Page 76 of Knights Game

All the while, explosions of lights as paparazzi try to catch a glimpse of celebrities, A-Listers and—Jesus … is that?

Luca follows where I’m looking.

“Yes, the prime minister along with his top cabinet members.”

“But you’re ”

“I’m what?”

“You.”

“Yes, I am me.” He stops us in front of a camera and lets them take pictures. I just stare at him. “Look at the camera, sunshine.” I do as I’m told, and plaster on a fake smile but can still feel his eyes on me. “Beautiful,” he mutters before leaning in closer. “You know there is an exceptionally thin veil between what I do and what he does.” He nods towards the prime minister and his wife who have stopped to talk to some of the media. “The difference is I don’t hide what I do. Him, his team, they are as corrupt as me.”

I shake my head.

“You are fed lies, sunshine, by a media that is just as corrupt. The so-called neutral news outlets are fed lines and stories that they want you to hear. The only difference between him and me … I’m honest with myself and others about what I do. Those arseholes are all under the thumb of some big corporation. They are doing the bidding of whoever has them in their pocket. They are nothing more than well-spoken puppets, and you would be naive to think otherwise.”

“They can’t all be corrupt,” I say in a hushed tone, desperately holding onto the hope that not all of them are immoral bastards.

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “But I’ve not found many yet. But that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. You’d be surprised at just how dirty the main political parties are.”

I absorb everything he says, the amazing surroundings. I’m like a sponge, taking it all in.

“It’s my job to be one step ahead. And everyone in this event has an angle, an endgame. Do me a favour and remember that, will you?”

His hand drops to the small of my back, and I let him lead me up the golden carpet to more shouts and flashes.

We enter through large rotating doors into an ornate looking reception area. The white marbled floors are polished; the lights sparkle off the surface. The walls are decorated in golden plush fabric that run from the top of the double vaulted ceiling to the floor. My eyes are drawn to a huge chandelier that stands centre stage, the light shimmering off the crystal, creating rainbows.

“Holy crap.”

“You’re gawking,” Luca retorts.

“How can something so beautiful have such a dark undertone.”

“You only know it has a dark undertone. Not everyone here is a corrupt arsehole.”

“But you said—”

“I said everyone has an angle, not that everyone is corrupt. Take Mr Carmichael.” He nods to an elderly bespectacled gentleman as he leads me through the hotel. “He’s chief of surgery at St Thomas’ Hospital. He is by far one of the kindest humans I’ve ever met. His angle? Get more funding for the hospital. He isn’t corrupt though. Far from it.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because, Layla, I have to know things. Mr and Mrs Delphini, originally from Russia, now have multiple properties across London and own one of the biggest investment banks in Canary Wharf. He has a legitimate business, but behind the smiles, they have ties to some of the largest Russian gun trading families.”

I stare across and try to keep my expression neutral. They look completely normal. Mr Delphini has his arm looped through his wife’s; he smiles and laughs and, to anyone else, they appear to be a doting couple. Not someone who has ties to the Russian mafia and weapons trade.

“People cast a blind eye. They struggle to buy their weekly food shop and are having to make decisions on whether they feed their children or heat their house because of the people inpower. Yet I’m the criminal.” He tsks. “Society is broken. Look there.” He steers me through the crowd, pointing out to other couples who are talking and mingling.

I follow his line of sight to a group of people that includes the Home Secretary.

“They’re talking.” They sip the champagne that has been passed out by servers, but nothing they are doing screams illegal.

“They’re working their angles. The Home Secretary is talking to the French Ambassador trying to tighten the rules around asylum seekers. They both have an interest in what the next political debate rules on the policy of what to do going forward. This event is to try and win votes and support.”

“What is it to you?” I ask.

“Tonight?” He glances down at me and then takes two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and hands me one. “Tonight is about showing the world how deeply in love we are with each other. Tonight is about tricking Levi into thinking his plan has worked.” He kisses my cheek and holds my hand in his free one. “Tonight, Layla, my angle is you and you alone.”

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