Chapter 5 Dance with the Devil

For a woman trained in diplomacy, deception, and danger, Elira had never known fear quite like this.

She was alone-utterly alone-in a ballroom surrounded by criminals. And now, Roth was walking toward her.

She could hear the shift in the room's rhythm, like the orchestra caught a wrong note but kept playing. His presence did that. A disruption. A pulse of darkness.

"Elira Vexley," Roth said smoothly, voice like poisoned honey. "Imagine my surprise."

She turned slowly, wine glass in hand, lips curved in a weaponized smile. "Mr. Roth. Or should I call you what the Interpol files do? Lazarus."

He chuckled. "Still so sharp-tongued. Like your father."

Her grip tightened, but she didn't let it show.

"I see you're still hosting auctions disguised as galas."

"And you're still walking around like you weren't supposed to die with the rest of your legacy." His smile faded. "You shouldn't be here."

"Oh, but I am here," she said, voice steel behind silk. "And it seems my name is still very useful to you."

He took a step closer. "Where is he?"

She blinked. "Who?"

"Don't play games. Cassian."

Behind her mask, Elira's expression didn't flicker, but her heart was sprinting. "Gone. He couldn't keep up."

A lie, of course. Cassian was here, embedded in the security detail under a false name. But Roth couldn't know that-not yet.

Roth reached for her hand, and she fought the instinct to recoil. Instead, she let him lift her fingers to his lips like they were old friends, not predator and prey.

"This dress," he said, eyes raking over her. "It's familiar."

"It belonged to my mother."

A wicked gleam crossed his eyes. Like her mother, the young woman must now put it on for a battle she has no hope of winning.

She whispered into my ear and moved closer. "I've already won, Roth. You just haven't realized it yet."

Cassian's voice buzzed in her earpiece.

"Elira. Change of plans. He's planning to move the weapons tonight, right after the gala. We need to intercept the shipment at the docks."

She smiled politely at Roth and excused herself with a slight bow, gliding toward the rear balcony like she was catching air, not like she was about to dive into a live operation.

Outside, Cassian was already waiting, dressed in full tactical gear under a valet uniform.

"You okay?" he asked.

She nodded, breathing shallow. "He touched my hand. I wanted to break his fingers."

He smirked. That's the most romantic statement you could make.

Like smoke moving through the halls, Cassian's team got past the guards without a sound. Roth's private convoy was already preparing to leave. Maya had cracked the destination-it wasn't a shipyard. It was an underground rail system used during the Cold War and reactivated for smuggling.

Elira pulled off her mask and exchanged her heels for boots. Cassian passed her a custom Glock.

"No more pretending," she said.

"No more masks."

The rail depot - 3:27 AM

The air smelled of rust, oil, and treachery.

The shipment was being loaded onto a train. Metal crates marked with unregistered serial numbers and radiation symbols. Armed guards moved like clockwork, heads on a swivel.

Elira crouched behind a column beside Cassian and Maya.

"There are at least thirty guards," Maya whispered. "But most are drones. Automated response units. We can jam them for two minutes, max."

Cassian nodded. "Then we breach on your signal."

Elira took one last breath and closed her eyes.

This was it. The moment she stopped being a hidden heiress and became something else-something dangerous.

She tapped her pendant twice.

From the shadows, Crimson operatives emerged.

The takedown was fast and brutal. Silenced weapons. EMP bursts. Screams muffled by gunfire. Elira moved with Cassian at her back, clearing the central cart, where the weapons were sealed in biometric crates.

Roth's voice rang through the terminal.

"You little fools. Do you think this changes anything?"

He exited the elevator and was joined by his two specialized bodyguards, his feet now on the overhead walkway.

Elira pointed her gun. "It ends tonight."

"No," Roth said, smiling. "It begins."

He pressed a button on his cuff.

All around them, the train's cargo compartments hissed open, releasing more than weapons.

Hostages.

Women. Children. Drugged. Collared.

Elira froze.

"This was never about guns," Roth said. "It was about leverage. And now the world will see you as the woman who attacked an innocent cargo transfer and triggered an international scandal."

Cassian's hand landed on her shoulder, steadying her.

"Elira," he said. "You choose. Do we fight, or do we expose?"

Her eyes narrowed.

"Both."

They streamed the footage.

Maya launched the feed live on dark net channels and anonymous press servers. Everything-Roth's confession, the IDs on the hostages, the auction lists-all of it.

Within ten minutes, the world was watching.

Within twenty, Roth's escape chopper was grounded by government interference.

And by dawn, the Czerny Palace was raided by Interpol.

Later - Vexley Estate

The war was not over. But it was ending.

Roth was gone-disappeared after a fiery crash that may or may not have been staged. De Vries was in custody. The foundations were seized and restructured under Elira's name, legally and cleanly this time.

Cassian sat on the back terrace, cleaning his weapon. Elira approached, wearing a worn hoodie and battle boots.

"You told me you'd do whatever it took to keep me here," she said. "Even lie. Even marry me."

"I meant every word."

"I know."

He looked up at her, war still in his eyes.

"Is it over?" he asked.

Elira sat beside him. "No. But it's ours now. The Vexley name is no longer a shadow."

He nodded.

"And us?"

She smiled faintly. "You kissed me the night before you almost died. Twice. I think that buys you dinner and a real conversation."

He laughed-low, rough, and real.

"I'll take it."