Chapter 8 - The Tattoo That Changed Everything
As we spun slowly beneath the blinding glare of the central chandelier, a group of men in dark tuxedos drifted past our left flank.
One of them laughed—a harsh, barking sound that scraped against my eardrums and triggered an immediate, visceral flash of cold terror.
I looked up at the man who had laughed, my eyes dropping instinctively to the gold cufflink on his left wrist as he adjusted his sleeve.
The silk cuff slipped back for a single, horrifying second, exposing a jagged, distinct tattoo inked into the pale skin of his forearm.
It was a coiled silver viper biting its own tail, surrounded by three small crimson teardrops dripping down toward the pulse point.
The exact same tattoo I had seen five years ago in a dark, blood-soaked alleyway in Chicago when my entire life was shattered.
My breath hitched violently, my legs turning to lead as the ballroom floor seemed to tilt crazily beneath my silk-clad feet.
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“Savannah? Look at me, what’s wrong?” Ricardo demanded, his grip tightening instantly as he felt me sag against his chest.
I couldn't answer him, because my eyes had just locked onto the face of the man wearing the viper tattoo.
