Though she hated working these parties, Leyla did them and did them often for two reasons. Primarily, she did it for the boatloads of cash she made off of them, but also, she found she at least enjoyed the amenities.

She had worked at the St. Regis on a couple of jobs, a con and another party like this. Overall, she found it impressive. Good food, good service, and the ambiance almost made her forget that she was essentially whoring her powers to fat buffoons that didn't deserve happiness.

The party wasn't huge, and Leyla was only charged with doping up a select few, but it was still annoying having to keep her concentration up for so long. She managed to escape long enough down a drink, but then she was back to wandering through the crowd, re-drugging any of the VIPs she came across.

Dressed in a fine black suit and red tie, Vicente de la Sangre strolled through the party that the St. Regis. Normally places like this turn riff-raff like him away, but today, Vicente looked exceptionally presentable. Having dressed like this once before, he was actually eager to try this look again. He normally did not like suits but they did tend to open some doors that he normally would find very difficult to get into. It was surprising the types of places one can get into when they simply have a nice suit.

His long, black hair perfectly combed back, his mustache trimmed, and his dark sunglasses slipped over his eyes, Vicente looked as if he belonged in his upscale world. Obviously not for legitimate reasons, though. He looked more like he was the high societies drug dealer or weapons runner. But despite the gruff and scary appearance he still exuded, he now had that aura of wealth that also added to his dangerous looking nature.

That was just the type of person these high societies loved to have around them. That was a good thing, too. After all, Vicente was not here on a personal call. He was here on a job. A young woman was being targeted by the Russian mob, a rival of his own bosses mob family. Apparently she connected with some Russians’ deaths and Falcone wanted to have a word with her about it.

Interesting. Vicente was curious about this young woman as well. With her description memorized, the older assassin strolled through the party and ignored any passing looks he managed to get. Through his dark shades he scanned, and scanned. He was sure that she was in here somewhere. He trusted in his intel.

“Oooooh yeaah!” he heard someone screech off of the side.

Huh…that’s the third one already… he thought. He noticed that there was a significant number of people who appeared to be some sort of blissful state. Whatever was being passed around this party had to be good stuff…

After a while her patron, a middle-aged former trophy wife, found her and caught her by the elbow. It took all of Leyla's self-restraint to not bash the woman's head against the floor. She was being led around like a dog. She barely managed to stifle the scowl that had sprung up on her face.

The idiot paying her stopped her in front of a slightly jaundiced looking woman of about the same age. "Euphoria, this is my dear friend Patricia. She's just gotten here. Do be a dear and keep her...in the right mood."

Leyla nearly snapped at her. That made thirteen people. There was no way she could keep up with so many at once, especially when the drugged-out idiots kept wandering away. Somehow, she managed to bite back her fury and ground out a simple, "Of course." God, she hated to see these people so pleased, and by something she had given them.

She shook her head to get her concentration together and reached out to shake the new woman's hand. "Is nice to meet you," she said, letting her power snake over to the woman. Patricia shuddered visibly at the sensation. The first time was always a surprise for people, not that she had any clue what it was they felt.

"Oh, that's wonderful, dear," she sighed, blissful.

Vicente calmly wandered through the party. Whatever was going around seemed to be completely effective because he was sure that he saw more than ten people already who were wandering around with nothing but sheer and utter bliss across their faces. He half expected them to rip off their clothes in a heat of passion but none of them had carried their mania to that level. Instead the majority of them were simply wandering, grinning, and moaning to themselves. It was nothing like Vicente had ever seen and his old cartel, Los Lobos, ran every type of drug imaginable.

Whatever this stuff at the party was, it was completely new, nothing that he had ever experienced before. Maybe he should also take a look to see who was supplying these people? He was sure that Falcone would have loved to known that.

Continuing his wandering, he paused when he saw a very pretty woman being led away by an obvious, middle-aged woman. His eyes brow arched as he watched them. At first it was not for any other reason other than she was attractive, but what caught his eye was the long dark hair and the features of her face. Features that seemed all too familiar to him.

