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With our plan taking shape, there's a renewed sense of purpose in the air. Tomorrow night, at the fundraiser, we will strike, unraveling the threads of betrayal that have been woven so tightly around us.
Chapter 36
Maryia
As I admire myself in the mirror, it's hard to believe that I'm dressed for a mission rather than a fairy-tale ball. The gown makes me feel like a princess, yet beneath the surface, there's a steely resolve. I'm not just attending a high-society event; I'm on a mission to dismantle my father's life and protect the future of my new family.
The realization of the task at hand brings with it a sobering clarity. As I step out of the room, ready to face what lies ahead, I remind myself of the strength and resilience that lies within me.
The sight that greets me takes my breath away. Damien stands there, looking every inch the aristocrat mobster in a sleek, well-tailored tuxedo. His hair is slicked back perfectly, adding to his commanding presence. He has an air about him that's both intimidating and irresistibly charming.
“You look like you were born to wear that,” I tell him. “Very James Bond.”
His lips curve into a small, knowing smile. “Fitting for tonight, in that case,” he responds, his green eyes twinkling.
Taking a deep breath, I offer Damien my hand, ready to step into the fray. "Let's do this," I say with a newfound confidence, feeling the solid reassurance of his hand enveloping mine. With Damien, I feel invincible, ready to take on the world or, in this case, my father.
The car that awaits us is a sleek black Mercedes S-Class, its windows tinted to ensure privacy. Samuil and Anastasia are inside, poised and ready, their presence a reassuring reminder that tonight we are more than just a couple attending a gala—we are a team, a family united in purpose.
As we approach the venue, the grandeur of the building comes into view. The gala is being held at the historic Bolshoi Theatre; its majestic facade is illuminated by a constellation of lights that make it appear almost ethereal against the night sky. The theatre, a symbol of Russian culture and artistry, is tonight playing host to a gathering that masks a far more sinister agenda beneath its extravagant exterior.
The Bolshoi Theatre opens up before us like a scene from a period drama. As we step inside, I'm immediately struck by the grandeur that surrounds us.
Damien and I navigate through the crowd, our presence understated yet purposeful. We spot my father—the epitome of a political charmer—making his rounds among the guests, his laughter a little too loud, his smiles a little too broad. At his side, like a shadow, is an ever-vigilant bodyguard.
Our goal is clear: separate the two. Damien leans in, reviewing the plan that involves Roman, our skilled negotiator, known for his ability to smooth-talk his way through any situation. The plan is deft and clever, utilizing Roman’s charm to lure the bodyguard away under the pretense of discussing an urgent matter that would pique his interest.
I watch as Roman, with his easy confidence and polished demeanor, approaches the guard. There's a brief exchange. Roman's expression is earnest; the guard looks intrigued yet cautious. After a moment of hesitation, the guard nods, stepping away from my father’s side, lured by the bait Roman has skillfully laid out.
With the guard momentarily out of the picture, my father is left exposed. It's a critical opportunity, and I can feel the tension in Damien as he observes, calculating our next move. The timing has to be perfect.
I watch my father climb the steps to the stage, his figure illuminated by the spotlight. He's unaware of the invisible chess game being played around him, a game where he is unwittingly the king about to be removed from his perch.
It’s time to move. Pushing aside my nerves, I make my way toward him.
As I ascend the opposite side of the stage, my heart pounds against my ribs like a trapped bird seeking freedom. Each step feels heavier than the last, but I push forward, fueled by a drive that even surprises me. My father looks at me, finally realizing that I’m here, his expression one of utter surprise mixed with a trace of wariness. He stays to the side, his body stiff as he watches me with wide eyes.
When I reach the podium, my fingers touch the cool surface, which somehow grounds me. I flash a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes but serves its purpose well. The audience, unaware of the undercurrents, applauds politely, expecting the loving daughter to sing her father's praises.
I lean into the microphone, my voice steady despite the nervousness I feel inside. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," I begin, my gaze drifting across the sea of faces, finally resting on my father's. “I couldn't let this evening pass without saying a few words about my father—a man of ambition, always reaching for the stars."
Dad's smile is tight, his eyes betraying a flicker of unease. He stands rigid, trapped by decorum and the watchful eyes of his esteemed guests.
"As many of you know, my father has always set his sights high. His drive to reach the top has been an inspiration," I continue, my words laced with a double meaning that only he and I fully understand. The crowd listens, hanging on to every word, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath the surface.
As I continue, I watch my father's composure crumble, his uneasiness transforming into outright panic. It's time to reveal the man behind the mask.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I say, my voice resonating with clarity that the crowd notices, "I stand before you not just as Vadem Tarasov's daughter but as a witness to the man he truly is."
The crowd shifts uneasily, finally seeming to realize that something isn’t quite right. "My father," I continue, "is a man who would do anything to climb the ladder of success. A man who viewed his own daughters not as children to be cherished but as commodities to be traded."
Whispers ripple through the crowd, expressing a mixture of disbelief and shock. "He sold my sister and me to the highest bidders to forge alliances with the underworld of Moscow. He's a man who has bribed, cheated, and manipulated his way to his current standing."
I pause, letting the words sink in, watching as the expressions of the guests morph from shock to horror. "And it's not just us he's betrayed. His criminal allies, those he called friends, were nothing more than stepping stones to him."
I lean closer to the microphone, my gaze unwavering. "Tonight, you all will receive an email. It is proof of Vadem Tarasov's crimes, evidence of a life built on corruption and betrayal."
Gaining access to the email list of tonight’s attendees was Leo’s doing. It was quite the masterstroke.
