Page 4 of The Prize
The doors opened to a cacophony of laughter and clinking wineglasses: a sea of beautiful people within a sprawling modern penthouse with pink marble floors and walls that reflected the same gaudy decor we’d seen in the Burells’ Arizona estate. The potent presence of heavy gold trimming and the Louis XIV–style ivory couches and chairs and classical ceiling murals were all seemingly designed to suffocate his adversaries with opulence.
Tobias led me into the thrall of beautiful masked men and women who held themselves with the stature of the social elite. Their luxury perfumes and custom-made colognes drenched the air in a plume of extravagance. The ebullient mood was lifted further by the faint hypnotic music of a solo violinist, whose notes threatened to lull the unassuming.
After giving my hand a reassuring squeeze, Tobias gave me a firm glance to let me know he’d just seen Elliot Burell.
He was really here.
Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, my gaze followed Tobias’s and fell upon our enemy, sending a jolt of terror into my core. Burell’s sharp brown eyes peered through his black mask to survey his guests with a suspicious glare. He was taller than I imagined and even with his face partially covered with his mask I could see the hard lines of a worn and yet handsome face. His black tuxedo fit him flawlessly and I was unnerved to see such an athletic-looking man of seventy.
This masquerade mask may have concealed my expression but my eyes failed to hide my disgust.
A waiter hurried over to Burell carrying a single tumbler on a tray and offered the amber-colored liquor to him. Burell accepted the glass without even acknowledging the man’s presence.
“Will you be okay?” asked Tobias. “I’m going to check our exits.”
I gave a nod. There was no room for second-guessing.
We were inside the lion’s den now.
Staring beyond at the magnificent panoramic view of New York and its striking array of sparkling lights on a backdrop of a black velvet night, I imagined it was beautiful when it snowed. Catching my reflection in the glass I hardly recognized myself. This disguise provided me with the confidence to watch Burell’s reflection working the room with the arrogance of a man who had an empire at his feet. As expected he greeted his guests with a deadly precision.
My fingers trailed over the chain of my necklace and the single emerald glinted its reflection in the window before me. That it had once belonged to Tobias’s mother brought some comfort and I allowed this moment of sentimentality.
Until a jarring thought swept in, warning this may well be the ultimate trap I’d willingly walked into.
Steadying my nerves, I stared out at the impressive architectural wonder of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I hoped I’d get to visit there while I was here. My thoughts drifted to Tobias telling me about his gallery opening in the Bronx. There was so much good we could continue to do. So much at stake. If I left anything behind from the devastation of my life perhaps it would be what we achieved tonight. The kind of access that would bring down an evil empire.
My breath caught in my throat—panic-stricken to see the young man talking with Elliot Burell was his son, Eli. There he was arrogantly ruling the room as he surveyed the guests as harshly as his father with those piercing eyes, his haughty refined nose raised in judgment and that fop of dark hair brushing over his silver mask.
Never had I felt more vulnerable; alone in a room with two monsters.
When Eli’s gaze swept my way, I froze and took a sip of wine to further conceal my face, and then breathed out a slow sigh of relief when his glare slid away.
I’d not doubted Tobias,until this moment.
A stark chill caused my forearms to prickle.
All I had to do was head toward the elevator and get in it and get the hell out of here, find my way to safety and a place where I could think straight and breathe in the autumn air that my constricted lungs needed. Still, the thought of leaving Tobias here sent a stab of guilt into my chest. I couldn’t do it. We were too connected. I had to trust him implicitly.
Just breathe.
Centering myself, I glanced at the window again and saw Elliot Burell alone and savoring his drink while people watching. Eli was no longer beside him. I scanned the room but couldn’t see him and was sure he hadn’t recognized me. Observing his father’s reflection, I saw Burell set down his empty glass on a side table and walk away. I spun round and headed in that direction and reached out for his tumbler. Another hand was ahead of mine and swept it away. I watched in dismay as the waiter made off with Burell’s fingerprints.
Shit.
Tobias gave my shoulder a nudge and I breathed out a shaky exhale to see him again, widening my eyes toward the tumbler that was being carried on a silver tray toward the kitchen. He arched an annoyed brow at the waiter and we followed after him.
Tobias cut him off and said, “Excuse me. Will there be food?”
“Yes, sir.” The waiter shifted his tray. “Hors d’oeuvres.”
Tobias gave a nod of thanks as I darted my hand out to grab the glass.
I cringed that the glass had been touched by Burell’s lips as I watched the waiter scurry off into the kitchen.
“Well done.” Tobias sidled closer. “You okay?”
“I saw Eli.”
