Yours to Protect, His to Destroy

Appropriate

The dress arrived Thursday morning, no note, no explanation, just a garment bag delivered by a driver who said only that it was compliments of Mr. Castellano and left before Elena could ask a single question.

She unzipped it at her kitchen table with the same wariness she gave most unexpected gifts, which was to say considerable. Deep emerald, structured, the kind of cut that suggested whoever chose it understood the difference between beautiful and impractical. She checked the seams out of habit, an old instinct from a career that had taught her clothing could hide more than it revealed, and found nothing but expensive tailoring and a small tag from a designer she recognized from exactly the kind of world she'd spent six years staying out of.

Marco called an hour later.

"You'll notice it's not backless," he said, without preamble.

"I noticed."

"He specified that. Said you'd need to be able to move if something happened. Most men buying a woman a dress for a gala are thinking about how she looks in it. He was thinking about how fast you could reach a concealed weapon."

Elena turned the dress over again, reassessing it with that information sitting differently now. "That's either very thoughtful or very calculating."

"With him, it's usually both at the same time. I've stopped trying to separate the two." Marco's voice carried something warmer than she'd expect from a man discussing his employer's wardrobe choices, an ease that suggested genuine fondness underneath the professional distance. "He doesn't do things halfway, Elena. If he's thought about how you'll move in that dress, he's already thought about six other things you haven't considered yet. Just keep up."

"I intend to."

"I believe you." A pause, and when he spoke again his tone had shifted, careful in a way she was starting to recognize as characteristic of him. "For what it's worth, he doesn't usually take this long deciding whether to trust someone. Three days and he's already sending dresses. That's fast, for him."

"Should I be flattered or worried?"

"Little of both, probably. Keeps things interesting."

Friday arrived faster than the file had suggested it would. Elena spent the afternoon reading the Hendricks Foundation's board list twice over, cross referencing names against the intelligence she'd already gathered on Castellano's world, judges who owed him favors, a senator's aide who'd been photographed leaving The Aviary at hours that didn't match any public event, three captains whose names appeared in property records tied to buildings that officially belonged to shell companies. By the time the car arrived at seven, she'd built a mental map of the room she hadn't even entered yet.

Adrian was already inside the vehicle when the driver opened her door, dressed in black, the kind of suit that made every other man in a room look like he was trying too hard by comparison. He looked up as she settled into the seat across from him, and something in his expression paused, brief, controlled, the same flicker she'd caught in the club three days earlier, gone before it could be named.

"The dress works," he said.

"You would know. You picked it."

"I picked function. You're the one wearing it well." He said it without inflection, the kind of comment that could have been flattery or simple observation, and Elena found herself unable to immediately decide which, which irritated her slightly more than she wanted to admit.

"I read the board list," she said, redirecting. "Judge Halloway will be there. Senator Reyes. A man named Alvarez who I can't find a legitimate reason for you to know socially, given his last three business ventures were all financed through accounts that trace back to shell companies I'm fairly confident belong to you."

Something shifted in Adrian's expression, not surprise exactly, more the particular stillness of a man recalculating how much a person had actually seen in three days with a thin folder and a name.

"You read fast," he said quietly.

"I told you I would."

"You also said you think slower. I'm beginning to suspect that was a lie."

"I told you. I don't lie. I just don't tell the whole truth." Elena held his gaze across the small space of the car, unflinching, and watched something in him settle into an expression she hadn't seen from him yet, not quite a smile, something closer to genuine attention. "Alvarez. Am I wrong?"

"No," Adrian said. "You're not wrong."

"Then I'll watch him tonight."

"You'll watch everyone tonight."

"I intend to."

The car slowed outside a building lit gold from within, the kind of entrance built specifically to announce importance before anyone stepped through the door. Adrian didn't move to exit immediately, and for a moment the two of them sat in the stilled quiet of the car, the noise of the arriving gala muffled beyond the glass.

"One thing before we go in," he said. "Tonight, you're not my security. You're my guest. If anyone asks how we know each other, the answer is simple, we met through mutual friends, and you're new to the city."

"And if someone doesn't believe that."

"Then you'll have already noticed something worth telling me about, because the only people who'd doubt that story are the ones with a reason to be paying closer attention to me than they should." He studied her for a moment longer than the explanation required. "Ready?"

Elena straightened, smoothed the emerald fabric over fabric that hid exactly what Marco had promised it would, and looked at him with the same steady composure she'd carried into the empty club three days ago.

"Let's find out what Alvarez is hiding."

Something that might have been approval crossed Adrian's face as he opened the door himself, before the driver could reach it, an old habit or a new one, she couldn't yet tell. He held out a hand to help her from the car, and for one unguarded second, as her fingers met his, something passed between them that neither one of them had scheduled, unplanned, unhurried, gone the moment her feet touched pavement.

Neither of them mentioned it. Both of them noticed.