Chapter 4 THE DANCE OF DANGER

CHAPTER FOUR

THE DANCE OF DANGER

"Well, if this isn't a circus dipped in champagne and sin."

Fortune murmured the line beneath her breath as she stepped out of the Range Rover. Her heels clicked against the polished granite floor of the Grand Pavillion, a private club nestled in the heart of Manhattan and sealed off from the world with armed men and golden gates.

"My world!" She muttered again.

The night was an assault of opulence. Crystal chandeliers shimmered from vaulted ceilings, casting rainbows across designer gowns and tailored suits. Champagne fountains gushed in every corner, and laughter rippled like silk across the grand ballroom. Velvet drapes billowed from twenty foot windows, and a live string quartet played something seductive and slow.

Camera flashes sparked the moment she entered, though none of the cameras were real...just eyes, greedy ones.

"Emily!" voices chorused from every direction. "You look unreal!"

"Deadly, darling!"

"I told them black should be your color!"

Fortune or rather, Emily curved her lips into a slow smirk. Her bodyguards flanked her on both sides, walking with militant precision. People parted for her, bowing their heads slightly, stepping back.

"Where's the VIP lounge?" she asked without looking at anyone in particular.

One of the hosts, a red haired man in velvet loafers and too many rings, scampered forward. "Right this way, Miss Carter."

She was ushered up a small set of stairs to a glass mezzanine overlooking the main floor. A throne like seat awaited her. Black velvet, gold trim, and just high enough to look down on everyone.

Fortune sat with poise, her legs crossed, her fingers draped elegantly over the armrest.

She scanned the room with narrowed eyes, lips slightly pursed. Champagne was being spilled like tap water. Men whispered into women's necks, and women straddled their laughter like stilettos over porcelain. Half naked dancers in gold masks moved between bodies with trays of oysters and cigars.

"Is this a party," she muttered under her breath, "or a whorehouse with an open bar?"

Her bodyguard to the left shifted, clearly pretending not to hear.

She let her eyes roam again. Her vision sharpened on a corner of the room cloaked in shadow. The lighting didn't reach there by design. Power didn't need light to announce itself.

She saw him.

A man sitting with a glass of something dark and expensive in hand, his black suit stretched over a frame made of danger and dominance. He didn't move, didn't blink much either. His hair was slicked back, face carved from obsidian and fire. The air around him was silent, heavy.

Zeke Zee Armani.

Her breath caught, but not Fortune's. Emily's.

Memories flared behind her eyes like a match to gasoline. Emily's obsession. Her whispering about him in dressing rooms. Zeke, the Mafia. The elusive king of crime. Untouchable. Unfuckwithable.

Fortune straightened in her seat, and forced Emily's signature smirk. She raised her glass slightly and winked.

Zeke's lips twitched, just barely. It was all the invitation he needed. People moved for him like tides.

Fortune felt a sliver of real fear slink down her spine but she kept her gaze cool, lazy, just the way Emily would. She watched him approach her.

When he stood before her, he didn't speak. He just held out a hand.

For a heartbeat, Fortune's fingers curled into her thigh. Then she smiled.

"About time someone interesting showed up," she drawled, and placed her hand in his.

Her guards tensed.

"She's not to..."

Zeke turned his head slowly, one eyebrow rising.

The taller guard swallowed. "Sir... we're under strict instruction from Madam Carter..."

"I said I'll dance," Fortune interrupted, her voice clipped. She turned to the guards. "If you interrupt me again, you'll be jobless before sunrise."

The music shifted as they stepped onto the marble dance floor. A sultry tango slid into play, the quartet's violins slow and trembling.

Zeke's hand found her waist. His other hand held hers with dominance masked as courtesy. He led. She followed.

"You dance well for a dead man," she said, lips close to his ear.

He smirked. "Maybe I should kill you."

Fortune blinked, pulse skipping. "Excuse me?"

"I said you smell good."

She laughed lightly. "Right. Thought you said something else."

He spun her sharply, then caught her by the waist again. "You are late to the party."

She plastered on a laugh. "The party only starts when I have arrived."

"Let the party start."

He dipped her low, hand against the small of her back. Her heart pounded like it wanted to escape through her skin. When he pulled her upright again, his mouth was beside her ear.

"Smile," he whispered. "Your bodyguards are watching, we don't want them thinking I am imposing this dance on you."

She smiled.

Then, seamlessly, he guided her off the dance floor, still dancing, still turning her slowly. They moved through a side curtain, behind one of the marble columns.

She caught her breath. "Where are we?"

He spun her again.

A door opened behind her back.

"Zee..."

She fell backward.

Literally.

The ground gave way beneath her, a hatch disguised as flooring. Her feet slipped. Her scream barely made it past her lips before she landed on something soft, a mattress? A padded landing? She couldn't tell.

Above her, the hatch slammed shut.

She scrambled to her feet. It was dark. Freezing. The scent of rust and damp stone filled her nostrils.

The lights came on. A low, orange glow filled the underground room. Torches. Real torches. The walls were concrete, carved with lines and marks that didn't look decorative.

She turned to find Zeke stepping down a stairwell beside her, buttoning his jacket as he descended.

"Where-what the hell is this?" she demanded, her voice cracking.

Zeke didn't answer.

Three men followed him in, all dressed in black, all stone faced.

"Get the ropes," Zeke said calmly.

"Wait...what?!" Fortune backed up. "Zee, this isn't..."

One of the men moved with terrifying speed.

Another grabbed her arm.

"Don't touch me!" she screamed, jerking away but it was no use. They were coordinated. Professionals.

The thick rope hit her skin like sandpaper. Her wrists were pulled together behind her back. Her ankles were next.

"Zeke Zee Armani!" she shouted, her voice echoing. "What the hell is this?! You can't just..."

He walked toward her, slow and terrifyingly calm.

"I can do whatever I want, Emily."

She froze.

His eyes were merciless.

"I don't know where you think you are right now," he said, voice low. "But you're in my world. And in my world, people don't yell my name unless they want to disappear."

The last rope tightened with a final, brutal tug.

Fortune's knees hit the concrete.