Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
His hand remains at my waist throughout the evening, a constant reassuring presence. Not possessive exactly, but protective, communicative—a silent reminder that I'm not alone in this unfamiliar world of wealth and carefully veiled power.
"You're doing wonderfully," he murmurs during a brief moment alone, his lips close to my ear to prevent others from overhearing.
A helpless smile touches my lips because I know he truly means it...even when I haven't done anything worth praising. How did I not know I have the sweetest husband in the world? I only have to say 'hello', and it already makes Gabriele act like I've won the Nobel Prize.
"I need to check something with security," Gabriele murmurs after we've circulated for nearly two hours. "Will you be alright for a few minutes?"
"Of course," I assure him, genuinely confident in my ability to manage brief interactions on my own now. "I'll stay in the main room, near the center where visibility is best."
Approval flickers in his eyes—recognition that I've absorbed his security training, that I'm thinking strategically even in this social setting. "Ten minutes at most," he promises, pressing a kiss to my temple before moving away with the efficient grace that characterizes him in all settings.
I maintain my position near the center of the grand ballroom, smiling politely at passing guests, exchanging brief pleasantries when approached but avoiding extended conversation. The venue's security is extensive—Gabriele's team supplementing the already significant measures in place for an event of this caliber—but caution remains our watchword, especially with Valentina's recent escalation.
"Mrs. Bronzetti?" A server approaches, holding a silver tray with a single envelope. "A message for you."
I hesitate, security protocols warring with social convention. Gabriele's instructions were clear—accept nothing, consume nothing that hasn't been verified by security, especially in his absence.
"I'm sorry, but I'll need to verify the sender," I say politely but firmly. "If you could direct them to speak with me directly, I'd be happy to receive their message in person."
The server smiles, but something in the expression doesn't reach his eyes. "The gentleman insisted on privacy. He said to tell you it concerns your brother."
My brother. Viktor. A name few in this room would connect to me, a relationship known only to those directly involved in our situation.
Warning bells sound in my mind, security training intensifying my already heightened awareness. This is wrong. Dangerous. A trap of some kind.
"I'm afraid I must insist on speaking with the sender directly," I say, voice pleasant but unyielding. "Or perhaps you could direct the message to my husband? He'll be returning momentarily."
The server's expression shifts subtly, calculation replacing the practiced smile. "Of course, Mrs. Bronzetti. I apologize for the confusion."
He withdraws, moving through the crowd with slightly too much purpose for a genuine server. I scan the room, looking for Gabriele, for one of his security team positioned strategically throughout the venue.
Toole is nearest, stationed near a side entrance, attention already focused on me as if sensing something amiss. I make eye contact, giving the subtle signal Gabriele taught me to indicate potential threat.
He acknowledges with an equally subtle nod, hand moving to his ear where I know he's communicating with Gabriele and the rest of the team. Help is coming. I just need to maintain position, to avoid isolation or vulnerability until Gabriele returns or security intervenes.
Simple enough in theory.
Then the lights go out.
Not just dimmed for effect, but completely extinguished—the grand ballroom plunged into absolute darkness as power fails throughout the venue. Gasps of surprise ripple through the crowd, followed by nervous laughter, by assurances from staff that emergency generators will activate momentarily.
I remain perfectly still, pulse accelerating but mind clear. This is no accident, no coincidental power failure. This is coordinated, deliberate—Valentina making her move with precision timing. It's also what we expected. And what Gabriele asked me to trust him with.
Because we're done hiding. This time, we're taking matters into our own hands, and we intend to win and take back control of our lives.
Emergency lighting activates within seconds, casting the ballroom in dim, reddish illumination—enough to prevent panic or injury, not enough for clear visibility across distances. Perfect conditions for an extraction.
I begin moving immediately, not toward Toole's position—too obvious, too expected—but toward the kitchen. Gabriele and I had reviewed the venue's floor plan extensively before the event, mapping primary and alternate exit routes, identifying security positions and potential vulnerabilities.
The kitchen connects to service corridors, to staff exits—routes less likely to be targeted in an extraction plan focused on the main public areas. If I can reach it before they locate me in the confusion...
I slip through the crowd with practiced ease, keeping my movements calm but purposeful, just another guest seeking stability in the unexpected situation. No running, no obvious evasion—attention-drawing behaviors that would make me easier to track.
The kitchen entrance is ahead, partially hidden behind an elaborate floral display. I'm almost there when a hand closes around my upper arm, grip firm but not bruising.