Page 15 of Made For Ruin

The ground floor is a sea of designer suits and glittering cocktail dresses. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over polished surfaces, turning everything golden. Wait staff weave through the crowd with trays of champagne flutes balanced precariously on their fingertips.

I feel like a bull in a goddamn china shop.

Reign was right. I should’ve worn something other than my usual flannel and work boots. But it’s too late now.

My eyes scan the room, taking in the excess. A massive bar dominates one wall, shelves stocked with top-shelf liquor thatprobably costs more than my truck. Across the room, a DJ booth pulses with light in time to the music.

I push through the throng, muttering half-hearted apologies as I bump elbows and jostle drinks. The VIP lounge beckons from the far corner, a velvet rope and stern-faced security guard marking its entrance.

Finally breaking free of the crowd, I nod to the guard. He unhooks the rope without a word.

The vibe shifts as soon as I step inside. The music fades to a dull thrum, conversations dropping to murmurs. Plush leather couches and low tables replace the dancefloor’s frenetic energy. The lighting is softer here, amber-hued and intimate.

I spot Reign in the corner, looking like he stepped out of a Bond film in his perfectly tailored tux. A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth as he takes in my attire.

“Glad to see you dressed for the occasion,” he quips as I approach.

I settle into the seat beside him. “You know me. Always ready for a black-tie affair.”

“And here I thought I’d finally get to see you in a suit.”

I ignore his comment, scanning the room instead.

The VIP lounge is a who’s who of Cooper Heights society. Old money mingles with tech millionaires, all of them sipping overpriced cocktails and pretending they’re not sizing each other up.

“How’s security looking?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

Reign leans in, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert.

“So far, so good. We’ve got eyes on every entrance and exit. The staff’s been thoroughly vetted. And I’ve got a team monitoring the security feeds in real-time.”

I nod, impressed despite myself. Reign’s always been thorough, but he’s outdone himself tonight.

“Enzo here?”

Reign’s lips quirk in a humorless smile. “Holding court in the corner, as usual.”

I follow his gaze to a secluded alcove.

Sure enough, there’s Enzo Castellano, the unofficial king of Cooper Heights’ underworld. He’s surrounded by a mix of beautiful women and men who look like they could double as bouncers. Enzo himself is all quiet power in an impeccably tailored suit, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back.

As I watch, he leans in to whisper something to one of his companions. The man nods sharply and slips away, disappearing into the crowd.

“What’s your read on him tonight?” I ask Reign, not taking my eyes off Enzo.

Reign shrugs, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. “He’s playing nice for now. But you know Enzo. He’s always got an angle.”

I grunt in agreement. That’s what worries me. In a room full of power players, Enzo Castellano might just be the most dangerous of them all.

As if sensing my thoughts, Enzo looks up and meets my gaze across the room. He raises his glass in a mock toast, a half-smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. My jaw clenches involuntarily.

“Ignore him,” Reign murmurs, leaning in close. “He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”

I grunt, tearing my eyes away from Enzo’s smug face. “Easier said than done.”

Reign claps a hand on my shoulder.

“Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour. Show you where you’ll be posted tonight.”

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