Under His Cover

CHAPTER 10: THE VALENTI GALA & THE DANCING BLADE

The double doors of the master dressing room stood wide open, bathed in the sharp, white glow of vanity bulbs.
Evangeline stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the delicate diamond strap resting over her left shoulder. The dress was a masterpiece of lethal elegance—a floor-length gown of liquid obsidian silk that clung to her curves like a second skin. It featured an open back and a slit along the right thigh that went high enough to allow total movement, revealing just a glimpse of the slim leather holster strapped securely beneath the silk.
Her long blonde hair was styled into an intricate, sweeping updo, exposing the graceful line of her neck and the small, silver comms bead resting inside her right ear.
Behind her, the quiet sound of leather shoes against polished marble signaled Alexander’s approach.
He stepped into the frame of the mirror, adjusting the jet-black bow tie at the collar of his bespoke tuxedo. The dark suit fit his wide shoulders and towering frame impeccably, giving him the look of an untamable warlord disguised in elite, high-society tailoring.
His grey-blue eyes met hers in the glass reflection, tracking the curve of her throat down to the dark silk of her dress. A low, slow burn flickered behind his gaze before his lips curved into that familiar, quiet smirk.
"You look dangerous, Mrs. Vance," Alexander drawled smoothly, his gravelly voice sounding thick in the quiet room. "Very expensive. Very lethal."
"And you look like a corporate hitman who bought a luxury brand," Evangeline replied coolly, turning around to face him.
She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor. Reaching out, her delicate fingers brushed against his lapel, straightening the crisp edge of his suit jacket. As her fingers lingered near his chest, she subtly patted the inner pocket, verifying the weight of his concealed sidearm.
Alexander didn't pull back. Instead, his heavy hand came down over the small of her back, his long fingers pressing through the thin silk of her dress, pulling her an inch closer until her chest brushed against his.
"Double-checking my gear, viper?" he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek.
"Verifying that my fake husband knows how to conceal his weapons in polite company," she purred back, her golden-hazel eyes locking into his with unwavering intensity.
"I always keep my weapons ready," Alexander murmured softly, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate line along her spine that sent a sudden, unwanted shiver down her skin. "Especially when I'm walking into a serpent's nest with you."
"Remember the rules tonight, Vance," Evangeline warned quietly, her hand resting flat against his solid chest. "We are deeply, obsessively in love. You don't let go of my waist unless I tell you to. You don't let any of those political vultures isolate me. And if my uncle tries to pull me into a private study, you stay right beside me."
Alexander’s eyes darkened, the playful sarcasm vanishing into a cold, terrifying focus. "Your uncle won't touch a hair on your head tonight, Eva. I guarantee it."
By eight o'clock, the black limousine dispatched by the Valenti Estate pulled up to the sweeping grand entrance of the Valenti Manor.
The estate was a sprawling, centuries-old limestone palace lit by golden floodlights, surrounded by manicured hedge mazes and armed private security teams disguised in formal tuxedos. Dozens of luxury cars—Ferraris, Maybachs, and customized rolls-royces—lined the cobblestone driveway.
As the chauffeur opened the rear door, Alexander stepped out first. He extended his hand toward Evangeline, his posture authoritative and fiercely protective.
Evangeline placed her hand in his, stepping out into the crisp night air. Camera flashes instantly erupted from the press line cordoned off near the grand staircase.
"Mr. Vance! Over here!"
"Is it true you married in secret in Monaco?!"
"Mrs. Vance, a comment on the Valenti merger?!"
Alexander ignored the shouted questions entirely. He tucked Evangeline’s arm securely around his elbow, his left hand coming rest firmly over her hip, pulling her tightly against his side as they ascended the marble steps.
"Smile, darling," Evangeline whispered beneath her breath, her lips fixed in a radiant, icy smile for the cameras. "You look like you're about to execute the paparazzi."
"I'm considering it," Alexander drawled softly near her ear, his lips brushing the crown of her hair in a move that looked effortlessly romantic to the crowd outside. "It would certainly clear the walkway."
They passed through the massive carved oak doors into the grand ballroom.
The space was breathtaking—soaring gilded ceilings, massive crystal chandeliers casting diamond light over hundreds of elite guests, classical violin music floating through the air, and waiters gliding through the crowd carrying silver trays of vintage champagne.
Underneath the glamour, however, Evangeline felt the true nature of the room instantly. Every second person in attendance was a high-level politician, an international arms financier, or a senior commander within The Sovereign.
