Chapter 2 - The Contract of Shadows
By 2:00 AM, the Maybach pulled into the subterranean garage of Damian’s private penthouse in Hudson Yards. The elevator zipped seventy stories upward in total silence, opening into a world of polished slate, floor-to-ceiling glass, and panoramic views of the midnight skyline.
Damian walked over to his mahogany desk, unbuttoning his waistcoat, and pulled a thick leather-bound folder from a floor safe. He tossed it onto the desk in front of Sienna.
"What's this?" she asked, stepping toward the desk.
"That is Garrett Holloway’s life work," Damian said. "Bank accounts in the Cayman Islands, shell corporations in Panama, and the private schedules of his core inner circle. But there’s a gap. The master encryption key to his primary server—the one containing the wire transfer logs that link him directly to your brother's murder—is stored on a physical hardware token."
Sienna’s eyes sharpened. "Where is the token?"
"Around his neck," Damian said. "He never removes it. Except for one night every year. The Annual Syndicate Gala at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. This Saturday."
Sienna looked up from the folder, understanding dawning on her. "You want me to steal it."
"I want us to steal it," Damian corrected. "Holloway knows my face too well. My security team can't get within fifty feet of his private suite at the Met. But you? You’re the humiliated bartender he thinks he broke. On Saturday night, you won't be a ghost in an apron. You will attend the gala as my personal guest."
Sienna let out a dry, incredulous laugh. "You want to walk me into a room full of Manhattan's elite as your date? Two days after Holloway threw chocolate mousse in my face in front of forty-seven people?"
"Precisely," Damian smiled, a dark, dangerous glint in his eyes. "Holloway is arrogant. Seeing you on the arm of his greatest corporate rival will infuriate him. He’ll make a mistake. He’ll try to confront us, try to assert dominance. And while he’s distracted trying to humiliate me, you will clone that hardware token."
Sienna stared at him, evaluating the man standing before her. Damian Vance was ruthless, wealthy beyond measure, and utterly accustomed to getting whatever he wanted. But as she looked into his steady gray eyes, she didn't see deceit. She saw a partner who hated Holloway as deeply as she did.
"If we do this," Sienna said, stepping right up to his desk, her voice dropping into a dangerous whisper, "we do it my way. When Holloway falls, I want to be the one who hand-delivers the evidence to the federal prosecutor. I want Caleb’s name cleared."
Damian studied her face, taking in the fierce, beautiful resolve radiating from her. "Agreed. But starting right now, you don't go back to your apartment in Brooklyn. You stay here. Under my protection."
May you like
"I don't need a babysitter, Vance."
"It’s not a request, Miss Cross," Damian said softly, taking her hand and brushing his thumb gently over her knuckles, sending a unexpected jolt of electricity straight down her spine. "It’s a condition."
