Ch.54: Leo's Diversion

The champagne glasses rattled on my tray as a low-frequency hum vibrated through the floorboards, followed by a series of muffled, rhythmic thuds. Outside, beyond the towering glass walls of the ballroom, the string of decorative perimeter lights flickered once and died. The massive iron gates at the edge of the Thorne Estate groaned, their electronic locks de-energizing as Leo severed the main junction box.

The music stuttered. The elite crowd let out a collective, high-pitched gasp as the grand foyer was plunged into silver moonlight.

"Security! Report!" Thorne’s voice boomed over the confused murmurs, his synthetic mask straining at the edges of his jaw.

I didn't wait to see the response. I shifted toward the shadows of the marble pillars, my eyes fixed on the front lawn. Spotlights from the internal backup generators kicked in, sweeping across the manicured grass. They caught a lone figure standing dead center of the driveway—Leo.

He had discarded his jacket. In the glare of the high-beams, he looked like a sacrificial lamb, his white shirt glowing. He didn't run. He didn't hide. He raised his hands high above his head, palms open.

"Get him!" a head security officer screamed into his comms.

Within seconds, the ballroom emptied of its black-clad guardians. I watched from the corner of my eye as teams of tactical officers flooded out the front doors, weapons drawn. They swarmed the lawn, their heavy boots tearing up the sod as they surrounded Leo. Dozens of rifles were trained on his chest, the red laser dots dancing across his skin like lethal fireflies.

Leo dropped to his knees, his gaze fixed on the ballroom windows. He wasn't surrendering to them; he was performing for me. He was the beacon, pulling the teeth out of the Glass Fortress so the wolf could move.

Inside the ballroom, the chaos was perfect. The guests were huddled in groups, their faces pale with panic, while Thorne and Isabella argued frantically near the dais.

The internal security stations were abandoned. The hallway leading to the service elevator was a dark, silent tunnel. Every single guard who had been patrolling the West Wing was now part of the wall of meat pressing Leo into the dirt of the front lawn.

I set the tray of Bollinger on a side table, the crystal clinking softly. My fingers closed around the cold, heavy syringe of adrenaline hidden in my waistband.

The interior is unguarded. It's now or never.