Page 95 of A Vicious Love

Applauding.

I ended the call.

My phone immediately lit with Harrison’s name again. I ignored it and called Reeves.

He answered on the first ring.

“Sir.”

“Get me the theatre layout.”

“The ballet theatre?”

“Yes.”

“Now?”

“Did I fucking stutter?”

“No, sir.”

“And find out who assigned the front row.”

“Understood.”

“Every name attached to those seats.”

“I’ll have it in minutes.”

“You have three.”

I ended the call.

On screen, the stream moved to intermission commentary. Two society hosts in black discussed Sienna’s return after injury, the technical difficulty of the variation, and, the surprise Crow presence.

I muted them. The camera returned to the audience between segments. A message from Marcel appeared.

Do not go to the theatre.

Weston leaned back in his seat like he belonged there. On screen, the second act lights dimmed. The theatre hushed. The camera caught Weston’s face one more time before the curtain rose.

I picked up my jacket.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

JAMISON

The bass rolled through the floor of Vanta. While red lights moved over black walls, velvet booths, and the bodies packed together below the mezzanine.

The club belonged to me.

That meant the chaos had structure.

Men with guns stood behind mirrored panels where drunk society boys assumed there was only decorative glass. The bartenders knew which conversations mattered, and which customers required a quiet exit before their stupidity became expensive.

I sat in the private mezzanine booth with one arm stretched along the back of the leather seat, a cigarette burning between two fingers and whiskey sitting near my other hand.

Reeves stood behind me.