Chapter 5: Blood on the Marble

The ballroom pulsed with an underlying tension that had nothing to do with the string quartet playing in the background or the idle chatter of the city’s elite. The golden chandeliers cast their warm glow over a sea of gowns and tuxedos, but to Elena, the beauty of the setting was nothing more than a deceptive illusion. Beneath the glittering façade, danger lurked.

She knew it.

And so did Damien.

His grip on her waist had loosened, his focus shifting as his man leaned in, murmuring something low enough that only he could hear.

Elena wasn’t sure what was said, but she saw the shift in him. One moment, Damien was the possessive, controlling man who had been using this night to stake his claim on her; the next, he was something else entirely. The playful arrogance in his eyes vanished, replaced by an icy calculation that sent a chill down her spine.

The ruthless mafia king had emerged.

Damien released her, his fingers sliding away with deliberate slowness, as if reluctant to let go even as more pressing matters called for his attention.

“I’ll be back,” he murmured, voice steady but edged with something dangerous.

And then he was gone, moving with a predator’s grace through the crowd, his men subtly falling into step behind him.

Elena exhaled shakily, suddenly aware of the absence of his heat, of the strange, conflicting emotions that his presence stirred in her. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she absently clutched the small metallic object still hidden in her palm—the key the masked man had slipped her just moments ago.

What did it open?

Why had he given it to her?

A thousand questions spun through Elena’s mind, but she had no time to dwell on them.

“Elena.”

The deep, smooth voice came from behind her.

She turned sharply, her heart lurching in her chest as she found herself staring into Nico Castellano’s knowing eyes.

Damn it.

Out of all the people here, why did he have to be the one to notice her unease?

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Nico murmured, offering her a glass of champagne as if they were nothing more than acquaintances making idle small talk.

Elena hesitated before accepting it, fingers brushing against his.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice steady despite the rapid beat of her heart.

Nico studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he stepped closer, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered, “You’re in deeper than you realize.”

Her grip tightened around the flute of champagne. “And you’re very persistent.”

"Call it a bad habit.” Nico smirked. "If you want to join the game, the least you could do is understand the situation and learn the rules. Don't just blindly jump into it and get caught in the crossfire."

She should walk away. She should ignore him, ignore whatever game he was trying to play.

But she couldn’t.

Not when every fiber of her being was screaming that he knew something.

“What do you mean?” she asked, keeping her voice casual, even as she discreetly glanced around the room to ensure no one was listening.

Nico exhaled slowly, casting a quick glance toward the crowd. Then, in one fluid motion, he placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her toward the open balcony doors. “Walk with me.”

Elena hesitated. The night air carried a crisp bite, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the ballroom. Beyond the railings, the city stretched endlessly below, glittering lights disguising the darkness that lurked beneath its surface.

Before she could argue, he was already leading her outside, his movements smooth and unhurried, as if they were just another couple slipping away from the crowd for a quiet moment.

The moment the cool night air hit her skin, she sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

She turned to Nico, crossing her arms. “Start talking.”

Nico chuckled. “I see Damien’s temper has rubbed off on you.” He leaned against the balcony’s edge, studying her. “Tell me, do you actually understand what you’re caught in?”

She lifted her chin. “I don’t need a lecture.”

He tilted his head, the smirk playing on his lips again. “No, you need a lifeline. But something tells me you’re too damn stubborn to take one.”

Elena’s fingers clenched around the cool metal of the key inside her purse. She had so many questions, but she didn’t know if she could trust Nico enough to ask them. Her patience thinned. “Nico—”

“You were given something tonight, weren’t you?”

Her breath caught.

Nico’s gaze flickered downward—just for a second—toward the purse she had clutched tightly against her side.

Elena swallowed hard, her fingers unconsciously pressing against the hidden key.

He knew.

And that terrified her more than anything. 

“What does it mean?” she asked carefully. 

Nico studied her, his gaze unreadable. "It means that someone, somewhere, wants you to wake up before it’s too late."

A chill ran down her spine.

"You’re going to have to be more specific than that," she pressed. 

“What do you know?” she asked quietly.

Nico exhaled, glancing back toward the ballroom doors, his expression darkening. “More than you want to hear.”

Her fingers tightened around the railing.