Oh yes, he knew exactly who he was looking at. The description of the young woman who have killed the Russian mob members flashed across his mind as he watched her disappear into the crowd with the other woman.

Casually he moved to the bar, bought himself a glass of champagne and continued to make his rounds. Out of the corner of his eye, he tried to keep the young woman in his line of sight but she kept disappearing behind crowds or was blocked by that older woman that had dragged her away in the first place.

But he could not wait much longer. He knew who it was that was now after the young woman so he was going to have to interrupt her discussion.

Calmly he strolled over, sipping his champagne and flash the gold jewelry he wore, trying to show himself off as the high society type of person that everyone at this party embodied. When he finally approached them, he nodded to both ladies and smirked.

“Evening,” he whispered. “Forgive my intrusion, I simply could not help myself. I must pay my respects to the hostess of this fine party,” he said as he nodded gratefully to the middle-aged woman and raised his glass to her.

The woman tittered, pleased at the compliment. "Well, thank you. And, if I may ask, who might you be?" Leyla stood beside her, narrowing her eyes at him in suspicion. He was probably just someone's security detail, but it was unusual for a hired hand to associate with the upper-crust, with the exception of herself, of course. This man reeked of trouble.

She was still mid-assessment when her boss pushed her arm gently. "Euphoria, it looks like Mr. Lorenzo needs some...attention. Be a dear, would you?" Leyla's jaw tightened in irritation, but she managed a fraction of a smile. "I will take care for it."

Wandering toward the sobering Mr. Lorenzo, she kept one eye on the new guy. She had a feeling about him, and it would not do to lose track of him.

Though he was not the most debonair of the people gathered Vicente knew the power of flattery and knew how to use it to get what he wanted. Sure he was not the best looking. And of course he looked more like a hired goon than a tycoon or a blue blood like everyone else here was expecting, but Vicente knew the power of words. He had to if he wanted to make it as an assassin and seamlessly blend into world or another.

He smirked as the woman looked positively excited to be getting his praise for her party. Old, rich people were so easy to manipulate…

>> "Well, thank you. And, if I may ask, who might you be?"

“Rafael de Sol,” he said with a small and elegant bow. “Mi familia, owned a small delivery business that they managed to build up into any tiny empire. I’m sure you have heard of us, Sol de Rojo Solutions?”

Even if she had not heard of the name, which he had made up, there was enough ethnicity and mystery behind it make to make him seem quite foreign and for the “company” he worked for to seem quite real enough. Besides, he doubted that any of the people here were quick or intelligent enough to whip out a blackberry or smartphone and do a search. Though they were rich, they had an air of arrogance that prevented them from thinking that anyone would dare crash their party.

>> "Euphoria, it looks like Mr. Lorenzo needs some...attention. Be a dear, would you?"

Euphoria…hmmm… Vicente thought to himself as he watched the young woman who had been eyeballing him the entire time in silence get shaken from her thoughts. The expression on her face was tight and controlled. She was holding back but in the end, she agreed to the woman’s request...

>> "I will take care for it."[/color]

Vicente gave her a soft and respectful bow as she slipped away. He had to wonder about the name though. Wasn’t it odd that in a room full of blissful people…there would be someone with the name of Euphoria? The odds were too good to be true. But if she was the source, how was she doing it? Simply a supplier? Or…was there something more divinely involved. Maybe she too was gifted by the gods. Oh, Falcone was going to love this one…

He shook his head as he returned to the conversation at hand, keeping his focus on the older woman but glancing out of the corner of his eye to Euphoria. It was only as he did so that he looked towards the doors of this establishment and watched as a pair of men in cheap suits strolled in. He knew all too well who they were…Russian Mob. They must of caught wind of Euphoria’s presence at this party. After all, he was a good tracker, but it was not as if the woman hid her tracks effectively.

