Chapter 1 - The Continental
The silence in the ballroom was not sudden, but it was absolute.
It rippled outward from the brass doors, carried by the turning heads of the most dangerous men in New York.
I stood at the top of the grand staircase, letting the heavy crystal chandeliers catch the gunmetal chains of my dress.
For three years, I had been the woman who blended into the beige wallpaper of the forty-second floor.
Tonight, I was the blade they didn't see coming.
Across the room, Thomas spilled his champagne.
His cruel, mocking smile melted into an expression of sheer, unadulterated shock.
But my eyes were locked on Larkin Steves.
Larkin was a man who negotiated million-dollar arms deals without a single shift in his pulse.
Now, his dark eyes swept over me, lingering on the plunge of the black silk and the sharp cut of my espresso hair.
He did not look like a boss who had brought his secretary as a joke.
He looked like a man who had just discovered a loaded weapon on his desk.
I descended the stairs slowly, letting the steel tips of my stilettos click against the marble.
Every step was calculated, measured, and entirely devoid of fear.
Thomas recovered his composure first, stalking toward me with a sneer trying to fight its way back onto his face.
"Well, well, Penelope," Thomas drawled, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of the surrounding capos.
"Did you rob a high-end escort on your way to the subway?"
The surrounding men chuckled nervously, waiting to see if the little secretary would break and cry.
I did not stop walking until I was inches from his chest.
"No, Thomas," I said, my voice carrying the smooth, dangerous cadence of a woman who knew all his secrets.
"I simply used the bonus I gave myself for fixing the offshore accounts you mismanaged last Tuesday."
The laughter in the room died instantly.
Thomas's face flushed a violent, ugly shade of red.
He reached for my arm, his eyes flashing with the kind of violence that usually left people bleeding in alleyways.
Before his fingers could graze my skin, Larkin materialized beside me.
Larkin's hand clamped down on his cousin's wrist with bone-crushing force.
"Touch her," Larkin whispered, his voice like cracking ice, "and you will leave this hotel in a garbage bag."
Thomas wrenched his arm free, glaring at both of us before melting back into the crowd.
Larkin turned to me, his dark eyes searching my face as if trying to read a foreign language.
"You are not Penelope the secretary," Larkin said softly.
I offered him a terrifying, blood-red smile.
"I am exactly who I need to be, Mr. Steves."
Before Larkin could reply, a massive man with silver hair and a tailored Russian suit stepped into our space.
Viktor Volkov, the most brutal arms dealer on the East Coast, stared at me with wide eyes.
"Larkin," Viktor boomed, ignoring my boss completely.
May you like
Viktor reached out and grabbed my chin, his calloused thumb brushing my jaw.
"Where on earth did you find the ghost of the Volkov family?"
