Under His Cover

Chapter 11: On the Wire

The Grand Ballroom of the Vanguard Club smelled of old money, expensive cigars, and vintage champagne—the kind of suffocating luxury that usually served as a cover for dark, multi-million-dollar secrets.

Under the grand crystal chandeliers, the elite of the underworld moved in tailored tuxedos and silk gowns, their faces masked in polite, superficial smiles. But to Evangeline, the entire room was just a grid of blind spots, security cameras, and escape routes.

She adjusted her grip on the glass of sparkling water in her hand, feeling the silk of her midnight-blue backless dress cling to her skin. The gown was cut dangerously low in the back, tracing the curve of her spine down to her hips, while the dark velvet slit on the side exposed every inch of her long, toned legs with every step she took. Her sharp jawline and deep, almond-shaped brown eyes were accentuated by a smoky cat-eye, while her waist-length dark twist braids cascaded down one shoulder, catching the dim ambient light of the ballroom with every turn. She looked effortlessly lethal—a dark siren in a room full of sharks.

Then, a heavy, warm hand settled firmly against the bare skin of her lower back.

A subtle shiver ran through her, but she didn’t flinch. She didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Alexander Vance stepped up beside her, his breath warm against her temple. He was a towering, imposing figure—broad shoulders filling out a bespoke, obsidian-black Italian tuxedo that looked like it had been molded directly to his frame. His short, dark hair was styled into a effortless sweep, highlighting a sharp, razor-defined jawline dusted with faint evening stubble. But it was his eyes that made most people instantly back down: a piercing, icy shade of grey that analyzed everything in the room with cold, predatory intelligence.

To the rest of the world, Alexander was an untouchable, dangerously handsome billionaire heir. To Evangeline, he was the single most infuriating pain in her side—and her dead-equal rival.

"Relax your shoulders, darling," Alexander murmured, his voice a low, raspy baritone that vibrated right through her skin. "You look like you’re calculating how many seconds it would take to tear out the host's jugular with a champagne flute."

"Four seconds," Evangeline replied seamlessly, keeping a sweet, dazzling smile on her lips for the benefit of the guards stationed near the entrance. Her tone, however, was laced with pure ice under her breath. "Three if I use the broken stem. And take your hand off my hip before I break your thumb, Vance."

Alexander’s thumb didn't move. In fact, his long fingers smoothed over the velvet fabric at her waist, pulling her a fraction of an inch closer until her shoulder brushed against the broad expanse of his chest.

"We’re playing devoted newlyweds, Evangeline," he whispered, leaning down so his lips almost touched the shell of her ear. To any onlooker, he looked completely smitten, whispering sweet nothings to his bride. "Newlyweds touch each other. They lean in. They don't look like they're evaluating each other's kill zones."

"You're enjoying this way too much," she hissed through teeth clenched in a dazzling, picture-perfect smile.

"I enjoy watching you try not to shoot me," he countered, a slow, dangerously charming smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "It’s the most emotion you’ve shown all week."

She cast him a sideways glance, taking in the sharp angle of his cheekbones and the subtle scent of sandalwood and rain that clung to him. Damn him for looking this good. It made playing the role entirely too irritating.

"Focus," she muttered, subtly shifting her gaze toward the VIP balcony on the second floor. "Target is at twelve o'clock. Viktor Kozlov. He's talking to his head of security. The flash drive with the syndicate’s financial ledger is in the inner breast pocket of his jacket."

"I see him," Alexander said softly, his eyes darkening into tactical focus as he casually stroked the small of her back. "Security detail is tight. Four armed guards at the stairs, two more sweeping the perimeter. We need Kozlov isolated."

"Which means we need him away from his security detail before he heads into the private holding room at midnight," Evangeline noted. "I’ll drop my glass near the East corridor, draw the guards’ attention, and—"

"No," Alexander interrupted smoothy, his grip tightening just enough to hold her in place. "Too predictable. Kozlov’s paranoid. If guards start moving, he slips into his safe room immediately. We play it natural. We approach, make small talk, establish our cover, and wait for him to step away to the lavatory."

