orchestra. His deep brown eyes stare down at me, demanding my attention. Although I can make out many of his features, I want to know what he looks like without the mask; I want to know every detail of his face. His large palm rests on the small of my back, his fingers occasionally brushing my spine, sending shivers through my entire body.

Our flirtatious conversation has thankfully died down because I am not sure if my heart could have handled any more of this man's words. It's been a while since someone has flirted with me with such confidence. Usually, the poor bastards try it during my exhibitions, when I'm in no way interested in men's attention other than selling my paintings to them for ridiculous amounts of money.

But Ethan is different, not only does he know who I am, no, he knows who I truly am. He knows my darkest secret. Although I should probably be concerned about how he found out and how much more he actually knows, but... I can’t help it. He’s too tempting. Too handsome. Too... exactly what I’ve been looking for. A night of fun. A night where I can give in to my desires— where I can indulge without hesitation.

As he spins us around once more, my gaze sweeps across the room and lands on a familiar figure strutting along the edge of the dance floor. The man I've been waiting for. My attention follows him as he walks over to a group of men and women who greet him enthusiastically.

Ethan’s hand tightens on my waist, his fingers brushing just a little too intimately, pulling me back to the present. "Better keep your eyes on me, beautiful. It is not polite to lust after another man while in the arms of another." A shiver runs down my spine as the hot and humid air from his deep voice connects with my ear. His hand moves from my waist to my ass, cupping my cheek as his grip tightens, sending a jolt to my core. There is no way I am going to lust after any other man than him tonight.

I turn my attention back to him, looking up at him with a smirk. "Then you better keep me interested."

"Challenge accepted." He grins, and our footsteps slow as the music fades and the orchestra quiets. Now standing, I slide my hands to his chest and wrap his tie around my fist.

"Why don't you get us something to drink? And we'll see where this night takes us?" I rise on my toes and plant a kiss on the corner of his mouth. For a brief second, his eyes leave mine, scanning the crowd before he nods.

"Of course, beautiful." He lifts my hand, wrapped in his tie, to his lips for a kiss. "Wait for me, I'll be right back," he says, and I let go of him, watching him turn and disappear into the crowd.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to refocus, but my gaze lingers, tracing the line of his broad shoulders in his perfectly fitted suit until he is completely out of sight. What the hell is he doing to me? A tiny voice in the back of my mind screams at me to just abandon the whole thing. Forget my plan and spend the night with him instead. But I know myself too well. If I let Ethan distract me, I'll never forgive myself for the lost opportunity. I don't know when I'll get another chance like this and I've already decided that he doesn't deserve to see another morning. I shake my head and take a deep breath. No distractions. Not yet.

Taking the chance, I spin on my heels and scoot through the dancing masses in the direction of my target. The plan for tonight is set, kill the bastard, gather the blood I need for my painting, come back for Ethan, and take him home.

Before I can reach my destination, Mr. Richmond and his companions are already moving across the hall to the more secluded VIP area where only a handful of specially invited guests can enter. Fortunately for me, I'm part of this circle, having sold paintings to almost every higher-up in the underworld.

As I reach the security guard guarding the entrance to the VIP area, I fish the special ticket out of my purse and show it to him. With a simple nod, he steps aside and allows me to continue down the hallway. The deeper I go, the more the boisterous sounds of the event fade away.

When I reach the secluded room, I come to a halt in the doorway. The room radiates a warm and inviting atmosphere. Decorated in warm shades of red and gold, a tall, beautiful Christmas tree stands by the window, its festive lights reflecting off the countless shiny ornaments.

Even in here, everyone keeps their masks on.

At the sound of a loud, deep voice with a Russian accent, my head jerks toward the largest group in the room, gathered around the familiar faces of the Bratva leaders, including the Pakhan. Compared to the calm demeanor he displayed when I met him at one of my exhibitions, he's unusually animated, gesturing with a drink in one hand and a broad grin stretching across his usually reserved face. His attention is fully focused on a couple standing in front of him. Other guests in the room are also transfixed by the scene, and hushed whispers fill the air as they watch.

I take my eyes off the group and survey the room, letting my gaze sweep over the other guests, until I spot the man I’m after, standing by the bar, engaged in conversation with a couple of other men by his side as they order drinks. This is good. I couldn't have asked for a better location. He most likely won't be leaving anytime soon, and although there are people around, they all seem to be occupied, so the distractions are limited.

I will freshen up and get things rolling.

Turning away from the room, I continue down the hallway, my heels clicking against marble.

As I approach the restrooms, my eyes land on a group of men lingering near the door to the women's restroom, no doubt waiting for their dates. They glance up briefly, but I don't acknowledge them, keeping my expression casual as I push past them and step inside.

A few women gather in front of the long mirror, touching up their makeup and adjusting their hair. Their voices echo off the tiled walls as they gossip.

I ignore them all and slip into the farthest stall and lock the door before opening my purse to see if everything is in its place. The drugs are neatly in a vial, the roll-up bottle to collect the blood is arranged with care, fitting perfectly in its own little space, and... I move one arm behind my back, feeling for the knife tucked into a small loop by the zipper of my dress. Everything is in place.

I close my eyes and lean against the cold, smooth wall for a moment, gathering myself as I take a deep breath. I've done this a dozen times, but every time it feels different. You never know what to expect, and that thought is still terrifying—especially since I've never killed in an environment like this. I usually prefer to do it in a quieter setting.

