Chapter 7 - THE DANCE OF DECEPTION
The Grand Palais was a sea of crystal chandeliers, flowing champagne, and whispering elites. Classical violin music drifted through the air, masking the cold, mercenary conversations taking place between politicians and arms dealers.
Alessandro moved through the crowd with fluid grace, effortlessly slipping into the persona of Count De Luca. He spoke fluent, polished Italian and French, exchanging pleasantries with European diplomats while keeping a watchful eye on every exit and security camera.
"Madame Vance is at two o'clock," Alessandro whispered into my ear, his arm wrapped around my waist as we glided across the floor in a slow waltz. His touch was firm and possessive, sending warmth radiating through my silk dress. "She carries the master security keycard for the private executive suites upstairs. That's where the primary server terminal is connected to the Banque de Paris network."
"How do I get the keycard?" I asked, following his lead in the dance, my eyes locked on the woman holding court near a towering ice sculpture.
"You don't," Alessandro replied with a wicked smirk. "I do. Your job is to draw the attention of her chief of security—a man named Victor Dupont. He was one of the mercenaries present at L’Étoile Noir."
My heart did a sharp flip. "If he recognizes me..."
"He won't recognize you as the waitress," Alessandro reassured me, pulling me slightly closer as the dance reached its climax. "He expects a terrified girl in rags. He does not expect a stunning countess who commands the room. Use his arrogance against him. Keep his eyes on you while I slip upstairs."
As the music ended, Alessandro planted a soft, lingering kiss on the back of my hand, his eyes burning with a deep, silent promise. "Three minutes, Sophie. Give me three minutes."
He melted into the crowd. I took a deep breath, adjusted my posture, and walked directly toward the champagne bar near Victor Dupont.
Dupont was a large, broad-shouldered man with a scar running down his left jaw, scanning the room with cold, mechanical eyes. I caught his gaze, offered a slow, enigmatic smile, and purposefully dropped my velvet evening clutch at his feet.
Dupont instinctively stepped forward, picking up the bag. "Vous avez fait tomber ceci, Madame."
"Ah, merci," I said in rich, cultured French, raising my eyes to meet his. "I am so terribly clumsy tonight. The atmosphere in Paris always makes me dizzy."
Dupont studied my face, a slight frown tugging at his scarred mouth. He felt a sense of familiarity, but the diamond pins in my hair, the crimson silk, and my unflinching confidence completely threw off his instincts. "Have we met, Countess?"
"I highly doubt it," I said, leaning slightly closer, my tone dripping with aristocratic disdain. "I rarely spend time with security detail... unless, of course, they are as competent as you appear to be."
While Dupont was momentarily captivated by the flattery, I caught a glimpse of Alessandro in the reflection of a mirrored pillar behind him. Alessandro had effortlessly brushed past Madame Vance, his hand dipping into her jacket pocket with light-fingered precision, retrieving the keycard without her ever noticing. He caught my eye in the mirror, giving a subtle nod.
The three minutes were up.
"If you'll excuse me, Monsieur," I said, offering Dupont a cool smile and taking my clutch back. "My husband is calling."
Before Dupont could process the interaction, I turned and walked toward the grand staircase leading to the private upper levels. But as I reached the top of the stairs, a heavy hand grabbed my wrist from behind.
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I turned around to find Camilla Russo standing there, wearing a gaudy gold dress, her eyes wide with malicious shock. She had managed to secure a press pass for the event.
"I knew it!" Camilla hissed, pulling out her phone. "It is you! The fake waitress! Victor! Help! She's here!"
