PREVIEW
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The door to the VIP suite glided open with the kind of luxurious hush that suggested bribery and blood had once stained its frame.
Inside, the suite was steeped in moody violet lighting and sinfully expensive upholstery. And at its center—like a cherry perched atop a very drunk sundae—sat Kathrine Sorella.
She had a crystal glass of Avantant gin and tonic clutched in one hand and the air of a noblewoman who fully intended to ruin someone's evening. Possibly mine. Hopefully So ...
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