Page 23 of Empire State Enemies

Charles Madison, New York’s newest senator, our new knight draped in a power suit and an American flag pin. If we want smooth operations over the next few years, we need to win this guy over. Zoning permissions, development approvals, casino gambling tax laws—he’s got it all in his pocket.

So tonight, I’ll turn on the charm full throttle, while trying not to get distracted by those horse teeth of his.

“And his daughter’s going to be there,” Killian throws in. “Try not to rile her up like you usually do.”

I roll my eyes. Ah yes, the virtuous daughter running for Miss World. I only know that riveting detail because she’s the hot topic among the reception staff.

Okay, maybe I get a kick out of seeing how hard I can make daddy’s little girl blush with a few well-placed innuendos and a sprinkle of that infamous Quinn charm. Just a bit of harmless fun to break the monotony.

“Don’t worry, I’ll try to keep my charm in check around Madison’s baby girl,” I say with mock sincerity, placing a hand over my heart. “Even though we both know she secretly loves it.”

Killian shoots me an irritated glare. “I’m serious, Connor. No playing Casanova.”

He’s laying it on thick, but the truth is, the idea of another night of empty flirting and putting on a facade is just exhausting. He doesn’t have to worry; I’m not in the mood for any of it.

There’s a part of me, maybe a hidden, quieter part, that wonders what life would’ve been like had I taken a different path. Like that electrician apprenticeship I once eyed right out of high school. A life less complicated, just working hard and getting my hands dirty without all this bullshit. But that’s not how it played out.

This is my reality.

Tonight’s no different. I’ll play the role expected of me, and not a damn thing will veer me off this path I’m on.

I’m not about to let anything or anyone change me.

EIGHT

Connor

Our sedan weaves through Midtown’s chaotic traffic, pulling up outside the Quinn & Wolfe flagship hotel.

Every time I lay eyes on it, it stirs a deep, fierce pride in my chest. It’s a fucking monument in the Manhattan skyline, a giant tribute to the empire we’ve built from scratch.

I remember the first time I saw it immortalized on some sidewalk art stand—cost me ten bucks, but I tipped that artist a hundred. Still have it framed in my en suite bathroom.

We’re greeted by a media circus—reporters and camera crews roped off behind barricades, celebs and politicians preening for their fifteen minutes of fame before hitting the open bar.

I step out of the car and it’s chaos. Mics shoved in my face, reporters shouting over each other like a pack of hyenas. One idiot tries to slip under the rope and nearly ends up eating pavement.

“Killian! Any truth to those bribery allegations on your latest development?”

“Mr. Quinn! What can you tell us about the allegations of financial misconduct with the gambling commission?”

“Connor! Is it true your bedroom is decorated with diamond-encrusted sculptures of your own penis?”

Now that one gives me pause. I can’t let such slander stand. “Swarovski crystals, not diamonds,” I deadpan, lifting a brow. “Get your facts straight.”

We stroll into the lobby, teeming with New York’s crème de la narcissistic crème lazily sipping on Veuve like it’s water and basking in their own glory. Oblivious, of course, to the diligent staff scurrying around them, refilling their flutes.

Our designers have gone all out with the usual pretentious bling. Servers weave through with champagne and froufrou snacks that wouldn’t fill up a bird. Good thing I had a steak earlier.

Off to the side, a string quartet competes with the din of self-important chatter. I pause for a second to appreciate it before straightening up. Showtime.

???

An hour deep, and I’m cranking out charm on autopilot—laughing at terrible jokes, stroking egos left and right. The alcohol’s doing its thing, loosening everyone up.

Tonight, though, the mask feels suffocating. These events used to be easy. Now the banal small talk grates, my social skills corroding by the day.

If the doctors are right, there might come a time when I can’t even play this game anymore.