The Moretti Foundation Gala glittered like a kingdom of diamonds.
Crystal chandeliers. Silk gowns. Champagne flowing like innocence.
Power dressed itself in tuxedos tonight.
And predators smiled politely.
From the grand staircase, Amara Volkov descended slowly in a silver gown that clung to her like liquid moonlight. Diamonds kissed her throat. Her dark hair was swept over one shoulder, exposing skin meant to distract.
Every eye turned.
She didn't look at any of them.
She already knew who was watching.
Across the ballroom, leaning lazily against a marble column, stood Luca DeRossi.
Black suit. No tie. Top button undone. Hands in his pockets.
He wasn't smiling.
He was assessing.
Their eyes met.
The room disappeared.
No introductions. No politeness. Just recognition.
Predator. Predator.
Amara took a champagne glass from a passing waiter and finally walked toward him.
Each step deliberate.
Each breath controlled.
"You're staring," she said smoothly when she reached him.
Luca's gaze moved slowly from her heels… to her eyes.
"I'm evaluating a threat."
A faint smile touched her lips.
"Do I look threatening?"
"You look calculated."
She tilted her head slightly. "Careful. That almost sounds like admiration."
He stepped closer.
Too close.
Close enough that his cologne—dark, expensive, dangerous—wrapped around her senses.
"I don't admire enemies," he said quietly. "I eliminate them."
A flicker passed through her eyes.
"Bold statement," she replied. "Especially at a charity event."
"Charity is for people who need forgiveness."
"And you don't?"
"No."
The tension between them sharpened.
Around them, violins played softly.
Laughter floated through the air.
But inside that small circle of space, something entirely different brewed.
War.
Luca leaned in slightly.
"You arrived in my city without courtesy," he said.
Amara took a sip of champagne.
"I wasn't aware Chicago required permission."
"It does when it's mine."
Her eyes glinted.
"Nothing is ever just yours, Mr. DeRossi."
He stilled.
"Careful."
"Or what?"
His jaw tightened just slightly — the only crack in his composure.
"You're far from home."
"And you're far from untouchable."
His hand suddenly wrapped around her wrist.
Firm.
Controlled.
Not enough to hurt.
Enough to dominate.
Gasps rippled quietly from nearby guests.
Luca didn't care.
He pulled her closer, his mouth near her ear.
"If you're behind my shipment leak," he murmured, voice low and lethal, "I won't just come for your father."
Her pulse spiked—but she didn't pull away.
"You'll what?" she whispered.
His fingers tightened.
"I'll make an example of you."
Her breath brushed his jaw.
"You assume I'd let you."
And then—
Gunshots.
Three sharp cracks shattered the music.
Screams erupted.
Glass exploded.
Guests dove to the floor.
Luca's body reacted before his mind did.
He pulled Amara down with him, shielding her as bullets tore through chandeliers above.
Security rushed forward.
Chaos consumed the ballroom.
Luca scanned the balcony.
Sniper.
Left wing.
He drew his weapon and fired once.
The figure disappeared.
Smoke alarms wailed.
People trampled toward exits.
But Luca didn't move.
Because the most important detail wasn't the attack.
It was this:The sniper hadn't aimed at him.
The bullet trajectory had been angled lower.
Toward her.
Slowly, Luca looked down at Amara beneath him.
Her expression was calm.
Too calm.
"You planned this?" he demanded.
She met his gaze evenly.
"If I did," she said, "I wouldn't miss."
Sirens wailed in the distance.
His men surrounded them quickly.
"Boss, we need to move!"
Luca rose and pulled Amara up with him.
His grip didn't release.
Not this time.
Not in public.
"You're coming with me," he said.
"That sounds like kidnapping."
Her eyes flickered with something unreadable.
The crowd parted as Luca escorted her through the private exit.
Outside, black SUVs screeched to a halt.
Matteo ran forward. "Boss, are you hit?"
"No."
His gaze never left Amara.
"She is."
Matteo blinked. "She's bleeding?"
Luca looked at the thin red line trailing down her upper arm.
A grazing bullet wound.
She hadn't even flinched.
Interesting.
He opened the SUV door.
"Get in."
She studied him for a long moment.
Then, slowly…
She obeyed.
As the car doors slammed shut and the convoy sped into the Chicago night, Amara leaned back against the leather seat.
"You're protecting me now?" she asked softly.
Luca's eyes were darker than midnight.
"I'm containing you."
A small smile curved her lips.
"You don't know who pulled that trigger."
"No," he said evenly.
"But I know who benefits."
Silence settled between them.
And neither of them realized—
The real enemy had just forced them into the same car.