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"Look at those little guys," I say with surprise, pointing out of the window as frisking animals—rabbits, deer and geese—dart across the lawn, their silhouettes silvery, mythical shadows under the moonlight.
"They probably had them flown in as entertainment," he responds, navigating the curve ahead.
"Who does that?" I wonder out loud.
The driver shrugs.
The flowers create a vibrant patchwork quilt against the night. Blooms of every imaginable color spilling over the edges of their beds. The sweet fragrance of Evening Primrose, Four O’Clocks, and flowers whose names escape me, wafting in through the cracked window.
"Someone certainly has green fingers," I muse aloud, admiring the manicured hedges that line the drive like silent sentinels.
"Heard it said that Mr. Marchetti accepts nothing less than perfection." The driver’s tone holds mix of respect and something else…fear, maybe?
"Perfection comes at a price, doesn't it?" I whisper more to myself than to him, thinking about the man who commands such order outside of his house.
We pass beneath an illuminated archway with vines entwined around its structure. Tiny bulbs twinkle within the foliage like stars caught in a net. I'm entranced by the display, the beauty of it all almost too much to comprehend.
"Here we are, Miss," the driver announces, bringing the vehicle to a smooth stop. "Marchetti Mansion."
"Thank you," I say, handing him the fare with a generous tip. As he drives off, leaving me alone at the foot of this empire, I take in a deep breath. This is it—the lion's den. And here I am, willingly walking inside it.
My black, gladiator heels click against the cobblestone as I ascend the steps to the Marchetti mansion, a sprawling testament to old-world opulence.
Its red-bricked façade towers over me, windows aglow, casting golden light that dances across the manicured lawns. The mansion breathes power and elegance, with ivy curling affectionately around its grandeur as if even nature itself is ensnared by the Marchetti charm.
"Quite the spectacle, isn't it?" A voice behind me draws my attention. I turn, the black, silk skirt of my A-line dress rustling softly. I face one of the masked guests. His tone carries a hint of amusement, likely at my wide-eyed absorption.
"Every brick tells a story," I reply, keeping my voice light despite the tightness in my chest. "Stories of triumph…or perhaps, tyranny?" I wonder if I’ve said too much and remind myself to bite my tongue. I don't know who is friend, and who is foe.
"Only those inhabiting these walls know which tale is true, but we might as well enjoy the show while it lasts" he says, a playful lilt in his words before he moves past me, disappearing into the murmurs of other arriving guests.
I adjust my mask, my finger tracing the delicate, black feathers. A shiver runs down my arms, even though it's not a cold night.
"You look like a raven," a woman's voice coos, her own mask adorned with crystals that catch the light. "An omen of danger and mystery."
"Perhaps I am," I say with a coy smile, our masks a barrier and yet a window into our hidden selves. "Aren't we all playing a part tonight?"
"Well said, darling." Playfully, she’s swaying her wand, giving her the appearance of a fairy godmother. "Tonight we can be whoever we like and I see you've decided to go with gorgeous. Well, enjoy your night," she blows me a kiss and laughs, a tinkling sound that fades as she twirls away into the crowd, her gown billowing behind her.
The air is buzzing with excitement, as the Who's Who of the underworld enters the doors of this kingdom. Each step into this glittering vipers’ den tightens the coil of tension within me.
This masquerade isn't just a dance of socialites; it's a battlefield where every glance holds a challenge, and every whispered word could be a double-edged sword meant to break or make allies. And I know no one here.
I'm wearing a black, lace bodice, with long, appliqued sheer sleeves that fit like a second skin. I feel like a queen and I'm acutely aware of the gazes that follow me.
The neckline plunges daringly, and though I hate to admit it, I chose it so for Dario. All day yesterday, I searched from store to store, carefully considering what would capture his interest.
Elena just rolled her eyes when she saw me. "Good thing we weren't planning on putting a wire on you, there'd be no place to hide it."
Elena and the team decided to send me in blind. With so many witnesses, it would be unlikely that any serious harm will come to me. After the event, I would make my way to the safe house for a debriefing.
But here, among the dark and mighty, I must tread carefully, for one misstep could unravel everything I've worked towards. I enter as Jasmine—the woman, not the agent—and pray to leave as just the same.
My heart beats in time with the orchestra. I make a mental note of the exits, windows and stairways.
"Care to dance, signorina?" A charming rogue, concealed behind a wolf mask crafted of silver filigree, steps into my path with an outstretched hand. His voice is velvet, his intentions clear by the way he peers at my décolletage.
"Perhaps later," I reply, my smile a practiced curve of lips that doesn't reach my eyes. "There are…acquaintances I must greet first."
