Chapter 5 - Fire in the Shadows
“Marco!” I screamed, but the roar of applause in the ballroom completely swallowed my voice.
Luca had just stepped onto the dais. The microphone let out a low hum of feedback as he raised his hand to quiet the room. He looked regal, dominant, the undisputed king of the city.
He had no idea that twenty feet to his right, death was waiting under a velvet cloth.
There was no time to run downstairs through the crowded marble staircase. There was no time to find Marco among the sea of two hundred tuxedoed guests.
I grabbed Mateo by the hand, shoved him into the private security lounge behind the mezzanine, and slammed the reinforced deadbolt. “Mateo, lock this door from the inside and do not open it for anyone except your father! Do you hear me? Put your hands over your ears and hide under the desk!”
“Emma!” he cried, terrified.
“Do it, Mateo! Now!”
The boy scrambled under the desk, and I heard the lock click.
I turned and sprinted toward the mezzanine railing.
Directly above the dais hung a secondary lighting truss, controlled by an emergency panel located on the upper balcony walkway. If the power tripped, the estate’s auxiliary failsafe would instantly flood the room with blinding red emergency beacons and lock down the armored fire doors.
I ran down the narrow catwalk, my injured hand throbbing with blinding, agonizing pain as I ripped the bandage open, reaching for the heavy master lever. The stitches pulled taut, blood instantly soaking through the lace of my dress.
Below, the caterer raised the suppressed weapon, aiming directly at Luca’s chest.
I slammed my entire body weight against the industrial breaker.
*CRACK.*
The ballroom exploded into chaos.
Every light in the house died simultaneously. Half a second later, the earsplitting wail of the security sirens shattered the air, accompanied by the violent, strobing glare of crimson emergency floodlights.
*Pfft. Pfft.*
Two suppressed rounds punched through the mahogany lectern where Luca had been standing a fraction of a second earlier.
Because of the blackout, Luca had already moved. His combat reflexes kicked in before the crowd even registered the sound. In the strobe of red light, I saw Luca dive behind the granite pillar, drawing a concealed weapon from beneath his tuxedo jacket with terrifying speed.
Shouts, screams, and breaking glass erupted across the ballroom as high-society guests stampeded toward the exits.
*Bang! Bang! Bang!*
Luca returned fire from behind the pillar. The shooter by the ice sculpture collapsed instantly, blood pooling across the polished marble. The second fake caterer attempted to flee toward the kitchen, but Marco emerged from the side passage like a demon, tackling him into a buffet table and disarming him in seconds.
Up on the catwalk, I leaned against the cold metal railing, gasping for air, trembling from head to toe. My hand was dripping blood onto the floor below.
Then, through the crimson haze of the emergency lights, Luca looked up.
His eyes locked onto mine.
He saw me standing at the breaker panel. He saw the ripped dress, the blood on my hand, and the empty space where the bullet had just missed his heart.
He knew.
He knew instantly that I had saved his life.
Before the panic could fully clear, heavy footsteps pounded up the catwalk stairs. Luca appeared at the top, his tuxedo disheveled, his eyes burning with an unholy mixture of rage and terror.
He didn't check the perimeter. He didn't issue orders to his men.
He walked straight toward me, grabbed me by the waist, and pulled me violently against his chest.
“Are you hit?” he demanded, his voice ragged, his hands frantically searching my shoulders, my neck, my waist. “Emma! Look at me! Were you shot?”
“No... no,” I sobbed, the shock finally catching up to me, my knees giving out entirely. “Mateo... Mateo is in the security room... he’s safe, I locked him in...”
Luca caught me before I hit the floor, lifting me effortlessly into his arms as if I weighed nothing at all. He buried his face in the crook of my neck for a single, shuddering breath.
“I have you,” he whispered, his chest heaving against mine. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Then, his head snapped toward the hallway below as his security team dragged a squirming, screaming figure into the light.
May you like
It was Isabella.
***
