I narrowed my eyes, tracking the guests. No familiar faces—only makeup and masks. I was sure they'd worked just as hard to change their faces as I had.
"How's the situation?"
Lifting my glass slowly to my lips, I murmured to Severin,
"It looks like a box of coloured pencils—everyone bright and pretty; but inside? They're all the same shade of black. Nothing more."
He chuckled, unbothered. By his neat, pre-planned setup, he had full access to every camera in the hall; parked near the venue in a black van, watching everyone with those mismatched eyes.
"Two o'clock—See the paunchy bloke in a suit? The one with the gaudy gold tie that matches his ridiculous mask… Got him?"
My mouth tugged, and I fought a smile. I flicked a glance at the middle-aged man. Severin was right—he looked ridiculous.
I kept my glass near my lips whenever I spoke, hiding the movement.
"Mmm-hmm."
I studied him from a distance. He was talking to a woman about his age. Short, greying hair. His belly bulged against his jacket.
Severin's voice turned cool, all business.
"He's handling the sale of that painting tonight. Stick to the plan—get close, make an impression. The auction starts in a bit."
You'd never guess he'd been mocking me a few minutes ago.
"Fine."
I set my glass beside the cut-glass candles and drifted towards the man. Halfway there, I took a wine from a girl's gold tray and, making sure he saw me, ignored him—and everyone else—and walked straight to the glass case, stopping in front of the painting.
Up close, I stared at it, while the reflection in the glass told me he'd noticed. He was already brushing the woman off.
I let the wine turn lazily in my hand and kept my gaze on the canvas.
"If you look from the right," he said, "you'll see the angel is falling."
I smiled, sharp, and peeled my triumphant gaze off the painting. Mouse in the trap.
I pivoted towards him and studied his profile. Through the shiny gold mask only his dark eyes showed.
Calmly, I looked back at the piece.
"It's like the Mona Lisa— the longer you look, the more it gives up."
I gestured at the canvas.
"And just like the Mona Lisa being smaller than you expect, this isn't quite what I imagined either."
He laughed, tipsy, raised his glass and took a slow sip, staring into my eyes. When he spoke again his voice was all adoration.
"True… but the secrets inside it are much larger than the painting itself."
Severin drawled in my ear,
"I feel like I'm going to throw up that hot dog."
I smiled despite myself. The man, thinking it was for him, edged closer and dipped his head towards mine. For the first time, the reek of wine actually turned my stomach.
"Haven't seen you before… I know most of the VIPs."
I arched a brow, tilted my head, let my gaze travel, then said—cool and proud,
"Maybe that's because I don't go to just any party."
I looked back at the painting. He leaned closer to my ear.
"So you must be very special."
My smile thinned. I raised my glass, eyes still on the canvas.
"I couldn't pass up the chance to see it."
He slicked his greying hair behind his ear, wine in hand, eyes on the painting.
"To see it—or to take it home?"
I smiled, tilted my head, and murmured, lazy,
"Both… along with its secrets."
He held my gaze. Something in his tone shifted. I turned to him, just as serious.
He glanced around, leaned in, and breathed against my ear—
Because you're stunning—and you've made my night—I'll tell you a secret. Unfortunately, the auction's just theatre. The painting's already been sold.'
My mouth went dry again. I glared at him, fighting to keep my face even; my fingers tightened around the stem of my glass.
severin's voice snapped in my ear, fanning the heat in my chest. 'Fucking hell.'
I forced my voice level. 'Before tonight…?'
He nodded, smiling in a way that grated. He leaned to my ear. 'No. A little while ago. They put up the highest bid. Sent an agent from Russia.'
I smiled—barely—and kept my tone as cool as I could. 'A shame… I won't get to unravel the secrets in it.'
He dipped closer again, drawling, filthy. 'Some secrets last for ever. I'm hoping one day I get to see the secret under that mask.'
I pressed my lips together, took a mean little sip of wine, and let a thin smile cut across my mouth.
The woman he'd been speaking to earlier came back and caught his arm. 'Gustav, please—come. We're curious about this sculpture…'
He inclined his head, dragged his gaze off me, and let her pull him towards a glass case on the left.
I was breathing hard. Staring at the painting, I whispered, 'What do we do now?'
A long beat, then severin: 'I'm working on it.'
He sounded all nerves and steel. If the buyers moved the painting out before we ran the op, everything would spiral.
Damn it—we were supposed to hit the Rose Organization and the Triad Union hard with this.
A hand settled on the small of my back.
Stunned, I stared at the reflection in the glass: a black mask.
A familiar voice—cold, rough—breathed against the shell of my ear, the sound peeling my soul from my skin. 'I kept my word. I'm in a suit, little butterfly.
severin again, and this time it ripped through me. 'Oh, shit… I'm off to wear black to your funeral.'