Page 121 of Shadow Waltz
“Follow my lead,” I said, beginning the slow, formal steps that turned us into something from classical romance. “Trust me to guide you.”
The metaphor wasn't lost on either of us—this was exactly what our entire relationship had been about, his willingness to trust my guidance while contributing his own strength and intelligence to what we were building together. As we moved across the floor, I could feel hundreds of eyes tracking our movement, cataloguing the obvious intimacy between us, recognizing that what they were witnessing transcended simple ownership.
“They're watching us,” Ash observed, though he didn't miss a step as I led him through increasingly complex patterns.
“They're watching history being rewritten,” I corrected, spinning him with controlled grace before pulling him back against my chest. “They're seeing that partnership can be more powerful than domination, that love can be weapon rather than weakness.”
“Is that what this is?” Ash asked quietly, close enough that only I could hear him. “Love?”
Looking into his eyes, seeing the vulnerability and hope burning there behind the elegant mask, I realized that what I felt for him had transcended every boundary I'd tried to establish.
“Yes,” I said simply, because some truths were too important for elaborate explanations. “It is.”
The admission should have terrified me, should have triggered every survival instinct I'd developed over fifteen years of ruling through calculated distance. But watching Ash's face transform with wonder and something that might have been relief, I realized that some risks were worth taking for the right reasons.
“Good,” he said, and his smile was radiant enough to outshine the crystal chandeliers. “Because I was starting to worry I was the only one falling.”
The rest of the dance passed in a haze of classical music and crystalline light, of whispered endearments and stolen kisses that transformed us from criminal kingpin and former victim into something approaching fairy tale romance. By the time the waltz ended, I was certain that everyone in the ballroom understood exactly what Ash meant to me.
But as we moved off the dance floor, I caught sight of a figure that made my blood run cold despite the elegant setting. Detective Reddick stood near the champagne service, wearing formal attire and a simple black mask that did nothing to disguise his unmistakable presence.
The audacity of his appearance here, at my most exclusive gathering, surrounded by enough evidence to destroy half the criminal organizations on the East Coast, sent something dangerous and calculating unfurling in my chest.
“Luka,” Ash said quietly, following my gaze and recognizing the threat immediately. “What's Reddick doing here?”
“Making a statement,” I replied, my voice carrying the kind of deadly calm that preceded violence. “The question is whether he's here as cop or as something more dangerous.”
As if sensing our attention, Reddick turned toward us and raised his champagne glass in a mock toast, his expression carrying the kind of cold satisfaction that meant he believed he held cards we didn't know about.
“It's starting,” I said, taking Ash's hand in mine and beginning to move toward positions that would give us tactical advantages if the evening exploded into the violence I could feel building in the air like electricity before a storm.
“Ours or theirs?” Ash asked, his voice steady despite the immediate danger.
“Both,” I replied. “But we're going to make sure we're the ones left standing when the music stops.”
The lights flickered once, twice, then settled into patterns that could have been technical difficulties but felt like countdown to warfare. Around us, conversations continued, but I caught the way certain figures began moving with purpose that had nothing to do with social networking.
“Luka,” Ash said, his voice carrying steel that reminded me why I'd chosen him as partner rather than just pet. “Let's show them what happens when they fuck with our fairy tale.”
The first explosion came from the building's east wing, close enough to rattle the crystal chandeliers and send ripples across champagne glasses. The elegant facade of civilized conversation shattered instantly as masked figures throughout the ballroom revealed weapons that had been concealed beneath formal wear, transforming the masquerade into a battlefield where tuxedos and evening gowns provided cover for coordinated violence.
“Down!” I shouted, pulling Ash behind an overturned marble table as automatic gunfire erupted from multiple positions. The attackers had been positioned strategically throughout theballroom, invited guests who'd been planning this coordinated strike for weeks.
Through the chaos, I caught glimpses of familiar faces behind the masks—Helena Von Stein's security team are moving, federal agents who shouldn't have been able to penetrate our security, and Detective Reddick coordinating what looked like a joint task force operation designed to capture or kill everyone in the room.
“Troy!” I called into my comm, but static was the only response. Our communications had been jammed, cutting us off from the security teams positioned throughout the building.
Ash moved beside me with deadly grace, producing a pistol from somewhere within his formal wear that I hadn't known he was carrying. “Six shooters, east wall,” he reported with the calm competence of someone who'd learned to function under extreme pressure. “Federal tactical gear, coordinated movement patterns.”
“Adrian!” I spotted the Calloways taking cover behind the orchestra pit, both men armed and returning fire with the kind of coordinated teamwork that spoke to years of surviving together. Noah's delicate features were set in lines of cold determination as he provided covering fire while Adrian advanced on their attackers.
The ballroom had become a war zone, marble floors slick with blood and champagne, crystal chandeliers swaying dangerously as bullets shattered their supports. The orchestra had fled, leaving their instruments scattered like elegant casualties across the stage.
“Movement, north entrance,” Ash warned, and I turned to see more tactical teams pouring through doorways that should have been secured. These weren't just criminals or corrupt cops—this was a full federal operation, coordinated and planned to eliminate everyone who'd attended tonight's gathering.
I drew both pistols from their concealed holsters, feeling the familiar weight of weapons that had kept me alive through fifteen years of warfare. “Stay behind me,” I told Ash, though I knew he was capable of handling himself in combat.
“Like hell,” he replied, moving to flank the advancing teams with the kind of tactical thinking that proved his street survival skills translated to organized violence. “We do this together or not at all.”