Instinctively, Ginger reached into her small golden pouch until her fingers brushed against the message her grandmother gave her, the message she came to this ball to deliver. She gave the message a squeeze, as if hoping to garner courage from it, then she straightened her shoulders and started down the long winding road to the Constantine mansion.
Ginger knew it would look odd if the Uber driver dropped her off at the front of the mansion amidst all the limousines and fancy cars. She didn’t have money like the rest of them, and her invitation was forged at any rate. Better to walk and not risk it. For all she figured, the guests could just imagine she appeared like magic, or perhaps was dropped off by a pumpkin carriage.
But this was no fairy tale. For Ginger, it wasn’t even a lavish party. She was here to work. She was here to deliver a message to Alfred Carino, one of New York’s most elite crime bosses, and an old friend of her grandmother’s. Alfred was close friends with Caroline Constantine, and it was her daughter’s party, the youngest of the family, and all of New York royalty had been invited. Ginger’s grandmother said it was the perfect opportunity for Ginger to snag a few moments alone with Alfred Carino.
Of course, Ginger had never met the man, only seen pictures, but she dutifully did whatever her grandmother asked of her. They were a team, and her grandmother, as old as she was, was still the smartest, quickest person she knew. She never led her astray.
Even so, Ginger did wish she was here with her. She knew why she had to go alone, that being a stunning young woman meant it was easier to sneak into places filled with the young and beautiful, even when she wasn’t really supposed to be there. And if she played her feminine wiles just right, she might be able to snag Alfred’s attention without having to resort to any trickery. One could hope.
Finally, Ginger reached the mansion, the light from her burner phone the only way she was able to stay by the road. She decided to come rather on the late side, hoping that most guests would have already arrived, and that she could slip in unnoticed.
There would be no slipping by anyone.
In front of the imposing mansion with its stone pillars and carefully groomed gardens, were a couple of smokers, looking both trashy and elegant in their gilded gowns and clouds of nicotine. Up by the massive front doors were two menacing guards she would have to get past.
Ginger swallowed the bit of unease she got every time she knew she was about to slip into a dangerous situation, and then gathered her long gown in her hands and hurried up the steps. She knew how to handle them, even when she doubted herself.
“Invitation,” the first guard said.
Ginger gave him a coy smile, practiced and careful, while she slowly took in his features. He was just an idiot, same as the other guy. Roid monkeys in suits. Thick necks. Probably bounced a lot of the clubs that men like Alfred pretended not to frequent, and shoved their fat fists into anyone who tried to talk to him beyond the VIP rope. Those kind of guys.
She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone, idly flipping through the screen to the invite. It was some sort of bar code that she displayed to the guard.
He took out his scanner and she waited, holding her breath, until it beeped loudly and a light went green.
Then man put his scanner away, then looked off dismissively.
Ginger proceeded to the next man, knowing it was a two-step process.
“Name and I.D?” the man asked. This guy was a little more attentive than the last; his eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her. “And I’ll have to get you to take off your mask.”
Ginger acted vaguely annoyed as she lifted her mask then fished her driver’s license from her purse and handed it to him. “Red Maxwell.”
The guard raised a brow, taking in her fiery red hair as well as her gown. Believe it or not it was the perfect alias, a name that made everyone smirk or do a double take. No one ever believed it was fake, because if you were going to pick a fake name, wouldn’t you pick an inconspicuous one?
But Ginger knew the name would only be for tonight. As would the hair. She always stayed as in the background as much possible, but her grandmother didn’t want her sneaking her into the party. Ginger would have preferred it that way instead of dealing with the guards and the looks from people. She liked to work like a ghost.
The man checked her ID against the guest list. Her grandmother had pulled quite a few strings to get that to happen, something that Ginger also wasn’t too happy about. It meant that there was someone else besides the two of them that knew she was there tonight, that knew about the message.
Her pulse started to go up and she did what she could to ignore it, putting on an annoyed expression, the one the elites tended to have whenever something didn’t go their way, when life uttered a small inconvenience. If something had been fucked up along the way, if her name didn’t clear…
“Here you go,” he said, handing her back her ID. He nodded at her mask. “Enjoy the party.”
Ginger gave him a small smile and put her mask back on.
The doors to the party opened for her.
2
The ball was in full swing when Ginger stepped into the mansion.
Bustling, decadent, opulent, with gilded chandeliers, expensive artwork, and marble floors.
There were well-dressed party-goers in every corner, waiters carrying trays of champagne and canapes, music from the unseen band wafted throughout the halls, and everyone was laughing and talking.
It was a little too loud for Ginger’s liking, but it also meant that everyone else was similarly overwhelmed. Plus intoxicated.
She immediately plucked a champagne flute from a passing waiter and had the smallest sip. It was just for show anyway, there was no chance she’d be anything but clear-headed tonight. One slip up could cost her life.
With that on her mind, she slowly made her way through the crowds of masked guests, feeling their eyes on her, while her own eyes were searching for Alfred Carino.
When her grandmother told her she’d blend in with the crowd, she knew it was a ridiculous statement. But though everyone watched as she walked through the halls, like a bloodstain amongst all the white and metallic party gowns and men in white tuxedos, she started to understand what her grandmother meant.
Ginger was Red. From her name, to her recently-dyed hair, to her gown and cloak. All people would remember of her would be her color. They wouldn’t recall her face or her walk or her voice. They would just see a blur of red in their memories, as if the color blotted out every aspect of her being. If she was successful in delivering her message, and people started looking for suspects, no one would be able to describe anything about her except the color red.
But for now, she knew people were staring. Which is why she had to play the role of the haughty attention-seeker, wearing red and acting mysterious just to seem alluring. No one could accuse her of being an actual threat.
Even though she was.
Finally, after wandering through the halls and into the lushly landscaped grounds beyond the house, she came across Alfred watching as Tinsley greeted her guests. She had a large crowd gathered around her, and as the youngest of the Constantine family, this was her introduction to the elite and society’s finest.
But Ginger couldn’t care less about the girl. Her sights were set on her target.
Alfred Carino was instantly recognizable. Tall and slender, with just a slip of a mask over his beady eyes, Alfred looked menacing despite his wiry frame. Even if you didn’t know he was the head of one of the most powerful crime syndicates, you would feel it off him, smell it off him. He had all the money in the world and yet preferred to earn more of it in the most despicable ways.