Chapter 13 - THE VELVET NOOSE AND THE GLITTERING MASQUERADE OF LIES
By the second day in the safe house,
the digital files were ready.
I had encrypted them and set a dead-man's switch.
If I didn't enter a code every six hours,
the files would be sent to every major news outlet in the world.
But that wasn't enough.
I wanted to see Dominic Valli’s face when he realized he had lost.
I wanted to look into the eyes of the man who had ordered the murder of a child and tell him that the child was still alive.
"There’s a gala tonight,"
I said,
checking my phone.
"The Commission is hosting a charity event at the Metropolitan Museum."
"It’s their way of showing the city that they’re the pillars of society."
Clara looked up from the book she had been reading.
"You want to go there?"
"In the middle of a war?"
"It’s the one place they won't expect me to show up,"
I said.
"And it’s the only place where I can get close enough to Dominic to make it count."
I walked to a closet and pulled out a garment bag.
Inside was a tuxedo,
tailored to perfection.
"And for you,"
I said,
pulling out a second bag.
Inside was a dress of deep emerald silk,
the color of the sea before a storm.
"You’re not going as a maid,
Clara."
"You’re going as a Moretti."
"The rightful heir to everything they stole."
She walked over and touched the fabric,
her fingers trembling.
"I don't know how to be that person,"
she whispered.
"You’ve been that person every day of your life,"
I told her.
"Every time you stood up to me."
"Every time you comforted my mother."
"That was the Moretti blood."
"Tonight,
you just let the rest of the world see it."
The transformation took hours.
When she finally stepped out of the bathroom,
the breath left my lungs.
She looked like royalty.
The pearls we had found in the vault were around her neck,
glowing against her skin.
Her hair was swept up,
revealing the elegant line of her throat.
She was breathtaking.
She was a goddess of vengeance.
"You look...
incredible,"
I said,
feeling a strange lump in my throat.
"I feel like I’m wearing a costume,"
she said,
looking at herself in the mirror.
"In our world,
everyone is wearing a costume,
Clara."
"Tonight,
we’re just wearing the most honest ones."
We left the safe house in a non-descript car,
driven by one of the few men I still trusted.
The city was alive with lights,
the neon signs of Times Square reflecting off the wet pavement.
As we approached the museum,
the line of limousines stretched for blocks.
The air was filled with the sound of camera flashes and the chatter of the elite.
I stepped out of the car and reached back for Clara’s hand.
As she emerged,
the world seemed to slow down.
The paparazzi didn't know who she was,
but they sensed the importance.
The cameras began to fire,
a strobe light effect that accompanied our walk up the grand steps.
I felt the weight of my pistol hidden in the small of my back.
I felt the digital key in my pocket.
But most of all,
I felt the warmth of Clara’s hand in mine.
We entered the Great Hall,
the space filled with the scent of lilies and expensive perfume.
Dominic Valli stood at the far end of the room,
surrounded by his lieutenants and the city’s power brokers.
He looked like a king.
Until he saw me.
His glass of champagne paused halfway to his lips.
The color drained from his face,
leaving it a mask of gray,
wrinkled skin.
I didn't stop.
I walked straight toward him,
Clara by my side.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea.
The silence began to spread from the center of the room,
swallowing the music and the laughter.
"Bennett,"
Dominic said,
his voice a low hiss.
"You have a lot of nerve showing your face here."
"I have a lot more than nerve,
Dominic,"
I said,
standing a few feet away from him.
"I have a guest I’d like you to meet."
I stepped aside,
presenting Clara.
"This is Clara Moretti."
"The girl you thought you killed twenty years ago."
"The girl whose father kept a very detailed record of your business."
The silence was now absolute.
The drama of the evening had shifted from a gala to an execution.
And this time,
May you like
I wasn't the one holding the gun.
The truth was.
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