Chapter 5 - The Mark on the Glass
The Bellini Fall Gala was the underworld's most sacred sanctuary—a neutral zone where politicians, mafia Dons, billionaires, and high-society corrupt elite mingled under sparkling crystal chandeliers.
By seven o'clock that evening, I barely recognized the woman staring back at me from the antique mirror.
The stylists Nico had hired had transformed me completely. I wore a backless evening gown of emerald satin that clung to every curve of my body like water. A diamond choker rested against my throat—cold, heavy, and undeniably expensive. My hair was swept up into an elegant chignon, exposing the delicate line of my shoulders.
The double doors of the dressing room swung open, and Nico stood in the doorway.
He wore a tailored midnight-black tuxedo, his broad shoulders filling the frame. For a second, the lethal mobster vanished behind an aura of aristocratic elegance. But the predatory gleam in his eyes betrayed him.
"Perfection," he murmured, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He walked slowly toward me, his reflection joining mine in the glass. He rested his hands on my bare shoulders, his warm skin a stark contrast to the cold diamonds around my neck.
"They'll look at you tonight, Hannah," he whispered near my ear, his breath tickling my skin. "They'll try to find your weakness. They'll try to see if you are just a girl from the diner or the woman who commands the Moretti empire."
"I don't command anything," I said honestly, looking at him through the mirror. "I'm terrified."
Nico spun me around slowly until I faced him. His hands moved to cup my face, forcing me to meet his unflinching gaze. "You don't need to fear anyone as long as you hold my arm. You are mine, Hannah. Lift your chin. Let them choke on their own envy."
Before I could respond, a sudden, sharp *crack* echoed through the suite.
Nico’s instincts kicked in within a fraction of a second. He tackled me to the plush carpet, shielding my body with his entire frame just as a high-caliber bullet shattered the grand bay window behind where we had been standing.
Shards of glass rained down around us like frozen diamonds, clattering against the polished floor.
The alarms in the mansion began to wail, a shrill, deafening scream of red alert. The heavy oak doors burst open as Marco and four heavily armed soldiers rushed in with assault rifles drawn.
"Boss! Sniper on the opposite ridge!" Marco yelled, scanning the shattered glass.
Nico didn't flinch. Slowly, he pushed himself up, keeping me tucked securely beneath his chest. He checked me with frantic, searching hands, his face tight with controlled rage. "Are you hit? Hannah, look at me. Are you bleeding?"
"N-no," I stuttered, my heart hammering like a trapped bird. "I'm okay. I'm okay."
Nico rose to his feet, pulling me up with him. He looked down at the broken window. Embedded in the wooden frame directly where my head had been moments earlier was a heavy steel bullet wrapped in a strip of red ribbon.
Tied to the ribbon was a tiny, gold charm—the exact crucifix necklace I had pawned two years ago to pay my mother's chemotherapy bill, the very necklace Victor had bought back to taunt me.
"Victor didn't run," I whispered, the room spinning as the air left my lungs. "He’s still here."
Nico stared at the bloody red ribbon. When he turned back to face Marco, the fury in his eyes was cold enough to freeze hell.
"Get the cars ready," Nico said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. "We are going to the gala."
"Boss?" Marco hesitated. "Going into public right now is a trap."
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"No," Nico replied, his hand finding mine and gripping it until it almost ached. "It’s a declaration. Victor wants an audience. I’m going to give him an execution."
***
