Page 2 of No Greater Oblivion

“When we get there, you’re going to apologize and call it a misunderstanding⁠—”

“When we get there, I’m going to tell him to go fuck himself.” I interrupt.

“Do the smartass remarks ever stop?”

“You’d have to tape my mouth shut.”

“Your mouth is how you ended up in this situation.” He lets out a breath. “If you hadn’t been antagonizing the men at Li’s poker game, you would’ve never ended up with the gun.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were concerned for my well-being.”

“Only so far as it affects mine.”

“You know, we’d have a much easier time getting along if you’d just admit you’re in love with me.”

He flexes his jaw and averts his gaze, focusing instead on the changing lights outside his window. “That ego of yours doesn’t make it easy.”

A smug smile crosses my lips. “You love my massive ego.”

Rian changes the conversation. “I don’t understand why you’re holding on to the gun in the first place.”

I seal my lips shut.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

What I value most about our relationship is that we don’t owe each other anything—fidelity, commitment, or honesty. We live our lives as we see fit and enjoy one another’s company when our interests align, which just so happens to be often. However, in the last few months our arrangement has evolved and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t becoming something real. Eventually, I’m going to have to tell him the truth. How I ended up back in New York a year ago after uprooting my life in Barcelona, where my money comes from, why Li and I don’t get along, who the mysterious ex-boyfriend who funds my lifestyle is. And most importantly, how I ended up in possession of the FBI’s most sought-after weapon.

But not yet.

The Empress is the best kept secret in New York City.

She’s the altar at which the wealth mongers of the world come to worship. The elite rub elbows in a pool of excess luxury, drinking from crystal champagne flutes and sniffing narcotics off the edge of platinum credit cards. Paying homage to a bygone era of glamor and rebellion, The Empress is a modern take on the sumptuous, sexy style of Hollywood’s Golden Era. All clean, sharp lines with glass, marble, onyx, and hints of leather. Elaborate, modernist chandeliers light the space and seamless geometric patterns in gold and brass fill the panels on the black walls, accented by sapphire blue drapery and emerald-green furniture. A bar with an antique glass backing and tall, throne-like chairs lining the counter take up most of the north wall.

Tinted glass windows offer a panoramic view of the city skyline from west to east facing south. There’s an upper level filled with booths and doorways leading to private rooms and downstairs, more booths and seating areas fill the open space, all of them arranged to complement the center dance floor.

A waitress passes by with a tray of champagne flutes surrounding an antique, silver snuff box in the middle. I catch her by the back of her uniform and she makes an abrupt stop, careful not to drop her tray.

“Where’s Huang?”

She blinks at me several times, the words caught in her throat. “I⁠—”

I flip open the box and pilfer through the different pills inside before snagging an Adderall and placing it on the tip of my tongue.

“Wait!”

I grab a flute of champagne and finish it with a single swig. “Do you know who I am?”

The waitress pauses before giving a quick nod.

“Good. Go find Huang and tell him I’m⁠—”

“Dahlia,” Rian touches my arm. “Look.”

I follow his line of sight toward the upper mezzanine. Li has already spotted us and he flicks his chin toward one of the doorways. I hiss between my teeth.

“Oh great. It’s like getting called into the principal’s office.”

Rian ignores my comment. “Let’s go.”