"Comms test," Alexander murmured, his hand tightening subtly on her waist as they walked down the main staircase.
"Crystal clear," Evangeline’s voice fed directly into his ear-piece via the bone-conduction microphone at her neck. "Security grid is heavy. Eight armed guards visible on the lower level, four snipers positioned along the upper arch balconies."
"I counted six on the balconies," Alexander corrected quietly as they reached the floor, picking up two champagne flutes from a passing tray and handing one to her. "They're tracking us from the second we walked in. The uncle knows we're here."
Before Evangeline could respond, the heavy classical music seemed to dull as a deep, polished voice echoed from the raised VIP mezzanine overlooking the dance floor.
"Evangeline."
The crowd near the stairs parted slightly.
Walking down the velvet carpeted steps was Hector Valenti. He was a man in his late fifties, impeccably groomed with slicked-back silver hair, wearing a dark velvet dinner jacket. His dark eyes were cold, calculating, and possessed the exact same lethal sharpness as Evangeline's.
Behind him walked two broad-shouldered men in tailored suits—his personal security detail.
"Uncle Hector," Evangeline said smoothly, stepping forward with total grace, though she kept her left hand subtly resting near Alexander's forearm.
Hector stepped into her space, taking her free hand and kissing the air above her knuckles in a theatrical display of family affection. "My dear niece. When the intelligence reports from Monaco reached my desk, I could hardly believe it. You leave the country for six months and return as the wife of one of the most elusive private investors in Europe."
Hector turned his icy gaze toward Alexander, assessing the younger man with the cold calculation of an apex predator.
"Alexander Vance," Hector said, extending his hand. "Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Vance. Though I must admit... I was surprised to learn you possessed a taste for fast marriages."
Alexander took Hector's hand in a firm, unyielding grip. He didn't blink, his grey-blue eyes matching the older man's gaze with absolute, terrifying calm.
"When you find a woman like Evangeline, Lord Valenti," Alexander said, his low, raspy voice carrying a terrifying authority that made Hector’s guards shift their weight, "you lock down the contract before anyone else gets the chance to compete."
Hector’s eyes narrowed slightly at the word contract, a faint, cruel smile touching his lips. "A romantic at heart. How rare in our line of work."
Hector gestured with his hand, and a private waiter instantly stepped forward carrying a polished silver tray holding three crystal glasses filled with deep golden, vintage champagne.
"A toast," Hector announced smoothly, his voice carrying just enough to draw the attention of the surrounding high-society guests. "To my beautiful niece... and to her new protector. May your union be as unbreakable as the family bloodline."
Hector picked up his glass. Alexander reached forward, his fingers brushing the stem of the glass on the left.
Evangeline’s golden eyes flicked downward.
It lasted less than a microsecond—a tiny, deliberate movement from the waiter’s thumb against the side of the tray, followed by a faint, almost invisible liquid swirl near the inner rim of Alexander's glass. A rapid-acting neuro-paralytic, designed to look like a sudden heart attack within twenty minutes of consumption.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, but her face remained a mask of pure, flawless ice.
Before Alexander’s fingers could close fully around the stem, Evangeline shifted. She stepped right into Alexander’s chest, her silk dress brushing his trousers as her right hand reached out, smoothly sliding over his fingers, locking her soft hand over his.
Alexander paused, looking down at her in surprise.
Evangeline looked up into his grey-blue eyes, her lips curving into a sweet, dazzling, and utterly ruthless smile.
"Oh, Alexander darling," Evangeline purred, her voice soft, melodic, and carrying clearly to her uncle's ears. "You know our golden rule."
She slowly rotated the glass in his hand, intercepting it, and raised her own glass from her left hand toward her uncle.
"In our marriage, Uncle Hector," Evangeline said softly, her golden-hazel eyes burning straight into Hector’s widening gaze, "we share everything. Even the first sip."
Hector’s smile froze instantly. The color drained from his face as his eyes locked onto the glass in her hand.
Alexander’s body went completely rigid beside her as he realized instantly what she had just caught. His hand wrapped firmly around her waist, his frame moving half an inch forward to cover her body from any line of fire.
The silence between the three of them grew razor-thin, heavy enough to kill.
"Drink with us, Uncle," Evangeline whispered sweetly, raising the glass to her lips. "Or are you going to deny your family a toast?"
✍️ Author’s Note: