Page 87 of The Devil's Thorn
“And Romano?” I murmur.
Kellan smirks without looking at me. “Cocky. Touchy. Weak to praise.”
“And drunk?”
Ash nods. “Ten minutes in, he’ll start bragging. Fifteen, he’ll start slipping.”
“Good,” I say softly. “Then fifteen minutes is all I’ll need.”
Silence falls again, thick with the tension that only comes before a storm. My fingers trace the edge of the slit in my dress, just enough to feel the dagger’s hilt.
It grounds me. It reminds me thatthis—this assignment, this room full of men with too much power and too little discipline—isn’t a threat. It’s anopportunity.
And I intend to make the most of it.
The mansion appears ahead like a mirage of old money and buried bodies—grand gates, marble columns, warm golden light spilling out of tall windows. Elegant. Lavish. Dangerous.
The kind of place where lies are served with wine.
Kellan parks the car without a word, engine fading to a low hum before cutting off entirely. I step out, smoothing the dress down my thigh as I rise. Eyes forward. Mind sharp.
Tonight, I walk into their world not as prey… But as a storm wrapped in silk.
The moment my heel touches the stone walkway outside Calderone’s estate, I can feel it—the shift in air. Heavier. Tighter. The kind of atmosphere that doesn’t breathe unless you give it permission.
The mansion risesin front of us like something out of an old European fever dream—too polished to feel lived in, too perfectnot to be hiding something. The lights cast a warm glow over the marble pillars, but it’s all a show. These people don’t do warmth.
They do control. They do calculation. And tonight… so do I.
Kellan walks beside me, silent in a fitted black suit. Ash lingers behind us, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve, already scanning every window, every shadow.
We don’t speak until we’re a few feet from the doors.
“You know the plan?” Kellan murmurs.
“I make Romano talk.”
“No violence unless it’s necessary.”
“I’ll be polite,” I say. “Until I’m not.”
Ash smirks behind me. “We’ll be in your ear. You get overwhelmed, say the word.”
“You really think I’m going to get overwhelmed?”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. They know exactly who I am. Even if Rafael still pretends he doesn’t.
Inside, the air shifts again—cooler now, scented with expensive cologne and polished ego. Music plays low in the background, a haunting string arrangement meant to sound elegant but only makes my skin itch.
I step in first. Alone.
We split the second we pass through the door—Ash disappearing into the shadows on the far side of the ballroom, Kellan moving toward a corridor that likely leads to the security exits.
They don’t look at me. Don’t nod. Don’t speak. We play the part.
Because appearances matter in places like this.
Power moves quiet in these rooms. And tonight, I’m the whisper with teeth.
