The invitation arrived with the kind of forced elegance that felt like a slap in the face.
It sat on Kong Dehyan<unk>s desk, a heavy slab of ivory card stock that seemed to suck the light out of his obsidian walled office.
Deian didn’t need to break the wax seal to know its contents.
The scent of lilies, Minhi’s signature fragrance, the one she used to wear like a weapon, clung to the paper like a funeral shroud.
For three years, Minhi had been the jewel of his underworld empire, the woman who promised to stand by him while he cleaned his money for the next generation.
Then, 6 months ago, she had vanished, only to resurface on the arm of CEO Park, a man whose family pedigree was as long as his moral compass was short.
Deian traced the gold leaf calligraphy with a thumb that had pulled many a trigger.
The letters announced the union of the century at the Schilla Hotel.
It wasn’t just a request for his presence.
It was a public execution.
Minhi wanted him there to witness her final ascent into the legitimate elite to show the world that the mafia boss was nothing more than a discarded stepping stone.
The silence in the office was absolute, save for the rhythmic swish swish of a microfiber cloth against the mahogany bookshelves.
Elena, his family’s maid for the last decade, moved through the shadows of the room like a ghost.
She was a fixture of the estate, a woman in a pressed gray uniform who was as much a part of the architecture as the marble floors.
Deian threw the card onto the floor.
They want a spectacle, he growled to the empty air.
They want to see the beast in a tuxedo standing alone while they toast to their stolen future.
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