Chapter 45 - The Gala of Serpents
Monte Carlo glittered like a diamond dropped into the black velvet of the Mediterranean Sea.
The terrace of the Hotel de Paris was surrounded by high-society elites in tailored tuxedos and couture evening gowns. Diamond necklaces caught the golden chandelier light, champagne flutes chimed, and an orchestra played a delicate Vivaldi concerto. Behind the veneer of elegance, however, armed security guards with earpieces and tactical submachine guns stood disguised as waitstaff every ten paces.
At the center of the grand ballroom stood Lord Lucian Castiglione, holding a glass of vintage Dom Pérignon, surrounded by high-ranking European ministers and banking magnates.
Suddenly, the grand bronze doors of the ballroom swung open.
The doorman didn't announce my arrival, because Julian had already incapacitated him silently in the corridor outside.
I walked in.
I wore an emerald silk gown that clung like armor, slit to the thigh to conceal my sidearm, with a diamond choker around my neck that masked a miniature tracking device. My hair was swept into an elegant chignon, and my eyes swept across the ballroom like twin laser sights. Beside me walked Julian, impeccably dressed in a black Italian tuxedo, his shoulders broad and his eyes lethal.
The chatter in the ballroom ceased in waves. Heads turned. Whispers rippled across the marble floor.
Lucian Castiglione froze. His glass remained poised mid-air as his gray eyes locked onto mine. A sinister smirk curved his lips, but beneath it, I saw the flicker of sheer shock. He hadn't expected me to arrive through the front door—let alone in front of the entire European elite.
"Clara," Lucian said smoothly, stepping through the parting crowd with aristocratic grace. "You decided to accept my invitation after all. But where is my son?"
May you like
I stopped three paces from him, my chin lifted high, projecting my voice so every dignitary, billionaire, and corrupt official in the hall could hear every single syllable.
"Your son?" I laughed softly, a sound pure and cold as a razor blade. "You have no son here, Lucian. All you have is a shattered contract signed by a dead man, and the delusion that stolen seeds make a father."
