Page 86 of Silent Schemes

The police chief laughs at something one of the traffickers says.

It's civilization's mask, paper-thin and transparent if you know how to look.

I scan the room automatically, cataloging exits, counting security, looking for threats.

And I find them immediately.

Three Rosetti men by the service entrance, trying to look casual but standing with the rigid posture of men carrying concealed weapons.

Two more by the kitchen, one of them I recognize from surveillance photos—Dominic's brother, hungry for revenge.

Another near the emergency exit.

It's a kill box, and Varrick's about to walk right into it.

"Dance with me," Varrick says, appearing at my elbow.

"I don't dance."

"Tonight you do." He leads me onto the floor, one hand on my waist, the other holding mine.

To anyone watching, we're just another couple.

But I feel the gun under his jacket, the knife at his ankle.

He came prepared.

The orchestra plays something classical, waltz-tempo, and Varrick leads with surprising grace.

"They're here," I whisper as we turn. "Six that I've counted. Maybe more."

"I know." His hand tightens on my waist. "Spotted them when we walked in. The question is how you knew they'd be here."

"I told you, desperate people?—"

"Don't lie to me." His voice is soft but dangerous, the tone that precedes violence. "Not anymore. We're far past that, don’t you think?"

We turn again, and I catch sight of another Rosetti, this one armed with something heavier under his coat. "Kitchen entrance. Shotgun probably."

"You're remarkably well-informed for someone who just guessed they might try something."

"Varrick—"

"After. We'll deal with this after."

The music ends.

He releases me but keeps close as we move through the crowd.

His phone buzzes—a text from one of his men confirming more Rosetti soldiers outside.

It's worse than I thought.

This isn't just a test.

It's an execution.

"We need to leave," I say urgently.