Ruining Draco

SELENA'S POV

The Victorian Masquerade Ball was one of the most prestigious events in Florence. It was a gala built on a foundation of three pillars... Money, Power, and Influence.

Every person who mattered, or who thought they mattered, attended.

Crystal chandeliers illuminated the grand ballroom while a live orchestra filled the air with elegant, sweeping classical music.

Men wore perfectly tailored tuxedos and elaborate, gold-leafed masks, while women drifted across the polished marble floor in designer gowns worth more than some families earned in a decade.

I should have felt out of place. I was, by nature, a woman of simpler tastes, someone who preferred the the solitude of the hillsides to the suffocating opulence of a ballroom. Yet, standing there, I didn’t feel out of place... not entirely.

I was Selena Fortezza, after all. My family name carried weight in the city, but even then, I was under no illusions. I wouldn’t have received an invitation if not for Enzo... a special secret agent of El Paso.

My fiancé moved through the crowd with the ease of a predator navigating its own territory. He mingled comfortably among people who lived in the shadows of society.... politicians with blood on their hands, business tycoons who built empires on loopholes, and men whose wealth came from places and activities that ordinary citizens remained blissfully ignorant of.

Tonight, they all gathered beneath one roof, a viper’s nest of influence that made the air feel thick and heavy.

Enzo squeezed my hand gently as we stepped onto the red carpet at the entrance. "You look nervous," he whispered, his voice a low vibration against my ear.

I glanced at him, noting the way his eyes scanned the room in methodical, practiced sweeps. "You don't?" I countered.

His lips curved into an easy, practiced smile. "No... Of course not." He laughed softly.

The cameras immediately began flashing as we approached the photographers’ barricade. "Over here, Signorina! Signor!" they shouted in a chaotic chorus. "One picture, please! Look this way!"

Enzo wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me closer to his solid frame, and effortlessly guided me through the endless requests.

I smiled... I posed, turned toward the cameras, and let the flashes explode around us in blinding white bursts.

For a brief, fleeting moment, I allowed myself to pretend we were a normal couple attending a normal event. Not an El Paso operative on a precarious assignment and the woman who spent every waking hour terrified of losing him to the darkness of his work.

When the photographers finally released us, Enzo leaned closer, his hand lingering on the small of my back.

"I need to use the bathroom," he murmured.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Actually use the bathroom?"

He grinned, the roguish charm that had hooked me years ago still fully intact. "Maybe."

"Enzo," I said, my voice dropping to a stern, warning register.

"Five minutes," he promised, his tone shifting into something more serious. "I’ll find you afterward. Stay in the light."

I sighed dramatically, though my hand tightened on his sleeve for a second longer than necessary. "You’re impossible."

His smile softened, looking at me with a tenderness that felt like an oasis in the middle of a desert. He pressed a quick, firm kiss against my forehead. "I’ll find you."

And just like that, he disappeared into the undulating crowd of silk and velvet. I watched him go until his charcoal suit was swallowed by the sea of guests, then made my way toward the champagne section.

Waiters in crisp white jackets moved through the ballroom like ghosts, carrying silver trays. Guests congregated in small, conspiratorial circles, their voices a dull roar of gossip, politics, and scandals.

I accepted a glass of champagne from a passing server, the cold crystal flute a grounding sensation against my warm palm.

Almost immediately, I overheard a group of socialite women nearby. "The Castellanos just arrived," one hissed, her voice vibrating with a mix of dread and awe.

My eyes nearly rolled on their own. The Castellano name was a heavy weight in Florence. "All four of them?" another woman leaned in, her eyes wide.

"I heard Draco is even more handsome in person," the first one sighed.

"Draven is the beautiful one," a third interjected, clutching her pearls.

"No, Diavolo is," the first one countered.

The debate continued, fueled by the intoxicating blend of fear and fascination that always surrounded the most powerful mafia family in Italy.

I quietly sipped my champagne, tuning them out. Even before Enzo’s mission brought us into this world, I had heard the rumors. Every story was more exaggerated than the last, stories of ruthless takeovers and midnight exiles.

Honestly, I didn’t care. I wasn’t here to admire dangerous men or fawn over the shadows that ruled the Italian underworld.

Eventually, the vacuous conversation became annoying enough that I excused myself and wandered toward one of the estate's sprawling balconies.

Fresh air. That was all I wanted.

The night breeze greeted me as I stepped outside, cool and sharp against my skin. The sudden quiet was a balm.

The ballroom noise faded into a distant, muffled hum behind the heavy glass doors. Below, the manicured gardens stretched across the estate grounds, the topiaries cast in long, eerie silhouettes by the moonlight, looking like something plucked from a dark fairy tale.

For several peaceful moments, I simply stood there, watching the stars and leaning against the cold stone balustrade.