Luckily they had yet to catch sight of her, maybe…he could entice the young lady with a dance…

Leyla practically slithered over to Mr. Lorenzo, a younger man of diminutive stature. She flirted with him absently, draping an arm over his shoulder and doping him up.

The host smiled at 'Rafael'. "Of course! My, I don't think I've had the opportunity to meet your parents, but I'm pleased you came."

Groaning in pleasure, Lorenzo leaned into Leyla and suggested in a hazy voice, "Hey, we could go somewhere."

She pushed him back with a firm hand, glancing back to make sure she hadn't lost track of the tough guy. "You are high," she told him, disgusted. "Go enjoy party." He tried to grab at her again, but she caught his wrist in a bruising grip. "Go," she snapped.

Leyla turned and headed closer to the new guy, hoping to overhear him. On her way, she brushed her fingers over the shoulder of another VIP, updating his dose. He moaned.

Rafael had kept an eye open, watching as Euphoria had slipped away thanks to the host’s inclination, and continued with his polite conversation. The woman seemed energetic and excited to meet him. Maybe she was looking for some bliss of her own? He would not put it past her. After all, those scoeity types loved to go slumming whenever they had the itch to do so. It gave them something to brag about, something to lord over their friends in some perpetual game of one upmanship.

It was pathetic, really, but something that Vicente could exploit.

>> "Of course! My, I don't think I've had the opportunity to meet your parents, but I'm pleased you came."

“No, thank you for the pleasure of your company,” he said with a small, playful wink. “I am truly honored.”

Euphoria was on the move again. She was circling, as if trying to keep her own eye on him. Maybe she was suspicious of him. He wouldn’t be surprised, after all, he probably did not look like the type of person that usually frequented her events. That was good that she was naturally suspicious. Maybe that was a testament to her ability to survive. He respected people that knew how to survive.

But another glance up to the two men who had entered and it was obvious that her luck was quickly coming to an end. It would not be much longer before they caught sight of her, especially since she was not watching her surroundings and instead kept her eyes on him. Well, that was as good an evening as any to grab her attention.

“If you’ll please excuse me,” he whispered to the host before he turned his attention to the woman that had been circling him. He smiled at Euphoria, trying to block her with his massive size from the two men. “Miss, I would love to have this dance. I think it would be wise if you accepted…”

She had just dosed up a friend of the host, and was surprised when the man came closer to her, and even more surprised when he addressed her directly. If he was up to trouble, she had expected him to be playing the hostess. Maybe he just wanted a fix?

>>“Miss, I would love to have this dance. I think it would be wise if you accepted…”

Euphoria narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. An invitation to dance was not unusual, but the way in which he phrased it was almost a threat. She held out her left hand for him to take- gloved to the elbow and missing the little finger. "Delighted," she told him stiffly. "And what is your name?"

>> "Delighted…And what is your name?"

Gently the assassin took the young lady’s hand and led her away to where they could dance and talk in private. As he did so, he noted that she was indeed suspicious of him. That was good. It just meant that hopefully she was smart enough to listen to what he had to say. One glance up at the men that were attempting to press further into the party, and he knew that they were quickly running out of time.

“Rafael de Sol,” he said with a slight bow before he pulled her away into a dance.

Slowly he turned to keep her hidden behind his bulk so that the searching men would not find her. But he would only be able to keep it up for so long. Eventually they would make their way to the dance floor so he needed to talk fast.

“Look behind me,” he whispered softly to her. “Do you see those two men in the cheap suits, wandering around the party?” He waited for her to catch sight of them before he continued. “They are here to kill you. While I, on the other hand, am here to offer you safe passage. If you want to live, listen to me, simple as that…”

At his words, Leyla's grip on his hand tightened slightly. Her eyes wandered ever-so-subtly over his shoulder. The men weren't familiar, but she knew the look. Big, fat in the face, a permanent scowl and one with his wrist pressed against his side, where he no doubt had a gun. She scanned through her running mental list of people who might want her dead, then restricted it to the people who had the means to track her down, and finally shrunk it down to those with the resources to hire thugs. Her lip curled in distaste.

