Chapter 5 - Blood in the Ballroom
The tension in the grand ballroom was thick enough to cut with a knife. As Marcus led me toward the VIP seating area at the front of the room, whispered rumors rippled through the crowd like wind through tall grass.
“Who is that?”
“I heard he kept her hidden.”
“Valentino has a weakness now.”
I kept my chin up, channeling every ounce of the strength Marcus had taught me simply by standing beside him. My injured heel throbbed slightly inside my designer heel, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the suffocating weight of a hundred hostile eyes burning into my back.
Marcus seated me at the central table, pulling out my velvet chair with a courtly grace that stunned the surrounding syndicate capos. He remained standing beside me for a moment, resting his hand on the back of my chair like a protective sentinel before turning to address Viktor Rostov, the ruthless leader of the Russian Bratva, who sat across the table.
Rostov was a mountain of a man with cold, dead eyes and a jagged scar running down his cheek. He smiled, revealing a row of yellowed teeth, his gaze sliding past Marcus to linger on me with an unsettling, predatory hunger.
“Ah, the elusive Mrs. Valentino,” Rostov rumbled, his voice thick with a harsh Russian accent. “Rumor had it you kept her locked away because she was fragile, Marcus. But looking at her now… I must admit, I envy your taste.”
The temperature in the room plummeted below freezing. Marcus didn't smile. His shoulders squared, and the air around him seemed to darken with lethal intent.
“Keep your eyes on your own glass, Rostov,” Marcus said, his voice dangerously soft. “Or you won't have a tongue left to taste your vodka by the end of the night.”
Rostov chuckled darkly, raising his glass in a mocking toast. “Just admiring the merchandise, my friend. A man in our line of work must always keep an eye on his vulnerabilities. And a wife… well, a wife is a very public target.”
Before Marcus could snap, chaos erupted near the entrance of the ballroom.
Shouts echoed through the high-domed ceiling. The sharp, unmistakable crack of a silenced pistol echoed over the string quartet's music. Glass shattered, and screams tore through the high-society crowd as panic instantly seized the room. Guests scrambled in every direction, diving under tables and rushing toward the emergency exits.
Marcus moved with terrifying speed. Before I could even draw a breath, he yanked me out of my chair and shoved me behind his broad back, drawing a sleek, black Sig Sauer pistol from his shoulder holster with one fluid motion. Alessandro and three other bodyguards materialized out of nowhere, forming an impenetrable wall of steel and firepower around us.
“Stay down,” Marcus ordered, his voice commanding absolute obedience.
May you like
Through the chaos, a group of armed men in black tactical gear burst through the side service doors, weapons raised and firing indiscriminately into the crowd. Their target wasn't the other bosses.
Their target was us.
