Page 92 of Goldflame

“For Serafina,” I say to Francis while he’s still conscious. “Remember her? The woman you held down while they violated her?” I pull the mask from my face, letting him see me clearly. “Her daughter sends her regards.”

Recognition flickers in his gaze just before he passes out. Soon, the drug will work its magic, stopping his heart.

Justice delivered. Another name crossed off my list.

I watch, detached yet hyperaware, as Adrian finishes setting it all up. He carries Francis to the bed, then positions a vial of Carfentanil in his hand, emptying some in Francis’s mouth. He stages it so it looks like Francis enjoyed himself too much and overdosed.

Finally, Adrian checks for a pulse, then nods once. “It’s done.” He straightens, adjusting his cuffs. “We should go. The bodyguards won’t be gone forever.”

We leave as we came, through the crowded party, and no one suspects a thing. Francis’s body won’t be discovered for a few hours. We’ll be long gone by then, the evidence of our presence erased as methodically as Adrian approaches everything in life.

In the car, the adrenaline finally catches up to me. My hands shake as I remove the blonde wig, my breath coming in quick, shallow bursts.

“Are you alright?” Adrian asks, his eyes never leaving the road.

“Yes.” And I am. I feel cleansed, as if something poisonous has been drained from my veins. “Just processing.”

“You did well in there.”

“We did.” I turn to look at his profile, studying the sharp line of his jaw. “Thank you for helping me.”

“Always.”

When we arrive back at Lorenzo’s estate, he’s waiting in the entryway, pacing and looking concerned. “Well?” he asks, searching our faces for signs of trouble.

Adrian and I exchange a glance, and something passes between us—a shared secret, a bond forged in vengeance.

“Mission accomplished,” Adrian says.

Lorenzo’s tension visibly melts. “Ah, grazie al cielo! Mi hai tolto un peso. I was beginning to worry.”

“You shouldn’t have,” I tell him, removing the last of the prosthetics from my face. “We work well together.”

“I can see that.” Lorenzo’s eyes move between us, aknowing smile playing at his lips. “If you two were any more in sync, you’d be finishing each other’s?—”

“Sentences?” Adrian and I say simultaneously, then turn to each other and smile.

Lorenzo bursts into laughter, the sound echoing through the grand foyer. “I rest my case. You two were made for each other.” He shakes his head, still chuckling. “Get some rest. I’ll have breakfast ready in the morning.” He leaves us standing in the entryway.

Adrian’s gaze lingers on my face. “Goodnight, Aurelia,” he says finally, his voice a low rumble that creates goosebumps across my skin.

“Goodnight… Dante.”

He reaches out, his fingers brushing against mine for the briefest moment before he turns and walks away, leaving me with only the ghost of his touch.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

DANTE

The security feeds cast an otherworldly glow across my office. Five camera angles capture everything happening in the basement room—a space Lorenzo designed for “entertainment purposes” that now serves our more strategic aims. The central monitor displays the poker table, where Aurelia sits among four Consortium associates, each man leaning forward with barely disguised interest.

I adjust the volume, catching the low rumble of masculine laughter as someone makes a crude joke. Aurelia’s responding smile is perfect—just enough warmth to encourage without seeming eager.

“Gentlemen,” she says. “Shall we make this more… interesting?”

The cards in her hands fan out as she examines them. I’ve memorized her tells by now—the slight furrow between her brows indicates a weak hand. She’s losing deliberately, precisely as we planned.

The men exchange glances that communicatevarying level of lust. Lorenzo selected them carefully: each has connections to DeSean Smith’s money laundering operation, each harbors information we require, and each believes they’ve been granted exclusive access to the infamous Golden One through Lorenzo’s generosity.

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