Looking past our new acquaintance, I spot a small stage and dance floor positioned along one wall, where a live band plays jazz, smooth and rich. The musicians are clearly world-class, but I would expect nothing less for an audience such as this.
Opposite that wall, another bar stretches along the lengthof the room, this one carved from dark, lustrous wood to mimic intricate patterns of climbing vines and coiled serpents. It’s beautiful in its own right, but it doesn’t even attempt to compete with the grandeur at the room’s center. Nothing could.
Not sure what’s with the animal theme in this place, but I’m kind of into it.
Scattered throughout the ballroom at tall cocktail tables are some of the country’s most powerful families networking and making deals that will likely affect many lives in the worst possible ways. I spot Belle Miller, an elegant woman in emerald silk whose perfectly styled blonde hair hasn’t changed in the two years since I last saw her. She and her husband had hired Marco for my services when their daughter was murdered, a case that still haunts me.
Her husband, Hunter, is one of the leaders in the Southern District. Unlike the East and West, where Marco and Viktor are the sole rulers of their respective territories, the South operates differently. Here, three powerful families claim equal ownership of that title, creating a more complex and potentially volatile political landscape.
“Can we get a drink?” I ask, drawing Malachi’s attention back to me from whatever calculation he was making.
“You actually want alcohol?” he asks, one eyebrow raised in surprise. I’m usually not huge on alcohol, especially when we need to stay sharp, but one drink can’t hurt.
“Yes, and I want to sit at that bar,” I say, tipping my head toward the carousel centerpiece.
He follows my gaze and breaks into a genuine smile. “Yeah, it really is something, isn’t it?”
I take his elbow as he leads me through the crowd of glittering guests toward the slowly rotating marvel. I claim the barstool with a striking black-and-white zebra painted on it.
Malachi doesn’t sit beside me. Instead, he stands protectively next to my chair, his arm falling naturally around me so his hand can rest on my lower back.
No one is sitting on either side of us, giving us a rare pocket of relative privacy in this sea of potential enemies. The bartender is a tall skeletal man with salt-and-pepper hair cut so short it looks almost carved into his head.
I order a gin and tonic, then turn toward Malachi with the questions that have been burning in my mind.
“If all the district-ruling families aren’t supposed to know about the Syndicate, then how does this whole charade work exactly? Why would all these people come to Irina’s event?”
He picks up the crystal tumbler containing his scotch and takes a sip, nodding politely to someone across the slowly rotating bar with a perfectly polite smile.
“The leading families don’t know about the Syndicate, per se, or what their true goals are. They know them as influential, wealthy individuals who appear to be genuinely interested in supporting a common cause.” He pauses, his expression darkening slightly. “At least, that’s what I would have told you before yesterday’s revelations. As for Irina, her last name carries enough weight to attract anyone.”
He takes another drink, then places his glass on the polished marble surface. “After what you overheard on that surveillance footage, I know my father and Viktor are aware of what Irina’s really orchestrating. I don’t know to what extent they’re involved, but at the end of the day, she’s still their sister, and family loyalty runs deep. They’ll play along with her schemes rather than expose her.”
I nod, recognizing the logic. “I don’t think they would risk outing her to the other district leaders either. That would create a political nightmare, and they’d much rather handle family business internally.”
“Exactly. That’s always been my father’s operating philosophy. Keep the dirty laundry in the family,” he agrees.
“So, if Irina arranged this elaborate party, what does everyone else think they’re here for? What’s the official cover story that convinced all these powerful people to make the trip?” I ask, genuinely curious about what lies have drawn so many prominent faces here.
“They’re here for what they think is a strategic networking opportunity and the promise to unveil some new resource everyone wouldn’t want to miss,” Malachi explains, his hushed voice barely audible over the sophisticated jazz floating through the air. “Irina will have pitched it as a gathering to strengthen interdistrict relations, discuss trade routes, resource allocation, maybe even security cooperation. All the boring, respectable things powerful people pretend to care about when others are watching.”
I take a sip of my drink, the liquid warming me from the inside.
“And when they think no one’s watching?” I ask, though I suspect I already know the answer.
His gaze flicks to the carousel bar’s rotation, then back to me. “That’s when they make the real deals. They traffic Avids like livestock and invest in those sick underground experiments we’ve been uncovering. They decide who lives comfortably and who starves in the gutter zones, which humanitarian projects get funded and which are left to rot, whose names disappear from official records entirely.”
The casual way he lists these atrocities makes me sick, but I already know how corruption works. You don’t spend years under Marco’s roof and think otherwise. I take another long gulp of my cocktail, needing the alcohol to steady my nerves.
“Another day in paradise,” I say with bitter sarcasm.
“Exactly.” I don’t miss the way his eyes constantly scan thecrowded room, cataloging exits, identifying potential threats, searching for familiar faces that might spell trouble.
“Irina’s exceptionally good at making people feel like they’re part of something meaningful, like they’re truly important players in shaping the future. That’s how she’s gathered so many Syndicate members to fund our work over the years,” he continues, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “I’m sure she’ll use this evening to eliminate a few problematic targets as well as recruit new allies to her cause.”
He shakes his head. “It’s been right in front of my face this entire time. I have no idea how I was so completely blind to it all, to her manipulative ways.”
I reach over and touch his side gently, wishing we were alone instead of surrounded by what feels like a hundred of the most-dangerous and -deranged people in the country.
