Chapter 7 The velvet

The days that followed moved like a storm brewing beneath calm waters-quiet on the surface, but heavy with pressure.

Celeste barely slept. Every hour was spent pouring through files, old security logs, black-market shipments, encrypted emails-all pointing to one man: August Blackwell. He wasn't just a name on a corporation. He was a phantom behind half the global arms trade, masked under philanthropy, military contracts, and clean press. But beneath it all, he ran an empire built on silence, fear, and calculated murder.

Including her father's.

Jace watched her work, occasionally stepping in with field knowledge, but mostly he let her move. She was surgical in her focus. The grief had carved her sharper, not weaker.

At midnight, Mateo came into the room with something new.

"Got him," he said, eyes glittering with a kind of nervous pride. "Blackwell's hosting a masquerade gala. Invitation only. Three days from now. High security. He'll be there."

Celeste looked up, finally.

"Where?"

Mateo dropped a sleek, black envelope on the table.

"Vienna."

The room went still.

Jace spoke first. "That's his playground. European security forces are soft on him. He practically owns half the agencies."

"I don't care if he owns the damn moon," Celeste said, voice low. "If he's going to show his face, I want to be there."

She reached for the envelope, flipping it open. Gold-etched invitation. No names. Just coordinates, a time, and a single phrase in Latin: Fiat Lux.

Let there be light.

She laughed once-bitter and cold. "That's rich coming from him."

Jace leaned forward. "You realize this won't be like anything we've done before. This isn't just a hit or an extraction. This is a statement."

"I know."

"And once we show our faces, we'll never disappear again. Blackwell's reach is deeper than Romano's ever was."

"I'm not planning on hiding anymore."

Jace looked at her for a long moment. Not as a soldier. Not as a partner.

But as someone who'd once buried his own demons and knew what it took to dig them up again.

"I'll need to prep gear. Disguises. Transport."

"I'll need a dress," Celeste said, standing up, voice clipped.

Jace blinked. "You're thinking of blending in?"

"I'm thinking of showing him what it looks like when a ghost walks into your ballroom wearing vengeance like velvet."

Mateo gave a low whistle. "You're insane."

"No," she said, stepping past him, "I'm just done playing small."

The next morning, the team began their move. False passports. Intel drops. Secure routes. Every step calculated.

Celeste stood in front of the mirror with the dress draped across her arm. Black, sleek, unforgiving. She stared at her reflection for a long time. Her face had changed. Sharper. Colder.

But her eyes-they still held fire.

Behind her, Jace stepped into the doorway, watching.

"You ready for this?"

"No," she said quietly. "But I'm going anyway."

And in her reflection, she didn't see fear.

She saw reckoning.

Vienna gleamed like a jewel in the darkness-elegant, untouched, and far too beautiful to know the evil it was about to host.

The masquerade was set inside a restored 17th-century palace that overlooked the Danube. Guards moved like shadows along its perimeter, dressed in suits and earpieces instead of armor, but trained just as deadly. Blackwell didn't throw parties-he staged performances, and everyone who walked through his doors became part of his narrative.

Celeste stepped from the car slowly, heels tapping against the marble drive. The mask over her face shimmered silver, delicate but cold. A predator in lace.

Jace followed, dressed in sharp black, a half-mask hiding the familiar lines of his face. He said nothing, but his presence behind her was steady-unshakable.

They entered with forged invitations and perfect confidence.

Inside, chandeliers spilled light like molten glass across the ballroom. Gowns twirled, laughter echoed, and music swelled-everything designed to distract from the monsters behind the masks.

Celeste moved through the crowd like smoke, silent and unreadable. Every smile she gave was calculated. Every glance she returned was measured. She scanned the room, heart steady. She wasn't here to enjoy the party.

She was here to ruin the man throwing it.

And then-she saw him.

August Blackwell.

Older than the photos. Taller. His mask was trimmed in gold, expression unreadable. But the way the crowd shifted around him, the way eyes followed his every move-that was power. The real kind. Not inherited. Built.