Then, a deep, raspy voice broke the silence. "Feel suffocated?"

I stiffened. My heart did a slow, painful somersault in my chest. Slowly, I turned my head.

A man stood several feet away, leaning against the archway, cloaked in the shadows of the balcony pillar. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed entirely in black.

His mask... a sleek, obsidian piece, concealed most of his face, leaving only a sharp, arrogant jawline visible. The dim, flickering torchlight of the garden made genuine recognition impossible.

I looked at him, then deliberately turned my head back to the darkness of the garden. I wasn’t interested in conversation, especially not with a man lurking in the shadows of a party.

Silence followed, stretching thin and taut.

Then, a low, guttural growl broke the quiet. The sound startled me, vibration-heavy and primal. Before I could process it, rapid, purposeful footsteps echoed across the stone floor.

My instincts screamed danger. I turned, only to gasp as a hand suddenly wrapped around my forearm. The grip was firm, possessive, and electric.

The stranger yanked me backward, pinning me against the balcony railing. My breath caught in my throat as his body, solid and imposing, blocked any possibility of escape.

"What the hell—" I started, my voice rising in panic.

"No one ignores me," his voice emerged, low and dangerous.

I stared at him in disbelief, trying to find a footing in the madness. Was this man serious? He tilted his head slightly, the movement smooth and confident.

"I know exactly what you’re doing," he murmured.

My eyebrows rose in indignation. "Oh? And what is that?"

"This little act, all women are the same" his tone carried a note of smug, dark amusement. "Pretending not to know who I am."

I blinked, once, twice. It dawned on me that this lunatic genuinely believed we were in the middle of a flirtatious game of cat and mouse.

"I have no idea who you are," I said, my voice ice-cold.

He chuckled. The arrogant bastard actually had the nerve to sound entertained. "Playing hard to get. I like it. That's new." He leaned closer and whispered, "Cut the act, why don't you make use of that pretty mouth of yours pleasing me?”

The sheer audacity of that statement shattered what little patience I had left. Before I could temper my reaction, my hand moved of its own accord... I slapped him.

The sound resonated like a gunshot across the balcony.

Silence followed. Absolute, vacuum-like silence. The stranger froze. I froze, my hand stinging from the impact. For one horrifying second, neither of us moved.

Then, slowly, he began to laugh. It wasn't a nervous laugh or an angry one; it was a dark, genuinely amused sound that seemed to rumble from his very core. "You are bold, Angelita."

I glared at him, my breath coming in short, jagged gasps. "I am not Angelita, You’re a pervert."

That only seemed to entertain him more. His hand suddenly tightened around my wrist, and before I could wrench it free, he pulled me forward.

The impact of my body against his chest stole the remaining air from my lungs. I felt solid, hard muscle beneath the expensive silk of his suit. He was like a wall... strong, immovable, and terrifyingly dangerous.

"You know," he murmured, his face coming close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him, "most people are smarter than this."

I tried pulling away, but his grip was like a shackle. "Let go of me!"

His voice lowered, dropping into a register that made my skin crawl with a mix of fear and an inexplicable, unwanted hum of adrenaline. "No one slaps a Castellano without consequences."

My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. Castellano. The name hit me like a physical blow. Of course... one of the brothers.

I didn't care about his lineage or his threats. I raised my free hand, ready to slap him again, but he saw it coming. His hand shot out, catching my wrist mid-swing with almost lazy ease.

My eyes widened. His laughter grew deeper, vibrating against my ribs. And before I could utter another word of protest, he leaned in and kissed me.

Shock exploded through me. For one impossible, fractured second, my brain simply ceased to function. He deepened the kiss, a possessive, hungry movement that forced me to acknowledge the raw chemistry between us.

My mind screamed that this was wrong, that this was dangerous, that I belonged to Enzo... but my body, traitorous and confused, recognized something primal and overwhelming.

Then, reality crashed back into my consciousness like a tidal wave. I shoved against him with everything I had, my hands pushing at his chest.

Anger, humiliation, and a terrifying, searing outrage collided in my chest.

The stranger eventually pulled back, just enough for me to gasp for air. My chest rose and fell rapidly, my heart drumming against my ribs. I stared at him, my eyes wide with disbelief and burning fury.

He watched me, his eyes hidden behind that mask, but I could feel the intensity of his gaze. I didn't wait for him to speak. I drove my heel, sharp and unforgiving, directly onto his foot.

”Fuck!” He let out a sharp, genuine curse that sounded deeply satisfying.

Before the mysterious, arrogant Castellano could recover, I didn't look back.

I turned, the silk of my gown swirling around my legs, and fled back toward the sanctuary of the ballroom, my heart racing toward a destination I couldn't yet name.