Evangeline scoffed under her breath. "And let you take the lead? Absolutely not. I’m pulling the asset tonight, Vance."

"Not if I reach his pocket first, sweetheart."

Before she could spit back a rebuttal, a heavy, raspy voice cut through the background hum of the orchestra.

"Ah, the elusive newlyweds! I was wondering when the man of the hour would introduce his mysterious bride."

Evangeline and Alexander adjusted their expressions in a microsecond, turning smoothly toward the voice in perfect unison.

Stepping out from the crowd was Viktor Kozlov himself. He was an older, stout man with silvering hair, sharp rat-like eyes, and a glass of scotch clinking in his hand. Two towering guards hovered a few paces behind him like silent statues.

"Viktor," Alexander smoothly greeted, extending a hand. His demeanor shifted instantly—from cold operative to smooth, arrogant elite. "A pleasure. I’m glad you could make time in your schedule to attend."

Kozlov shook Alexander's hand, but his sharp eyes immediately drifted over to Evangeline, scanning her up and down with cold, calculating suspicion.

"And this must be the woman who finally managed to chain down Alexander Vance," Kozlov said, his gaze lingering on her with an uncomfortably sharp intensity. "Evangeline, was it? The rumors around high society said you two met in Paris five months ago. A whirlwind romance."

"Six months ago, actually," Evangeline corrected smoothly, letting a soft, breathless laugh escape her lips as she glided closer to Alexander’s side. She slipped her arm through his, leaning her weight lightly against his bicep. She felt the muscle beneath his suit jacket flex under her touch. "At an auction in Artcurial. Alexander outbid me for an eighteenth-century oil painting. I hated him instantly."

Alexander let out a rich, low laugh that sounded frighteningly authentic. He reached over, wrapping his large, warm hand over hers where it rested on his arm. "She tried to ruin my reputation in the press the very next morning. I knew right then I had to marry her."

Kozlov didn't smile. His eyes narrowed, tilting his head as he took a slow sip of his scotch.

"Is that so?" Kozlov murmured, stepping closer. The air between them instantly grew heavy with tension. "Curious. Because I spoke with Julian Rossi last night—an old associate of yours, Alexander. He mentioned he bumped into you in London four months ago. And he said you were very much single."

The air in Evangeline's lungs froze for a split second.

A trap. Kozlov wasn't just making conversation; he was actively testing their story, looking for a crack in the foundation. One wrong step, one subtle look of confusion between them, and the entire mission would blow sky-high before midnight.

Evangeline opened her mouth to smooth over the discrepancy, but before she could utter a single word, Alexander acted.

He didn't offer a defense. He didn't offer an excuse.

Instead, Alexander rotated his body, sliding his free hand around the side of Evangeline's waist and pulling her flush against his chest. The sudden movement caught her off guard, her eyes widening slightly as her front pressed directly against the hard wall of his torso.

"Julian Rossi talks too much when he drinks," Alexander said smoothly, his voice dropping an octave, thick with a dark, velvet intensity that sent an involuntary shudder straight down Evangeline’s spine. "And four months ago, my wife and I were keeping our business private."

His grey eyes locked onto Kozlov’s for a split second, hard and possessive, before sliding down to rest entirely on Evangeline’s lips.

"In fact," Alexander murmured, his head dipping lower, his thumb brushing dangerously over the warm skin of her lower spine, "we still prefer privacy."

Evangeline’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her breath hitched in her throat as his face descended. He was hovering barely an inch away—close enough that she could feel the searing heat of his skin, close enough that his dark, masculine scent completely consumed her senses.

His eyes flickered up to meet hers, holding her captive in a gaze so intensely charged that the entire ballroom seemed to fade into absolute silence.

He dipped his head lower, his lips hovering directly against hers, brushing her lower lip with a feather-light touch that left her completely paralyzed.