Chapter 3 - The Blood on the VelvetWe moved across the ballroom floor like a sovereign power executing a precise, surgical sweep.
Clara walked beside me, her hand tucked comfortably through my arm, her posture royal and unshakeable. To the watching socialites, we appeared to be a wealthy titan and his stunning, radiant partner enjoying a private joke amidst the party.
When we reached the champagne tower, Vance—the courier in the blue velvet jacket—was reaching into his coat for a satellite phone.
I didn't draw my weapon.
I stepped up beside him, my broad hand coming down onto his shoulder like a vice, my fingers digging deep into his collarbone nerve cluster.
Vance let out a gasp of sudden pain, his knees buckling, but before he could stumble, Clara stepped in close, smoothly sliding her hand into his inner coat pocket, retrieving the sleek silver thumb drive before he even realized it was gone.
"Thank you, Vance," Clara murmured sweetly, slipping the drive into her emerald clutch bag. "Your Delaware access codes were outdated anyway."
Vance stared at her in utter, horror-stricken shock, his face completely drained of color as he realized the trap had collapsed around him.
"Adrian...!" Mason’s rough voice cut through the air behind us.
I turned slowly.
Mason Rusk stood ten feet away near the service corridor entrance, flanked by three heavy-set enforcers in dark suits. His sidearm was drawn, hidden beneath his jacket, his face contorted in a wild, desperate rage.
"You should have taken the bullet, Boss," Mason hissed under his breath, his eyes darting frantically toward the watching crowd. "Sloan owns the West River now. The board approved the takeover twenty minutes ago!"
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"Sloan owns nothing, Mason," I spoke, my voice smooth, quiet, and cold as winter ice. "Because five minutes ago, my wife locked your offshore servers."
Mason froze, his eyes bulging out of his head as he looked from my storm-gray eyes to Clara, who held up the silver thumb drive with a razor-sharp, triumphant smile.
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