Chapter 14 CHAPTER FOURTEEN**
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DEALS WITH THE DEVIL
ZARIAH NIGHTBORNE POV
"You want me to what?"
I stared at Damien across the war room table, certain I'd misheard him.
"Attend the Syndicate Gala. With me. As my date." He said it so casually, like he was asking me to coffee instead of walking into a den of wolves who wanted me dead.
"Are you insane?"
"Probably." He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease despite the chaos surrounding us. "But think about it, Zariah. The Black Site intel we have from Lena? It's good, but not complete. The full security protocols, the exact location of those girls—that information exists in only one place."
"Let me guess. The Syndicate's private servers."
"Which are accessible from exactly one location during exactly one event." Damien pulled out a sleek invitation, embossed in gold. "The Annual Syndicate Gala. Three days from now. Every major pack Alpha will be there, including Lucien."
My stomach twisted at the mention of Lucien's name.
"And you think they'll just let me waltz in? The Luna they've been hunting for weeks?"
"Not as the rogue Luna." Damien's eyes held mine. "As my fiancée. Zariah Nightborne, billionaire CEO, recently reconciled with her beloved Damien Romano after a... tumultuous separation."
I laughed. Actually laughed. "That's your plan? Pretend we're engaged?"
"It's the perfect cover. You're already known in the business world. Nightborne Tech was legitimate before they corrupted it. We just... revive your public image. Show up at the gala as a power couple. While everyone's distracted by the spectacle, I'll access the servers."
"And what do I do? Stand there looking pretty?"
"You do what you do best." His voice dropped, intimate. "You charm them. Make them underestimate you. Then you destroy them when they least expect it."
The way he looked at me sent heat crawling up my spine despite my best efforts to ignore it.
"This is a terrible idea," I said, but my resolve was already weakening.
"It's the only idea that gets us what we need without a bloodbath." Damien stood, walking around the table until he was close enough that I could smell his cologne—expensive, understated, dangerously familiar. "Unless you have a better plan?"
I didn't. And he knew it.
"Fine. But I'm not wearing a dress."
"You'll wear whatever sells the illusion." His smile was infuriating. "Which means yes, Zariah. You're wearing a dress."
\---
"Absolutely not."
I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror, horrified.
The dress was obscene. Black silk that clung to every curve, a neckline that plunged dangerously low, a slit up the thigh that ended somewhere I'd rather not think about.
"You look stunning," Veda said from behind me, barely containing her grin.
"I look like I'm trying to seduce half the Syndicate."
"That's the point." She adjusted the fabric at my shoulder. "You need to look like Damien's prize. Like a woman who chose power over principles. It's the only way they'll buy this."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to throw on combat boots and my usual leather jacket.
But she was right.
If I was going to walk into that gala, I needed to look the part. The billionaire heiress who'd found her way back to the Mafia prince she was always meant to marry.
Even if it was all a lie.
"Where did this dress even come from?" I asked, tugging at the neckline.
"Damien had it sent over. Along with..." Veda gestured to the bed, where jewelry boxes were stacked. "Several other options."
I opened the first box and froze.
A diamond necklace. Easily six figures worth of stones, arranged in a delicate pattern that looked deceptively simple.
"He remembers," I whispered.
"Remembers what?"
"This was the necklace I wore. To our first business dinner. Three years ago." Before everything went to hell. Before the betrayals. When I'd actually believed Damien Voss was just a rival CEO and not a Mafia wolf playing a very long game. "How does he still remember that?"
Veda's expression softened. "Maybe because he actually cared. Even when he shouldn't have."
I closed the box sharply. "It doesn't matter. This is business. Nothing more."
"Keep telling yourself that."
\---
Two hours later, I stood in the compound's main room, fully dressed, fully armed despite the elegant exterior.
The dress hid a thigh holster. The necklace had a tracker embedded in the clasp. My hair was styled to perfection, hiding the communication device tucked behind my ear.
I looked like a billion-dollar fantasy.
I felt like a weapon waiting to be fired.
"You clean up nice."
I turned to find Damien in the doorway, and my breath caught despite myself.
He wore a tailored black suit that probably cost more than most people's cars. His hair was styled back, his jaw freshly shaved, every inch of him screaming old money and dangerous power.
He looked like the man I'd first met in that boardroom years ago. Before I knew what he really was.
"Don't," I said quietly.
"Don't what?"
"Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?" He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Like you still have the right to."
Something flickered across his face. Pain. Regret. Want.
"I know I don't," he said softly. "But I can't help it, Zariah. I never could."
The honesty in his voice nearly broke me.
"We should go," I said instead, stepping past him. "Before I change my mind about this insane plan."
His hand caught my wrist, gentle but firm. "Wait."
I turned back, and he pulled out another box. Smaller than the others.
"What is this?"
"Open it."
Inside was a ring. Not flashy. Not ostentatious. A simple platinum band with a single diamond, elegant and understated.
Exactly what I would've chosen for myself.
"We need to sell this," Damien said, his voice steady but his eyes betraying him. "They'll expect to see a ring."
"Right. Of course." I held out my hand, expecting him to just drop it in my palm.
Instead, he took my hand in his, his touch sending electricity up my arm.
Then he knelt.
"Damien—"
"I know this isn't real," he said quietly, looking up at me. "I know you hate me. I know I don't deserve a second chance. But just for tonight, just for this moment..." He slid the ring onto my finger, and it fit perfectly. "Let me pretend that I didn't ruin everything. That we could've been something extraordinary."
My throat tightened. Damn him. Damn him for making this complicated.
"Get up," I whispered.
He stood, but didn't release my hand.
"This doesn't change anything," I said, but my voice shook. "After tonight, after we get that intel, we're done. You go your way. I go mine."
"I know."
"I mean it, Damien."
"I know," he repeated. Then, so quietly I almost missed it: "Doesn't mean I won't spend every second until then trying to change your mind."
Before I could respond, Veda's voice crackled through the comm. "Car's ready. You two lovebirds done with your moment?"
I yanked my hand free, my face burning. "We're coming."
The drive to the gala was tense and silent. Damien sat across from me in the back of the sleek black town car, watching the city lights blur past.
"You nervous?" He asked finally.
"No."
"Liar."
I shot him a look. "Fine. Yes. I'm about to walk into a room full of wolves who want me dead or collared. Excuse me for being a little on edge."
"They won't touch you. Not while you're with me."
"And if Lucien's there?"
Damien's expression darkened. "Then I'll handle my brother."
"He killed your father. Took the pack. He's not going to be thrilled seeing you with me."
"No," Damien agreed. "He's going to be furious. Which is exactly what we want. Angry people make mistakes."
The car pulled up to the venue—a historic mansion on the outskirts of the city, all old money and older secrets. Valets rushed forward. Camera flashes erupted as we stepped out.
Damien offered his arm, and I took it, slipping into character.
The cold, calculating billionaire heiress who'd chosen her Mafia prince.
We walked through the entrance, and every eye turned toward us.
Whispers rippled through the crowd like wildfire.
"Is that Zariah Nightborne?"
"I thought she was dead."
"She's with Damien Romano? After everything?"
I kept my expression neutral, bored even, as if their judgment meant nothing.
Inside, the gala was everything I expected. Opulent. Excessive. A display of wealth and power that bordered on obscene.
And in the center of it all, holding court like a king, stood Lucien.
Our eyes met across the ballroom.
And his smile was the most dangerous thing I'd ever seen.