Page 46 of Beautiful Vows

“Interesting,” Rafe says.

“I agree. It looks not only like it’s a high-stakes poker game…” I say, “But a summit. But where is Antonio Conti?”

“Are my father, Eduardo, and Ricardo, going into bed with the Russians and Mexicans?” Rafe muses. “It won’t end well. In fact, wipe the recording.”

“Done. And Rafe...”

“I know, I know. No direct contact.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” I say, disconnecting the call and scanning screens again.

As the music pulses through the speakers, bodies on the dance floor effortlessly glide and intertwine, creating a rousing scene. It’s what truly defines ‘Angels and Sinners’, that along with the masks.

Every patron, every dancer, every bartender, even Rafe and I all wear a disguise.

We can provide masks, but some patrons bring their own. Some are simple domino masks, while others are elaborate creations of feathers, lace, sometimes metal.

It’s a debauched masquerade here. A place where CEOs, politicians, and crime lords can shed their public personas, hide their identity. Which, for some, is far more monstrous than any mask can ever cover.

I suspect some men, such as the ones Dominic is getting involved with, like the anonymity we provide.

I scan the screens methodically. First, the main floor, then the VIP section, and to the private rooms—each area telling its own sordid story.

In one booth, I spot two couples engaged in a strip poker game. The chips they’re throwing down could buy small countries under normal circumstances. Here, their clothes are the only things they are losing. On purpose, no doubt.

One screen goes black. It’s the room Dominic is in. I grab the remote to reset it.

And that’s when everything goes to shit.

There’s a colossal commotion going down near the main entrance. I zoom in to see cops pouring in, their presence causing panic to spread like wildfire.

People grab their clothes, the emcee on the stage shoves the girl being sold into the wings.

I scan the screens, searching for Rafe.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is a raid! Everyone stay where you are!” a voice booms over a speaker. The command cuts through the music, triggering more chaos.

Patrons scramble, their carefully constructed facades crumbling. Some are already trying to bolt for the exits, while others attempt to hide under tables and behind the stage.

The aide to a high-profile politician frantically pushes him behind the bar.

In the VIP section, a famous actress dives under the table, desperate to avoid the fallout.

With a few keystrokes, I activate protocols that wipe out certain camera feeds, ensuring that while the raid is documented, the most sensitive areas remain clandestine.

This club promises the utmost discretion and for that, some people here tonight will have their attendance wiped. Though it’s saved on my secret server—you never know what information you need to retrieve.

It’s a precarious balance—providing enough evidence to satisfy the authorities while protecting my high-profile clientele.

The Syndicate’s area is still blacked out. I work quickly to rectify it. My fingers dance across the keyboard. The screen flickers to life. The poker room is now empty as I scan to find Dominic.

When I do, he’s no longer playing poker and remains eerily calm, considering he must have heard the commotion.

“Shit,” I mutter. Switching to my earpiece and connecting to our private channel. “Rafe, your father’s in a voyeur room, watching...” I narrow my eyes, seeing a woman on his knee, but only see her back. “He’s not moving.”

Rafe curses in Italian. “Of course he won’t. He thinks he’s untouchable. He probably owns half the officers.”

“Maybe, but we can’t risk it. You need to get him out. Fuck, the cops are in the Sinner’s room arresting … Oh! Thank fuck! Your father is finally making his escape.” I watch as Dominic de Luca has the female over his shoulder. She bounces as he rushes from the room and toward the exit that only a few, including the Syndicate men, know about.

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