Page 26

26

Layla

I’ve drunk two glasses of champagne already as Luca, sensing I needed the Dutch courage and filled my glass as soon as I’d finished the first.

“Ten minutes, sir,” the driver says over some sort of intercom.

“Fuck.” I gulp down more champagne.

“Slow down, sunshine, you do actually need to be coherent for this evening.”

“Spoil sport,” I mutter, the nerves building in my stomach. “So, tell me about tonight.”

“Gala dinner, very boring.” He waves his hand dismissively. “There will be lots of tedious small talk, men having pissing contests, the leaders of our company there.”

“When you say company, you mean mafia empire right?” I say, air quoting.

“Yes, Layla, the mafia kingpins of London will be there tonight,” he deadpans. He reaches over and squeezes my cheeks, his eyes boring into mine. “Which is why you follow my lead, you stay by my side, and you try to keep your pretty mouth shut.”

“Ah, the arsehole’s back. Nice to see you again, Mr Knight.”

“No, Layla, the mask is in place. It’s almost game time, I suggest you find yours.” He’s practically sneering at me.

“Talk about whiplash,” I mutter and turn towards the window.

Game face.

I can do this, I’ve got this.

“Katy will be joining us.”

I whip back around in surprise. “What? Why?”

“I figured you’d appreciate an ally.”

“Is she in danger?”

“No,” he says resolutely. “Roman is picking her up and will drop her off after. We need to sell this—” he points between us “—to her as much to anyone else, otherwise she puts herself and you at risk.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Won’t she put you at risk?”

“Careful, sunshine, anyone would think you were worried about me.” His grin is smug, and I want to smack it off his face.

I shrug and take a sip of champagne. “Not worried about you, more worried about the fact that if anything happens to you, I can say goodbye to my protection. Our fates are aligned now.”

He looks past me as the limousine slows. “I guess they are. We’re here.”

“What the hell?” I say in wonder as the limo pulls up underneath the overhanging awning of a large hotel. “Are those paparazzi?”

“It’s a big event.” He shrugs. “What were you expecting?”

“I dunno, like some seedy affair. This is—”

“Prestigious.”

“I can’t do this, Luca,” I say in a panic. “Look at all the cameras, and the people. Th- This isn’t me.”

“Sunshine.” He squeezes my hand. “You’ve got this.” The car pulls to a stop, and the driver jumps out. “It will be just like a walk through the park.”

“What parks do you go to?” I reply and he chuckles.

“Just follow my lead. Now smile.” I pull a weird face. “Try again without looking like you’re about to shit yourself.”

“I am about to shit myself,” I mutter, allowing myself to smile as he tucks my hair behind my ear.

“See, perfect.” He kisses my forehead before the door to the car opens and he climbs out to the wild flashing lights of cameras.

I scoot across the seat, and slowly climb out of the car, careful not to fall on my arse. His hand is there, and I grip it, before looping my arm through his.

“Ready.” He looks down at me.

“As I’ll ever be.” I gulp in a breath and keep my eyes on the darkness of his, reflecting the lights of the cameras that flash around us.

“And smile.” He turns his attention to the crowd, and I’m mesmerised, watching the mask fall in real time, the light-hearted Luca, gone, replaced by Luca Knight, the cold, calculating, businessman and criminal. His eyes turn cold, his mouth tilts into a neutral expression and he leads us up the steps that are shrouded in gold carpet towards the reception area in the hotel.

People arrive around us in streams, couples, small groups, singles, all dressed in beautiful and expensive clothes. The doormen waiting in their meticulously pressed black suits.

All the while, explosions of lights as paparazzi try to catch a glimpse of celebrities, A-Listers and—Jesus … is that?

Luca follows where I’m looking.

“Yes, the prime minister along with his top cabinet members.”

“But you’re ”

“I’m what?”

“You.”

“Yes, I am me.” He stops us in front of a camera and lets them take pictures. I just stare at him. “Look at the camera, sunshine.” I do as I’m told, and plaster on a fake smile but can still feel his eyes on me. “Beautiful,” he mutters before leaning in closer. “You know there is an exceptionally thin veil between what I do and what he does.” He nods towards the prime minister and his wife who have stopped to talk to some of the media. “The difference is I don’t hide what I do. Him, his team, they are as corrupt as me.”

I shake my head.

“You are fed lies, sunshine, by a media that is just as corrupt. The so-called neutral news outlets are fed lines and stories that they want you to hear. The only difference between him and me … I’m honest with myself and others about what I do. Those arseholes are all under the thumb of some big corporation. They are doing the bidding of whoever has them in their pocket. They are nothing more than well-spoken puppets, and you would be naive to think otherwise.”

“They can’t all be corrupt,” I say in a hushed tone, desperately holding onto the hope that not all of them are immoral bastards.

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “But I’ve not found many yet. But that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. You’d be surprised at just how dirty the main political parties are.”

I absorb everything he says, the amazing surroundings. I’m like a sponge, taking it all in.

“It’s my job to be one step ahead. And everyone in this event has an angle, an endgame. Do me a favour and remember that, will you?”

His hand drops to the small of my back, and I let him lead me up the golden carpet to more shouts and flashes.

We enter through large rotating doors into an ornate looking reception area. The white marbled floors are polished; the lights sparkle off the surface. The walls are decorated in golden plush fabric that run from the top of the double vaulted ceiling to the floor. My eyes are drawn to a huge chandelier that stands centre stage, the light shimmering off the crystal, creating rainbows.

“Holy crap.”

“You’re gawking,” Luca retorts.

“How can something so beautiful have such a dark undertone.”

“You only know it has a dark undertone. Not everyone here is a corrupt arsehole.”

“But you said—”

“I said everyone has an angle, not that everyone is corrupt. Take Mr Carmichael.” He nods to an elderly bespectacled gentleman as he leads me through the hotel. “He’s chief of surgery at St Thomas’ Hospital. He is by far one of the kindest humans I’ve ever met. His angle? Get more funding for the hospital. He isn’t corrupt though. Far from it.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because, Layla, I have to know things. Mr and Mrs Delphini, originally from Russia, now have multiple properties across London and own one of the biggest investment banks in Canary Wharf. He has a legitimate business, but behind the smiles, they have ties to some of the largest Russian gun trading families.”

I stare across and try to keep my expression neutral. They look completely normal. Mr Delphini has his arm looped through his wife’s; he smiles and laughs and, to anyone else, they appear to be a doting couple. Not someone who has ties to the Russian mafia and weapons trade.

“People cast a blind eye. They struggle to buy their weekly food shop and are having to make decisions on whether they feed their children or heat their house because of the people in power. Yet I’m the criminal.” He tsks. “Society is broken. Look there.” He steers me through the crowd, pointing out to other couples who are talking and mingling.

I follow his line of sight to a group of people that includes the Home Secretary.

“They’re talking.” They sip the champagne that has been passed out by servers, but nothing they are doing screams illegal.

“They’re working their angles. The Home Secretary is talking to the French Ambassador trying to tighten the rules around asylum seekers. They both have an interest in what the next political debate rules on the policy of what to do going forward. This event is to try and win votes and support.”

“What is it to you?” I ask.

“Tonight?” He glances down at me and then takes two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and hands me one. “Tonight is about showing the world how deeply in love we are with each other. Tonight is about tricking Levi into thinking his plan has worked.” He kisses my cheek and holds my hand in his free one. “Tonight, Layla, my angle is you and you alone.”

Nerves explode through me, and what can I do when his eyes promise me everything.

I can drink.

I take a big gulp of champagne and hope that I don’t fuck up.