CHAPTER 21
My phone buzzed again almost immediately after the post went up. Not from the journalist. Not from Belema.
From him.
Duke:
You really want to do this here?
I didn’t respond.
Because yes — I wanted to do it here. In front of all their perfect wives and political legacies. In the city where everything was borrowed and nothing was free. Where reputation was currency and I was suddenly filthy rich.
I took the elevator back up to the mezzanine, past the ballroom, past the women in backless gowns and men with empty promises tucked in their tuxedo pockets. The rooftop lounge was quieter. More private. A place for whispered deals and posturing that stank of gin and ambition.
He was waiting near the edge, back turned to me, drink in hand. He didn’t turn when I stepped closer, but