Before she could demand more, a shadow fell over them.

The air thickened, electric with tension.

"You enjoy testing your luck, Castellano?"

Elena didn’t need to turn to recognize Damien’s voice.

His presence was like a storm, dark and furious, pressing against her skin with an almost suffocating weight.

He stood in the doorway, his presence like a thundercloud about to break. His gaze flicked from Elena to Nico, and something dangerous sparked in his expression.

“You really should keep a closer eye on your possessions, Moretti,” Nico mused.

Damien’s patience snapped.

In one swift move, he was in front of Elena, his fingers curling around her wrist.

“You think this is a game?” he murmured, his voice dark with warning.

Elena’s breath hitched. His grip wasn’t painful, but it carried an unmistakable weight. Her pulse spiked. "Let go of me," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

For a moment, she thought he might.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Not until you understand something," Damien growled. "You don’t wander into a world like this and pretend you’re just an observer."

Nico exhaled, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Now, now, Moretti. No need to manhandle the lady."

Damien shot him a deadly glare.

"Stay the hell out of this," he warned.

But before the tension could erupt into something irreparable, the sharp crack of gunfire split through the air.

For a moment, time itself seemed to freeze.

Then—screams.

Chaos.

Elena barely registered Damien’s reaction before he had her in his arms, moving fast, shielding her body as another shot rang out.

The ballroom had turned into a war zone. 

---

A single gunshot shattered the night’s fragile elegance.

For a breathless moment, silence stretched, the kind that came just before devastation struck. Then, chaos erupted. Screams tore through the ballroom, guests scrambling for cover as masked men stormed the lavish space, their weapons raised with deadly intent. Glass shattered, chandeliers swayed, and the scent of gunpowder burned the air.

The golden glow of the grand hall, once warm and opulent, now flickered ominously against the muzzle flashes of automatic weapons. The massive, gilded mirrors along the walls reflected a scene of mayhem—men in tuxedos ducking behind overturned tables, women in shimmering gowns shrieking as bullets ripped through the air. The rich scent of wine mingled with something more metallic—blood.

Damien reacted instantly.

In one swift motion, he shoved Elena behind him, his gun drawn, his stance steady. His entire demeanor shifted, transforming from the ruthless king of the underworld into something more primal, more lethal. His gaze swept the ballroom with razor-sharp focus, assessing, calculating.

“Elena, stay down,” he commanded, his voice calm despite the storm of violence around them.

She barely had time to register the words before a hand closed around her wrist.

Nico.

“Move,” he muttered, pulling her toward a marble pillar as another shot rang out, too close.

A sharp whistle cut the air. Something hot grazed Nico’s arm, and he cursed, staggering slightly as crimson bloomed through the sleeve of his suit.

Elena gasped. “You’re hit!”

“Just a graze.” He exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers to the wound, but still managed to shoot her a lopsided grin. “Still think I’m the dangerous one?”

Her heart pounded against her ribs as she crouched beside him, her fingers trembling against the cold marble. All around them, the once-elegant gala had descended into carnage.

Damien moved like a predator in his element. His expression was pure control, every movement calculated. A masked attacker lunged toward him, but Damien fired without hesitation. The gunman crumpled, and another met the same fate a second later.

His men were already retaliating, shielding their boss, their loyalty unwavering even in the face of ambush. The air was thick with gunfire and smoke, the grand crystal chandeliers above swaying as if mourning the bloodshed below.

Elena pressed herself against the pillar, her breath ragged.

And then, she felt it—the weight of her purse.

The key.

Her fingers curled around the cold metal inside her bag. Was this why she had been warned? Was this attack connected? Had she just been handed something far more dangerous than she’d realized?

A strangled cough snapped her attention away from the panic flooding her mind.

A masked gunman staggered a few feet away, blood gushing from a wound in his chest. His breath was ragged, his body swaying as his knees buckled. He collapsed onto the gleaming marble, the stark contrast of red against white making Elena’s stomach lurch.

His lips moved, voice barely above a whisper.

“DeLuca… sends his regards.”

Then, silence.

Elena’s pulse roared in her ears.

Damien stepped forward, standing over the fallen man, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—his eyes burned with something dark, something lethal.

This wasn’t just an attack.

It was a declaration of war...