Revelation by Katie Klein Page B

suitcase by the dresser, kick off my shoes, collapse on smooth satin.
    I could get used to this.
    The television doesn't quite drown out the voices from the hallway, doors opening and shutting, the hum of the unit beneath the window, warming the room.
    Caffeine courses through my body, flowing in my veins until it doesn't and I crash.
    When I fall unconscious, it's hard—a deep, dreamless sleep—as if regaining those lost, restless nights. Nights spent suffocating on wicked dreams. Nights spent alone and afraid. With Seth. Without him. I sleep through the afternoon, passing into dinner. I sleep straight into the evening. And, when I finally emerge, fully rested, it's morning.

 
     
     
    T WENTY-ONE
     
     
     
    I double check the invitation, reading it a final time. A political event. A meet and greet for a Senator on the campaign trail.  The other card tucked into the envelope bears only a name.  
    The one I'm looking for.
    Lucien Castellani .
    My stomach clenches as the elevator drops, descending to the lobby. I smooth the fabric of the shimmery gold dress at my hips, adjust the collar of the black bolero. Everything is immaculate: hair washed and styled, make-up perfectly applied. I'm stepping into what might be my only chance to make an impression, an impact. Everything counts.
    The gun weighs heavy against my inner thigh, a stark reminder of why I'm here and what I'm after. I inhale, deeply unsettled by my lack of a concrete plan. The fact that I know nothing about this guy. Who he is or what he's done. All I know is that he's here, tonight, and the Council wants him gone.
    Elevator doors open and I step into the lobby, shift down a corridor—blue, red, white balloons gracing the entryway of the Crystal Ballroom like a finish line. The event is exclusive. It's only after I produce my invitation and identification for security that I'm allowed in.
    Inside is like a whole other world. The room is packed with people—men. Each one identical to the next. Expensive suits. Designer watches. Smart glasses.
    How the hell am I supposed to know who Lucien Castellani is?
    The women on their arms boast expensive up-dos, wrists and ears and necks sprinkled with glittering jewelry.
    Will he be alone?
    They stand, sit at one of the dozen circular tables, laughing, clinking glasses of wine against the timbres of brass streaming from the live band. Something snappy—jazz.
    I stop, overwhelmed, feeling terrified and alone and horribly out of place.
    Relax, the voice inside my head insists. They're no better than you.
    Gathering nerve, I edge through the crowd, aiming for the bar—somewhere inconspicuous—a safe distance from which to spy. I climb onto an empty barstool, crossing my legs carefully, shifting to avoid displacing the holster.
    "Can I get you something?" the bartender asks. I scrutinize the shelves behind him: hundreds of bottles, colorful labels, crystal clear glasses.
    "Water's fine."
    He reaches behind the counter, produces a bottled water, and slides it toward me.
    "You work for the hotel, right?" I ask, unscrewing the cap.
    "On my good days."
    "So you know some of the guests here."
    An eyebrow lifts, skeptical. "Possibly."
    "What can you tell me about Lucien Castellani ?"
    His mouth breaks from a frown to a broad grin, muttering in disbelief. "You and every other woman in this room."
    My body grows rigid, posture straightening at this—at being hoarded into the same category as the rest of these women. Because he doesn't mean this as a compliment, and I would never take it as one. "I don't know what you're talking about."
    "Mr. Castellani is staying in the penthouse. That's what you heard, right?"
    "I haven't heard anything," I reply, tone sharper than I intend. "I just know he's supposed to be here. I'm curious, that's all."
    He shakes his head, tossing hair out of his eyes. "I've seen him around, but he doesn't go by the name you gave. It's Luke. Mr. Castellani to the staff. He's booked the penthouse for two