Page 4 of The Syndicate’s Shadow Heiress (Branche de Lune Syndicate #1)

SILK AND SMOKE

Kali’s Emotional State: Poised. Predatory. Seductively in control. This is her arena, where secrets bleed and power shifts with a look. The club isn’t just a facade—it’s her war room.

T

he Syndicate’s vault below Club Noire wasn’t just a storage chamber. It was a sanctum. A graveyard. A gallery of violence dressed as reverence.

Kali moved through its corridor with measured steps, her stilettos whispering across pristine tile. Her shadows slithered at her heels, brushing the runes carved into the walls like they were tasting the air.

Every artifact she passed whispered danger, temptation, legacy. The air itself tasted like ash and ancient magic. This was where secrets came to die—or be reborn.

Her fingers ghosted over a glass case holding the Soul-Veil—a binding cloth used to trap spirits between realms. It shivered at her touch.

“I feel you,” she murmured. “But you’re not for tonight.”

The vault pulsed around her, hunger blooming like blood spilled into a predator’s waters. Her skin prickled. The ache beneath her ribs flared—her curse coiling tight. Her magic kept her upright, but the pain gnawed beneath every breath like something feral .

Astraeus stirred in her mind—her shadow-bonded sentinel, ever-present, ever-watchful.

You shouldn’t be here alone.

She smiled.

“Since when have I ever listened to that advice?”

You’re walking too close to the edge.

“That’s where the view’s best.”

A mirror caught her: steel-gray eyes, hair braided like a whip down her spine, lips painted Blood Forbidden—war-red, the color of ruined kingdoms. Her grandfather’s ring hung at her throat like a vow no one dared question..

He would’ve told her to delegate. To wait.

But the Spiral had shifted. Azareal was moving faster.

And Lucian? The man her grandfather once defended. The one she almost trusted. A traitor soaked in perfume and diplomacy.

Kali turned from the mirror.

Somewhere in the stone beneath her feet, a hum she couldn’t name echoed back. Not loud. But familiar. Hollow.

Tonight, she wouldn’t wait. She would strike.

She stood outside the vault. The silence pressed against her ribs like armor. The betrayal didn’t surprise her, but it still cost something.

Back upstairs, Irina met her outside the vault, datapad in one hand and calm fury in her stare.

“Noire’s ready. The senator thinks it’s a friendly meeting. He doesn’t know we cracked the patches.”

“Let him think we’re blind,” Kali said. “Just make sure the cameras are running.”

This wasn’t just a power play. The senator had gambled with Syndicate blood to secure outside alliances. Quiet deals. Dangerous ones. And if Kali didn’t burn that rot out now, it would spread.

Irina hesitated. “You’re going into the playroom?”

Kali smiled slowly. “Oh, we’re past politics now. It’s time he learns what betrayal costs.”

She stepped into her dressing chamber.

The wardrobe shimmered to life. Holograms and enchantments hummed. This wasn’t fashion—it was preparation. Armor disguised as silk. Stilettos laced with hidden blades. Jewelry laced with spells. A black velvet mask dotted with diamonds rested across her eyes like a dare.

Tonight’s dress clung to her like a promise of lethal danger. Black velvet. Mini cut. Slit high. Exposed skin, not for seduction, but domination. Her scent—Voodoo Lily—spilled through the room in thick waves of frankincense, oud, and unholy invitation .

Her shadow magic coiled around her hips like a living veil. Not clothes. Power.

She inhaled.

Let them think this is silk and smoke.

Let them forget it’s a warpath.

Lev’s voice slid into her mind, dark and razor-slick.

“I’ll meet you at the door. Let’s make him scream, my queen.”

His presence didn’t fade. It pressed closer—warm, coiled, wicked.

Wear that little black velvet sin for me, he murmured, rough silk and slow fire. Or better yet... let me rip it off you after.

Kali’s mouth curled in a smile that was all teeth and threat.

Focus, monster, she thought back, amused.

Lev’s chuckle rumbled through her blood, dangerous and hungry.

Oh, I am. I’m focused on you.

She let the silence stretch just long enough to make him wonder if she’d respond at all. Then:

Focus harder. I don’t like distractions.

She closed her eyes just for a heartbeat. Not because she needed to.

Because she wanted to remember how it felt.

To be watched like prey—but hold the knife anyway .

The connection between them tightened, sharp enough to draw blood.

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

The game had already started.

“And mercy?”

She never learned the word.