Page 61 of Savage Enemy

Really, though, he didn’t care what anyone thought. Our presence had served as an excuse for him and his thuggish cohorts to rub elbows with elite businessmen and politicians.

Chicago’s politicians might have liked to believe they were above all the corruption, but it ran as deeply through their veins as it did through the city itself.

This masquerade ball marked my first public appearance since faking my death, but I knew the drill. Be seen, not heard. Look pretty. Act like a perfect doll to draw the highest bid when auction time came.

Saul’s maid had delivered a stunning, crystal-and-red-silk evening gown to my room. Pretty sure it set him back about five grand. Didn’t matter. He wanted attention, and my red dress would get it for him. It also made it much more difficult for me to blend in and get away.

And the daggerlike stilettos that were killing my feet? They would definitely impede a quick getaway. At least until I found a dark corner where I could ditch them. Then again, they might come in handy if I needed to defend myself.

The dainty silver mask they’d given me did little to hide my identity, and that was how Saul wanted it. Even if no one recognized me, they would recognize the choker. Three strands of pearls and a huge, dangling ruby, last worn by my mother.

The damn necklace had its own reputation, its own infamy, and it labeled me as a Moscatelli as much as anything else.

But a bad idea still played in the back of my mind.

What if I just walked out?

What if I made my way to the restroom and slipped between the crowds to hide in one of the coat closets? What if I took off the dress, the pearls, and the shoes, stole someone’s coat, and found my way out of the hotel?

How far could I get?

Would Aris notice I’d gone missing before I even finished ditching my Moscatelli costume? Would he catch me as I hurried down the cold Chicago streets?

Santo appeared out of nowhere, startling me out of my thoughts. He handed me a tall champagne flute, which I absently accepted.

“You have to be here, yeah, but no one said shit about you staying sober. Drink up, sister.”

I preferred cocktails over champagne, but didn’t mind watching the little golden bubbles rise to the top. It kind of completed the full illusion of the grandiose ballroom.

“Thanks, handsome.” I winked. “Having a good time? Any of these lovely ladies catch your eye?”

He shook his head as if he had no time for silly games.

“I’m working tonight. I guess Father thinks a certain asset might be thinking about making a run for it. Again.”

I plastered a fake smile onto my painted lips.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Santo fixed me with a deadpan stare. “Right.”

I sipped on the champagne to stop myself from laughing, enjoying the way the delicate bubbles danced over my tongue. Maybe if I drank until my feet went numb, it would be a little easier to survive the night.

Maybe if I got wasted, the Russians would decide I wasn’t worth the hassle, that I wasn’t enough of a lady for whatever they planned to do with me.

With my luck, my plan would backfire, and they might think I was spirited and entertaining, or some other ridiculous shit. But then I would face retribution at home. The kind that required me to wear long, uncomfortable opera gloves with my dresses to cover the bruises.

Wouldn’t be the first time, certainly not the last.

A woman in her sixties wearing a goth-like black gown and matching mask rushed in my direction, her jewelry clinking with her every hasty step.

“There you are, Valentina, darling. It’s been so long. You must tell us what happened.”

It took a minute before I could place the face behind the mask and caked-on makeup. I smiled politely.

“Mrs. Gallagher, how are you?”

An unbearable gossip like Mrs. Gallagher was only tolerated in these circles because her late husband left her a massive fortune. The running joke was that she’d talked him to death.

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