"Russians," she muttered. "I hate Russians."

She danced well, and didn't let her impending death detract from her technique. She had no doubt they wanted her dead, but she had no reason to trust this 'de Sol' if that was even his name.

"So what is your plan?" she asked skeptically. "I leave out back, get into car with more people that want kill me? Why can I trust you?"

>> "Russians, I hate Russians.”

She was quick to identify the nature of who it was that was now after her. Those men were rather hard to miss. They stuck out at a party like this like a sore thumb; wandering, hands tucked into their jackets, obviously fingering their weapons for when they tracked down their target. An experienced killer could pick them out in a second. Apparently so could a young, guilty woman.

Despite the impending death, though, she didn’t miss a step in her elegant dance. Vicente kept pace but did his best to keep her blocked with his body.

>> "So what is your plan? I leave out back, get into car with more people that want kill me? Why can I trust you?"

Vicente smirked as he looked down to her. So far she was displaying such a mistrustful nature. Then again, he could hardly blame her. Two men were hunting her down and now she was to be expected to trust another man who probably looked just as terrifying. But still…Vicente found the thought amusing.

He simply smirked as he whispered to her.

“No one said you can trust me,” he replied with a shrug. “But looking at your options, I’d say that I’m your best choice.” The dance continued before he spoke again. “Besides, chica, if I was here to kill you…you’d already be dead,” he said honestly. “So…either we leave together, or I simply leave you to those two men to find. Choice is yours…”

>>“So…either we leave together, or I simply leave you to those two men to find. Choice is yours…”

Leyla scowled, but nodded once. Her choices were limited, and she might as well take advantage of his help before she found out his real angle. "Fine. We do it your way. How we do this?"

She had already taken stock of the building. "Front entrance is too visible. Back of this hall open into chain-fenced area. Through kitchen might be best. Most of staff is serving now."

Her eyes wandered back to the Russians. They had circled the east end of the hall and were making their way around to the west wall.

Vicente had waited patiently for her answer. To him the choice was quite simple. Either she follows him into the unknown and takes a leap of faith, or she does her best against a pair of well-armed, very burly Russian men who only wanted her dead without reasoning. It was a tough call but Vicente was prepared for either option. It was not like his boss was going to get mad at him. Falcone knew better than to express any kind of anger towards Vicente if it was not warranted.

But he turned his attention back down to the smaller woman as she began to speak.

>> "Fine. We do it your way. How we do this? Front entrance is too visible. Back of this hall open into chain-fenced area. Through kitchen might be best. Most of staff is serving now."

He continuously impressed him. He already had a few members of the waiting staff paid off to let them walk through without stopping them while the rest would be busy carrying out the food. It was a fairly simply plan. His motorcycle was parked near the back door of the kitchen so it would be a simple get away, so long as they were not spotted.

“Just so happens we think on the same wave length,” he whispered. Taking her hand he twirled her so that she was blocked from view behind some high furniture in the room and glanced over. The men were wandering closer. “I can get us out through the kitchen. For now, though, I need you to disguise your face as best you can.” From inside his jacket he produce a thick pair of dark glasses and a fancy silk scarf for hiding her hair. “Put this on and I will casually lead you away, but be quick. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Leyla followed his warning on their limited time, but still found time to glance at the scarf he supplied in critical disapproval. Ugh. It was a color she would never wear and the pattern? It was beyond hideous. For the briefest of seconds, she considered dying instead.

Without voicing her complaints, she wrapped the scarf around her head, sweeping stray bangs up underneath it expertly. The sunglasses at least were in season. She put those on and spun closer to the kitchen doors gracefully.

It was a shame, she thought. She had only gotten half of her pay for the evening up front, and she'd more than earned it. At least the diamond earrings she'd swiped from the hostess's suite upstairs would serve some consolation. She hadn't decided yet if she would sell them or wear them. They were stylish, but perhaps too simple for her.

Leyla nodded toward the kitchen entrance. "After you, de Sol."