Chapter 23
The Phoenicia Hotel was a fortress of limestone and luxury, perched at the gates of Valletta. Inside, the ballroom was a sea of black ties, silk gowns, and the sharp, clinking sound of old money.
I stood in front of the grand mirror in the powder room, adjusting the strap of a deep emerald dress that Alexei had procured. The color made my skin look porcelain and my eyes, now clear and predatory, stand out. My jagged, blonde-streaked hair had been styled into a chic, sharp bob.
I looked like a woman who had survived a tragedy and come out of it with a taste for vengeance.
“Remember,” Adrian’s voice crackled in the tiny earpiece hidden beneath my hair. “Senator Dupond is not just a politician. He is the bridge between the Volkovs and the European Union’s security committee. He
