"Adjust your mask," Rhys muttered, his fingers barely brushing my elbow as we pushed through the security line.
"If the guard checks my fake diplomatic pass again, we're dead before we cross the foyer," I whispered back, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"He won't," Rhys said, his dark eyes glinting behind his silver domino mask. "Keep moving. Smile like you own every inch of this room."
We stepped past two armed guards and entered the grand ballroom of the Panamanian Embassy. High above us, massive gold chandeliers cast warm light over dozens of masked guests moving across the floor in elegant gowns and tailored tuxedos. Soft music filled the air, but danger lingered beneath the luxury.
Arthur’s European financial partners were all here tonight, gathering in small, secretive cluster
