Page 13 of French Quarter Heiress

Does she really think she can deny the power I hold over her? Does she think she will be able to resist me if we find ourselves alone, desperation and longing evident in each other’s eyes?

She wants power and so do I. This is a game I intend to win.

One speakeasy at a time, one heart at a time. Until the wolves rule supreme, and the name of Beau is spoken with fear and respect in every corner of New Orleans.

"Let's get to work, boys," I say, my voice ringing with authority. "We've got a speakeasy to build, and a city to claim as our own."

And as we set to work, tearing down walls and hauling in supplies, I can feel the excitement building in my chest. The thrill of the hunt, the rush of the conquest.

The Delacroix thought they could break me, that they could keep me in my place with their money and their power. But they were wrong.

I am Beau, head enforcer of the Crescent City Wolves.

And I will not be denied.

Not now, not ever.

8

ELISE

Istep out of the sleek black 1923 Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost, the purring engine turning heads even among the parade of luxury automobiles lining the street. I hand the keys to the eager valet in exchange for a blue ticket stub. The glittering facade of The Lunar, the wolves’ daring new speakeasy, rises before me like a monument to excess and ambition.

I'm dressed to blend in with the crowd of wealthy elites and Hollywood starlets that flock to the club, my sequined red dress clinging to my figure like a second skin. The beadwork shimmers under the glow of the street lamps, casting a mesmerizing pattern of light and shadow across my pale skin.

My hair is styled in the latest finger waves, the dark tresses framing my face in a halo of glossy perfection. A single white ostrich feather is tucked into my hair, adding a touch of whimsy to my otherwise sophisticated appearance.

I pause for a moment, taking in the scene. The Lunar is unlike anything the city has ever seen before, they spared no expense, a modern art deco marvel that seems to pulse with a life of its own. The towering neon sign above the entrance bathes the street in a kaleidoscope of colors, the name "Lunar" spelled out in glowing letters that shift and shimmer like a mirage.

A steady stream of patrons flows into the club, the line stretching down the block. Men in tailored suits and women draped in furs and diamonds, all eager to experience the thrill and glamour of the newest club. The air hums with excitement and anticipation, the distant strains of jazz music drifting out from the open doors.

I feel a twinge of reluctant admiration for Beau's audacity. To open such a lavish establishment in the heart of Delacroix territory is a bold move, a direct challenge to my family's authority. And he really did his homework, promoting the hell out of the club, getting donations from all the movers and shakers of the city. Father is furious, of course, his rage a palpable force within the walls of our ancestral home.

But even he must tread carefully when it comes to The Lunar.

The club has become the talk of the town, a glittering jewel that has captivated the imagination of the city's elite. To move against it openly would be to risk a scandal, to invite whispers of tyranny and oppression.

And so, Father's hands are tied, at least for the moment.

But I am not so constrained.

As I glide towards the entrance, my heels clicking against the pavement, I feel a sense of purpose settles over me. Tonight, I will gather intelligence on Beau's operations and search for weaknesses that can be exploited.

The Lunar may be a marvel, but it is built on a foundation of blood and secrets.

The bouncers at the door eye me with a mix of wariness and appreciation as I approach, their gazes lingering on the curves of my body. I flash them a smile, all red lips and pearly whites, and they step aside without a word. They know better than to impede a woman of my class, even one as young and seemingly innocent as myself.

As I step over the threshold, the pulsing rhythm of the music washes over me, the air thick with the scent of perfume and cigarette smoke. The interior of the club is even more opulent than the exterior, a riot of color and texture that dazzles the senses.

Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting a soft glow over the polished dance floor. The walls are adorned with vibrant murals depicting scenes of mythical creatures and far-off lands, each one a masterpiece of art deco design. Plush velvet booths line the perimeter of the room, providing intimate spaces for the club's more distinguished guests.

And there, holding court at the center of it all, is Beau himself. He's dressed in a crisp white suit, his dark hair slicked back in a rakish style. He moves through the crowd with the easy grace of a predator, his smile flashing like a knife in the dark.

That bastard is handsome and he knows it. He knows that he can call the attention of everyone around him with just one movement. It makes him magnetic. And dangerous.

For a moment, our eyes meet across the room, and I feel a jolt of electricity pass between us. His gaze is hungry, filled with a raw, primal desire that makes my skin prickle with heat.

But there's something else there too, a flicker of challenge, of defiance.

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