He raised his glass. Their eyes met across the room.

For a second, the air thinned. He didn't recognize her. Not yet. Not here.

Jace touched her elbow, voice low against her ear. "We only get one shot. You sure you want to do this face to face?"

Celeste's eyes never left Blackwell.

"I need him to see me before I burn everything he's built."

Jace didn't argue.

The music shifted. Blackwell turned toward the stairs. Private rooms, she knew. VIP only.

She moved.

Slipping past dancers and servers, blending in with practiced grace, she made her way to the side corridor. Jace followed a few steps behind, already alert.

The hallway was dim, quieter. Gilded portraits watched from the walls.

Then-

A hand grabbed her wrist.

She spun fast, heart leaping-but it was a man in a suit, smiling beneath a wolf's mask. He wasn't part of security. Just drunk. Entitled.

"You're too beautiful to be wandering alone," he slurred.

Before she could speak, Jace appeared at her side, expression stone. One look, and the man backed off without a word.

They kept moving.

Blackwell had disappeared down a side door. Mateo's blueprint told them it led to a lounge-a more private space where only his closest allies were allowed.

Celeste placed her hand on the door. Jace caught her wrist.

"We go in now, there's no walking it back."

She looked at him.

"I never planned to."

Then she pushed the door open.

And stepped inside.

The door shut behind her with a soft click, muffling the music into a distant hum. The air inside was thicker-scented with smoke and something more expensive than whiskey. Velvet drapes hung along the walls. Low light. Deep shadows. And silence.

August Blackwell sat at the far end of the lounge, legs crossed, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He didn't look surprised. If anything, he looked amused.

"I was wondering when you'd come to say hello," he said smoothly, his voice a rich drawl.

Celeste's pulse didn't spike. She had prepared for this. She had dreamed of it. Replayed it a thousand times.

Still, standing in front of him, face to face with the man who destroyed her father and carved chaos into her life-there was a gravity to it that no plan could brace her for.

Blackwell tilted his head, studying her through the mask. "Do I know you?"

She stepped closer, slowly. "Not yet."

He smiled, sharp and slow. "You have the look of someone with a grudge. I admire that. Most people hide behind civility."

Jace entered behind her, silent, watching every movement in the room. There were no guards inside. Blackwell didn't need them. His arrogance made them unnecessary-or so he thought.

"I know who you are," Celeste said calmly. "I know what you did in Marseille. What you buried in Jakarta. I know how you cleaned the blood off your hands and turned it into power."

Blackwell took a slow sip of his drink, then set it down.

"And?"

"I'm not here to threaten you," she said. "I'm here to show you something."

He raised an eyebrow. "Show me?"

Celeste pulled a flash drive from her clutch and set it gently on the glass table between them.

"Everything you've hidden. Every account. Every operation. Every betrayal that helped you rise."

Blackwell didn't reach for it. He didn't need to. He just stared at her like she was a puzzle missing its last piece.

"You think you can take me down with that?"

"No," she said. "I think the world can."

He laughed then-genuinely, like a man amused by a child's game.

"You're brave," he said, "but bravery isn't enough. You step into this world thinking you're different. Better. Cleaner. You're not. By the time you leave, you'll either be one of us... or dead."

She didn't flinch.

Jace finally stepped forward. "Then you'll want to choose your next words carefully."

Blackwell leaned back, unafraid. "You're both too late. The people who matter already know who I am. And they let me exist because I'm useful."

Celeste smiled for the first time. But it was cold. Sharp. The kind of smile that promised war.

"Then I guess it's time you stopped being useful."

Behind her, a soft vibration. Mateo's signal. The upload had begun.

Seventy percent. Already too late to stop.

Blackwell's face twitched-not fear, but calculation. He rose slowly, brushing off his coat like this was just another meeting.

"I underestimated you," he said. "That won't happen again."

Celeste stepped back.

"I'm counting on it."

And then they left him standing there in that velvet room, the world beginning to unravel beneath his feet-while above, the music played on like nothing had changed.

But everything had.