I let out a sigh and then flush the toilet in disguise before unlocking the stall and stepping outside, walking up to the sink to wash my hands. The few women huddled around, are now gone, replaced by a single woman hovering over the sink, her face close to the mirror as she fixes the edges of her lipstick. To hide her identity, a stunning white Venetian mask covers her face, framed by deep brown hair that cascades down her shoulders. My gaze travels over her, a gleaming white dress with off-the-shoulder sleeves decorated with crisp white feathers tightly hugging her curves.

It's the same woman who was just talking to the Pakhan. I have no idea who she is or what makes her so special, whether it's her alone or the man at her side. But she and her companion have been hanging around the head of the Bratva, and now that I have the chance, it might be wise to come up with another safety net other than escape, since the leaders and their immediate guests are strictly off-limits.

"Your dress is stunning," I say as I walk over to the sink next to her and wash my hands. At my compliment, she pulls away from the mirror to face me, batting her eyelashes before her lips stretch into a bright smile.

"Thank you. My fiancé had it custom-made for me," she says and turns back to face herself in the mirror, taking a step back and looking herself up and down.

"Custom made?" I ask.

"Yes, he is a bit extra when it comes to showing me off," she says with a chuckle.

"You’re lucky to have someone who’s proud to show you off," I say, letting the words hang between us. "A lot of women would kill for that kind of attention."

Her smile curls into a small smirk as she looks back at herself in the mirror before turning back to me. "I guess I'm one of the lucky ones," she says, a hint of pride in her voice. "He's not exactly shy about making sure everyone knows I'm his." Another chuckle follows. "Oh, by the way, my name is Evelyn," she says, holding out her hand as she introduces herself, and I take it, completely surprised at how friendly and outgoing she is, considering the people she is surrounded by.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Harlee." I flash her a smile.

"The pleasure is all mine." She offers me a warm, genuine smile. "Your dress is stunning too, the deep red compliments your blue eyes," she points out. "And if you don't mind... do I hear a British accent?"

"Thanks, and yes," I say, "I'm from London and came to the States four years ago."

"London!" Her eyes light up with interest. "This is exciting! Do you like living in New York? I'm sure it was a culture shock at first."

I laugh softly, leaning against the counter. "Yeah, it’s a whole different world from London. But I like it. New York’s got a... unique energy, you know? The pace, the chaos—it kinda suits me. Although I’m not sure I’ll ever really blend in."

Evelyn smiles, her eyes twinkling as she closes her purse and sets it on the counter. "I get that. But that’s half the fun, isn’t it? Here you can be whoever you want to be."

"Exactly." I nod, her words hitting a bit too close to home. In this city, everyone has a mask they wear. The question is, who are they underneath it?

I'm about to ask her another question when I notice that Evelyn's lively and friendly attitude has been replaced by a more serious expression. "Do you mind if I give you some advice?" she asks, the playfulness in her voice gone.

"What is it?" I frown in confusion. She takes a step forward and her hand lands on the small of my back, just above where my knife is hidden, and I freeze. There's a slight force in her touch that makes my pulse quicken and it takes everything in me not to flinch.

"You need a better place to hide it. While most men are oblivious to the subtle detail of a bulge in your dress, a trained woman will see it, plus it takes too long to grab in an emergency."

I blink quickly, my pulse racing as panic sets in. But before I can react, Evelyn's action takes me completely by surprise. In one smooth motion, she pulls up the skirt of her dress, revealing a strip of lace lingerie and a discreet holster with a blade tucked against her thigh, the strap wrapped just tight enough to keep it hidden under the fabric. With a flick of her wrist, she unbuckles the strap and holds it out to me.

"Wait, don't you need it?" I ask, the question slipping out before I can stop myself.

"I am not here for a job," she says, "It's just an old habit that is hard to kill. Besides, I can just give my knife to my fiancé to hold on to. He won’t mind."

I want to ask more, to press for details, but the sound of a bird chirping breaks through my thoughts. I glance at the counter where her phone is lighting up, the screen flashing with a notification. "Oh God," she mutters, her fingers brushing over the screen. "Speaking of him, I completely forgot he’s waiting outside." She looks back at me, her expression shifting once again to a bright smile. "I'll help you put the holster on properly, then we should go before anyone gets suspicious." Without waiting for a response, she squats down in front of me.

All previous hesitation vanishes, and I lift my dress, offering her my right thigh, where she skillfully wraps the holster around it and tightens the straps before I hand her the knife, which slides into the designated holder with ease.

"Perfect, now no one will see," she says, pushing herself back to her feet before turning back to the sink and shoving her belongings into her purse.

"Thank you," I say, offering her a warm smile as I adjust my dress, smoothing the fabric over my hips before taking a step back to inspect myself in the mirror. The knife now strapped to my thigh is completely invisible beneath the fabric.

"You're welcome, now let's go," she says, wrapping her arm around mine and leading me to the door.

"Noah!" she calls out a man's name the second we step out of the restroom, raising her arm. Then she turns to me, smiles at me, and winks. "Good luck with your kill," she says, letting go of me and squeezing my arm before bidding farewell and hurrying over to a man, leaning against one of the pillars, a glass of wine in one hand and a cigarette in the other. His mask is a simple black, like most of the men tonight. While she smiles and engages him in conversation, his face remains somewhat stoic, even as she takes the wine from him, wraps an arm around his and holds onto his biceps.

I wait and watch as they walk down the hallway and disappear through the doors of the VIP room. Taking a deep breath, I smooth out the fabric of my dress one last time before following in their direction.