Chapter 4 - The Masquerade of Wolves
The grand ballroom of the Bellagio Heights Resort was illuminated by towering crystal chandeliers.
The resort was still four months from its grand opening, but the grand ballroom had been finished ahead of schedule for tonight.
The Nevada Gaming Commission Annual Gala was the most exclusive social event of the year.
Three hundred guests filled the room: federal judges, gaming regulators, casino moguls, and high-ranking syndicate figures dressed in black tie.
Flashbulbs erupted continuously near the red-carpet entrance.
Victoria Kane stepped out of her limousine, wearing a floor-length emerald silk gown that clung to her silhouette.
Diamonds framed her collarbones, but the three-carat DeLuca ring on her left hand drew every camera lens.
Roman DeLuca was waiting at the foot of the carpet.
His tuxedo was custom Brioni, his posture regal and imposing.
He extended his arm.
Victoria placed her gloved hand inside the crook of his elbow.
The press shouted questions from behind the velvet stanchions.
"Mr. DeLuca! Is the merger finalized?"
"Miss Kane! Does your father approve of this union?"
Roman smiled a practiced, charming smile for the cameras while leaning slightly toward Victoria's ear.
"You look magnificent."
"Flattery is not covered under the seven agreements," Victoria murmured through her smiling lips.
"It makes the performance authentic."
"The cameras don't care about authenticity, Roman."
"They care about power."
They walked into the ballroom together, the crowd parting like water before their combined presence.
Murmurs rippled through the room.
Every major family in the western syndicate was watching them.
Lenders who had threatened to pull their credit lines now raised champagne flutes in their direction.
Across the ballroom, standing beside a group of state senators, stood Uncle Anthony DeLuca.
He watched Roman and Victoria with an expression of thinly veiled venom.
Standing fifty feet away near the bar was Daniel Price, wearing an expensive tuxedo that did not hide the nervous tension in his posture.
Victoria took two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to Roman.
"Daniel is checking his watch every four minutes," she whispered.
"He is waiting for the Tonopah convoy to cross the county line," Roman replied.
"Our fake GPS beacons have been broadcasting false coordinates for forty minutes," Victoria said.
"Marcus confirmed Anthony's strike team just moved into the valley," Roman added.
"They will find four empty shipping containers filled with gravel."
The music shifted from a modern quartet to a slow, classical waltz.
Roman set his glass onto a marble bistro table.
He extended his hand toward Victoria.
"The press expects a dance, Miss Kane."
Victoria looked at his open palm.
"I don't dance with my business adversaries."
"For the next seventy-eight days, I am your fiancé."
Victoria placed her hand in his.
Roman drew her onto the polished dance floor with effortless grace.
His hand rested firmly against the small of her back.
Her palm pressed against his shoulder.
They moved with surprising synchronization, their steps fluid and controlled.
The room faded into a blur of tuxedoes, evening gowns, and glittering light.
For a moment, the tension between them shifted from tactical rivalry into something far more volatile.
Roman's eyes held hers with an intensity that made Victoria's breathing hitch.
"You're a very good dancer, Victoria."
"My father hired the best instructors."
"Did he teach you how to survive a war?"
"He taught me how to win one."
Roman spun her out, then pulled her back against his chest with sudden, controlled power.
His lips brushed the side of her neck as he spoke.
"Look at the north balcony."
Victoria followed his gaze without breaking rhythm.
Standing in the shadows of the mezzanine was an elderly man in a dark gray suit.
His hair was thinning, his skin parchment-pale.
He held a highball glass with visibly trembling fingers.
"Who is that?" Victoria asked.
"Julian Sterling," Roman whispered.
Victoria's mind searched through corporate records.
"The former chairman of the Nevada Gaming Commission?"
"The man who presided over the 2001 regulatory hearings."
"The man who ordered the freeze on the Harbor Agreement funds."
Victoria looked back at Roman.
"Why is he here?"
"Marcus pulled his bank statements this afternoon."
"Sterling received twenty-five thousand dollars a month from Silver Crest Advisory for twenty-four years."
"A retainer for silence," Victoria said, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"The payments stopped forty-eight hours ago."
"When our agreement was signed."
"Sterling is terrified, Victoria."
"Whoever controls Silver Crest is cutting off loose ends."
The waltz concluded with a sweeping crescendo.
The ballroom erupted into polite applause.
Roman bowed slightly; Victoria offered a graceful nod.
They stepped off the floor and made their way toward the private lounge beneath the north mezzanine.
The corridor was quiet, insulated from the roar of the party.
Julian Sterling was sitting on a velvet settee, nursing his bourbon.
When the shadows of Roman and Victoria fell over his table, the old man nearly dropped his glass.
"Mr. DeLuca... Miss Kane..."
Roman sat down in the armchair directly opposite him, blocking the exit.
Victoria leaned against the mahogany console beside him.
"You look nervous, Mr. Sterling," Victoria said softly.
"This is a celebration of peace."
Sterling's breath rattled in his throat.
"There is no peace between your families."
"There never was."
Roman leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"Tell us about March 18, 2001, Julian."
Sterling pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow.
"I can't talk about that."
"They'll kill me."
"Who will kill you?" Victoria demanded, her voice sharp as glass.
"Silver Crest?"
Sterling flinched at the name.
"Your fathers were innocent," the old man whispered, his eyes darting toward the corridor.
"Arthur Kane and Salvatore DeLuca wanted to build something legitimate."
"They wanted their children out of the underworld."
"Who stopped them?" Roman asked.
"The brothers," Sterling rasped.
"Charles Kane and Anthony DeLuca came to my office at two in the morning."
"They had forged accounting ledgers showing Arthur was stealing from the escrow."
"They paid me three million dollars to issue the emergency regulatory freeze."
Victoria felt the floor sway beneath her feet.
"My uncle Charles forged the theft?"
"Both of them did," Sterling whispered.
"They split the escrow."
"Then they told your fathers that the other family had ordered the hit on the Long Beach dock."
Sterling grabbed Roman's sleeve with desperate strength.
"You don't understand what you've walked into, boy."
"The feud wasn't just about money."
"It was about control."
"Anthony and Charles built Silver Crest to run everything from the shadows."
Roman removed Sterling's fingers from his jacket with surgical precision.
"Charles Kane died in 2008."
Sterling let out a high, terrified laugh.
"Charles didn't die."
Victoria grabbed the old man's lapel, pulling him forward.
"What did you say?"
"Charles Kane faked that crash off Baja!" Sterling hissed.
"He took two hundred million dollars and relocated to Zurich!"
"He runs the foreign accounts!"
"And Anthony runs the domestic operations right here in Nevada!"
Before Victoria could ask another question, the fire alarm screeched across the building.
Strobe lights flashed through the corridor.
A security guard sprinted around the corner, his radio blaring static.
"Code Red! Explosion in the south parking structure!"
Roman was on his feet instantly, drawing a concealed ceramic pistol from beneath his tuxedo.
He grabbed Victoria's arm, pulling her behind his shoulder.
"Marcus! Report!" Roman spoke into his lapel communicator.
"Car bomb on Level Two, boss!" Marcus's voice cracked through static.
"It was Sterling's town car!"
"They missed him inside, but a hit team is sweeping the service elevators!"
May you like
Roman looked at Victoria, his eyes ablaze with lethal focus.
"We move now."
