Chapter 4 - The Gala of Lies
The Grand Plaza Hotel was a glittering palace of crystal chandeliers, gold leaf, and high security. Armed guards in tuxedos flanked every entrance, checking biometric passes. Photographers blinded the arriving elite with flashbulbs as limousines lined up along Fifth Avenue.
Inside the ballroom, Marcus Vance stood near a fountain of champagne, holding court with international investors. Beside him stood Viktor Reznikov, a formidable Russian titan with a scarred face and cold, ruthless eyes.
"To the future of the Atlantic," Marcus said, raising his crystal flute. "Tonight, Vance Global becomes untouchable."
Suddenly, the massive brass doors at the entrance of the ballroom clicked open.
The music didn't stop immediately, but a ripple of silence spread from the foyer outward. Two dozen armed private security guards turned toward the door, their hands moving instinctively beneath their jackets.
Dante Serrano walked into the room. He wore a flawless black tuxedo, his stride steady, his dark eyes sweeping the room like a predator selecting his prey.
Marcus’s glass paused halfway to his lips. "Serrano..." he muttered, his face darkening. "How is he alive?"
Beside Dante walked a woman.
She moved with an effortless, predatory grace that commanded the room. Her burgundy dress caught the light of the chandeliers, and around her neck hung a simple pendant made of raw, unpolished obsidian. But it was not the dress or the jewelry that caught the breath of the older elite in the room—it was her face, and the silver falcon crest visible beneath her collar.
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An old shipping magnate in the front row dropped his glass. It shattered on the marble floor.
"My God..." the old man whispered. "Julian’s daughter..."
