Chapter 4 The Devil Wears Tom Ford

The next evening, Mason adjusted his Italian silk tie, catching his reflection before a full-length mirror. The man staring back bore little resemblance to the contractor who'd stumbled through the rain just days ago. Tonight, he wore power like a second skin, wrapped in a bespoke Tom Ford tuxedo that Eve had somehow procured within hours, its price tag more than he used to make in a year. "Looking sharp, boss," Eve said, leaning against the doorframe. "You sure you don't want backup tonight?" Mason shook his head. "This is something I need to do alone." Eve's eyes narrowed. "You know, a few days ago, I would've bet my life that I knew everything about you, Leo. Now? I'm not so sure." Mason met her gaze in the mirror. "People change, Eve. Sometimes overnight." A wry smile tugged at Eve's lips. "Yeah, well, just make sure you come back in one piece. I've gotten used to having you around." As Mason headed for the door, Eve called out, "Oh, and Leo? Happy birthday." He mumbled a thanks and hurried out. "Be back on time, Leo. The whole gang will be here to celebrate..." Mason heard Eve's voice behind him. It wasn't his birthday. It was Leo's. Leo, the man whose life he'd stolen. Leo, who probably had people who actually cared about him. For the first time since this crazy charade began, a tendril of guilt wormed its way into Mason's heart. What if the real Leo had a family? Friends? People who were worried sick about him? Mason pushed the thoughts aside as he slid into the waiting limo. He couldn't afford doubts. Not now. ... The Morrison Gala's auction hall hummed with Chicago's elite, their jewelry catching the light like stars fallen to earth. Mason's fingers brushed the black card in his pocket—his weapon of choice for the evening. Then he saw her. Olivia stood across the room, radiant in a crimson dress that probably cost more than their old apartment's yearly rent. Her hair cascaded in perfect waves, diamonds glittering at her throat. She was laughing at something Ethan had just whispered in her ear. The sight hit Mason as he's anger boiled. Indeed love isn't something that could easily be forgotten. Olivia spotted him first. Her laughter died, replaced by a sneer that twisted her beautiful features. She gripped Ethan's arm, whispering something urgent. Ethan turned, his face darkening. "Well, well," Olivia's voice dripped venom, crossing her arms over her chest, as they approached. "Look what the cat dragged in. How did you even get past security?" Mason forced himself to smile, channeling Leo King's confidence. "Good evening, Olivia. You look... expensive." "You shouldn't be here," she hissed, glancing around nervously. "This isn't your world. I can't believe" "No?" Mason adjusted his cufflinks—platinum, courtesy of Leo's extensive collection." "Bravo! You're indeed bold and shameless." Mason balled his fists, but turned away from her. He couldn't face her, but could only silently suppress the fierce anger building in him. Ethan stepped forward, straightening to his full height. "Listen here, you pathetic—" "Mr. King?" A heavily accented voice cut through the tension. "Is that really you?" Mason turned to find a stocky man with a face like weathered leather approaching. Recognition flickered—Ramirez, from Eve's surveillance photos. One of Leo's biggest rivals. Ethan frowned. "No lord Ramirez, there must be some mistake. This is Mason Rivers, my... acquaintance's soon-to-be ex-husband." "No, no mistake." Ramirez's dark eyes bored into Mason. "Leo King. What game are you playing, showing your face here? Among enemies?" Mason's mind raced. One wrong word could shatter everything. He noticed Olivia's confusion, the way her eyes darted between him and Ramirez. "Perhaps," Mason said carefully, "you've had too much champagne, Mr. Ramirez. I'm here for a simple conversation with my wife." "Wife?" Ramirez barked a laugh. "The great Leo King, married? You expect me to believe—" "I assure you," Ethan cut in smoothly, "this man is Mason Rivers. A nobody. I should know—I'm sleeping with his wife." The words were meant to wound, but Mason felt oddly detached. He was too busy watching the way Ethan and Ramirez stood together. Too close for strangers. Too familiar. "Well," Mason said, straightening his jacket, "well, I only came here to speak to my wife, but this has been enlightening. But if you'll excuse me, I have some bidding to do." "Bidding?" Olivia laughed. "On what? The coat check tickets?" "Oh honey, don't waste another breath on him." Ethan's voice dripped with contempt as he finished the insult Olivia couldn't bring herself to say. "People like that? They're so wrapped up in their own misery, they wouldn't know shame if it slapped them in the face." He slid his arms around Olivia's waist, resting his chin on her shoulder like he owned the space there. His whisper carried just loud enough for others to hear, each word carefully chosen to wound. "He's not even worth the air you breathe, sweetheart. Look at him – drowning in debt, barely keeping his head above water. The nerve of him, thinking he deserves to stand in your presence, to breathe the same air as someone like you." A smirk played on his lips as everyone's head began to turn towards them, exactly the audience he'd been fishing for. Mason turned to them, really looked hard at Olivia. The woman he'd loved for six years. The woman who'd crushed his heart beneath her designer heels. And for the first time, he saw her clearly—beautiful, yes, but hollow. A shell filled with nothing but greed and contempt. "Goodbye, Olivia," he said softly. "I hope it was worth it." “Now go on, run along and pay for that fancy suite you rented just to impress us,” Olivia mocked. Mason walked away, ignoring Ramirez's suspicious glare and Ethan's smug chuckle. His fingers itched to pull out the black card, to bid hundreds of thousands just to see their jaws drop. But no—Ramirez's presence changed everything. Too much attention would be dangerous. Besides, he realized with startling clarity, he didn't need to prove anything to them anymore. As Mason's figure disappeared into the crowd, Ramirez rubbed his stubbled chin, his dark eyes narrowed in thought. "It's impossible," he muttered, more to himself than to Ethan. "The resemblance... it's uncanny." Ethan raised an eyebrow. "You really think that pathetic excuse for a man could be the Leo King?" Ramirez's weathered features twisted in confusion. "I've seen Leo King with my own eyes, dealt with him personally. That man..." He shook his head slowly. "Maybe I'm getting old, eh? Perhaps people do resemble each other in unusual ways." But the uncertainty in his voice betrayed his words. Ramirez took a long sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving the spot where Mason had disappeared into the crowd. He knew things about Leo King that would make even Chicago's most hardened criminals lose sleep. The real Leo King wasn't just another crime lord – he was the puppet master, the shadow that kept seven of Chicago's most powerful criminal empires dancing to his tune. His true identity was a secret shared by only those seven leaders, Ramirez included. "The real Leo," Ramirez muttered, swirling his drink, "hasn't shown his face in public for years. He doesn't need to. When you control every major player in the city from the shadows, you become... untouchable." His voice dropped even lower, barely audible above the gala's symphony of clinking glasses and forced laughter. "Only seven of us have ever seen his real face. Seven who rule this city's underworld." Ethan's smug expression faltered slightly. "Then why even suggest..." "Because," Ramirez cut him off, his weathered face tightening, "that man moves like Leo. Speaks like him. Has that same... presence." He drained his glass, setting it down with deliberate care. "But you're right – it's impossible. The Leo King I know would never lower himself to play husband to anyone. He's married to power itself." The older man straightened his jacket, a habit that betrayed his unease. "Still... keep an eye on your friend Mason Rivers. A man who can make me doubt, even for a moment..." He left the thought unfinished, moving away through the glittering crowd.