Crimson Night

The massive crystal chandelier fractured the light across the ballroom, scattering it over the gleaming marble and the shimmering gowns. Bella was scanning the crowd with practiced calm. Politicians laughed too loudly. Businessmen shook hands too firmly. Bodyguards stood a little too still. The soft clink of champagne glasses and the low hum of classical music couldn’t mask the subtle tension curling beneath the surface, like a shadow at the edge of a painting. Bella’s instincts prickled. Something about the night felt… off. The laughter seemed forced, the smiles too measured. Her gaze flicked to the corners of the room, noting exits, watchful eyes, and the way a few guests subtly shifted closer to their companions. She could feel the pulse of danger hiding beneath elegance, a quiet hum that set her teeth on edge.

Luca noticed all of it.

He had been standing near the edge of the ballroom, posture relaxed, eyes sharp, noting every slight twitch, every hand resting just a fraction too long near a concealed weapon. Three mafia families in one room never meant peace. It meant patience. It meant waiting for the wrong move, for a single spark to ignite the storm. He could feel the tension coil like a spring, ready to snap. Watch the crowd. Watch the exits. He observed the subtle cues: a shift of weight, a tightening jaw, a hand brushing the edge of a pistol under a suit jacket. Everything could be a threat—or a warning.

Then his gaze landed on her.

Bella hadn’t noticed him at first. But then their eyes met for a fleeting second—sharp, assessing, but not cold. Something in his gaze made her pause, a prickling awareness she couldn’t name. Her stomach tightened. She looked away quickly, unsettled, as if fate itself had brushed past her. And in that instant, Luca felt it too—a pull, a responsibility.

She didn’t belong in this picture. Elegant, but too observant. A watcher, not a predator. Too young. Too… good. His instincts coiled.

Then an older man stepped between them.

“Miss Valenti,” he said, his smile far too familiar. “I finally found you.”

Bella held back a sigh. Of course. Tonight, of all nights.

“Mr. Ricci,” she replied politely. “What a pleasant surprise.”

It wasn’t. Ricci didn’t back off. He stood too close, his hand hovering near the edge of her elbow.

“I heard you returned to the city,” he continued, eyes lingering just a moment too long. “You’ve… changed in these years. I see the girl I once knew has grown into quite the woman. Perhaps you could spare a moment for a private conversation, somewhere quieter.”

“I’m afraid not,” Bella said, smiling without reaching her eyes. “I’m very busy.”

Ricci chuckled. “There’s always time for a proper conversation.”

Bella’s body stiffened. A flicker of tension ran through her shoulders, and her eyes darted subtly toward Luca. Her lips parted slightly, a silent plea hidden in the tilt of her head.

Luca caught it immediately. Not words, not a signal, just the urgency in her posture, the way her gaze searched for backup. He understood it. He had to be her cover, a shield.

He stepped closer, deliberately slow, no rush, but close enough for Ricci to notice.

Bella seized the moment.

“Oh,” she said, turning toward Luca. “Darling, you’re here. Where have you been all this time?”

Luca froze for a fraction of a second. Then he moved closer, calm and purposeful. Too close to be accidental.

“Traffic,” he said dryly, placing a hand lightly on her back. Possessive. Convincing. “You know how it is.”

Ricci blinked. His gaze flicked from Bella to Luca at her side and back.

“I didn’t realize you were engaged,” he said, suddenly cautious.

Bella smiled, this time genuinely. “It’s… been more private.”

Luca smirked faintly. “We like to keep some things to ourselves.”

Ricci coughed awkwardly. “Of course. Well, I won’t keep you any longer.”

As the businessman retreated, Luca stepped back as well. The tension didn’t fully ease.

Bella exhaled. “Thank you. Truly.”

“No problem,” he replied. “Seemed like you needed an exit.”

For a moment, they stood in silence. The music played on. The ballroom shimmered.

“Isabella,” she said, extending her hand. “But call me Bella.”

His hand found hers, firm and steady. In a brief, deliberate motion, he brought it to his lips. A gentle kiss, quick but unmistakable. Bella’s eyes widened, caught off guard by the intimacy.

“Bella,” he murmured, voice low, controlled, just above a whisper. “Pleasure to—”

The words died on his lips as the first shot tore through the chandelier above them, glass shattering in a thousand glittering fragments.

Screams tore through the music. Guests scattered like startled birds, heels slipping on marble, tables overturned, plates and champagne bottles smashing against the floor. Bullets ricocheted off marble and crystal. Smoke and dust clawed at lungs and eyes. The sharp scent of gunpowder mingled with perfume, a heady, nauseating swirl.

Luca’s eyes caught the movement first—a glint of metal, a gun leveled at Bella. He reacted instantly. Every instinct screamed. No hesitation. Not now. Time seemed to stretch, each millisecond elongated.

He lunged, yanking her back with force. Her body slammed against his chest, breath knocked out, heart hammering. Arms wrapped around her waist, unyielding, dragging her out of the bullet’s path. The shot tore through the air—where she had been standing just a heartbeat ago. It slammed into the wall behind them with a shower of stone fragments. Sparks floated midair, glinting in the fractured chandelier light. Close. Too close. Always too close.

He pressed her against a wide marble column, shielding her from the chaos. She struck the cold stone, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely hear her own breath.

When she looked, Luca was no longer beside her. She saw only chaos. People running. Someone fell. Someone screamed. The sharp cracks of gunfire rang out around her, echoing off the marble walls. Something shattered again, loud and piercing, and a man in a dark suit crumpled to the floor.

Luca drew his pistol from its holster, moving with practiced efficiency. Two Moretti men surged toward him. Shots rang out—sharp, precise. Both men went down, clutching wounds, collapsing in the chaos.

A third man swung at him, knocking the pistol from his hand. It clattered across the marble, skidding out of reach. Luca reacted instantly, striking the man hard. He hit the attacker’s jaw, sending him crashing to the floor, unconscious.

Empty-handed, he wasted no time. He sprinted toward Bella, moving with the same controlled urgency, every instinct focused on keeping her safe.

Moments later, he appeared by the column. Quick. Sharp. Calm. His gaze scanned the room as if he’d already been through it all.

“Bella!”

Her name cut through the noise.

He was already at her side, grabbing her hand firmly, as if fearing she would vanish into the crowd.

“With me. Now.”

She didn’t hesitate. They ran.

They sprinted through the crumbling ballroom, past overturned tables and screaming guests. Then everything went dark.

Black. Complete. For a fraction of a second. Then emergency lights flickered red and pulsing, revealing the narrow corridor they turned into.

The doors slammed behind them.

Steps echoed in the distance. Voices. Commands.

Bella struggled to catch her breath; her lungs burned. Her hand remained in his. His grip was steady, focused—not the grip of someone fleeing, but someone retreating with purpose.

They didn’t slow. Didn’t turn.

Emergency lights cast long shadows along the corridor. It seemed endless, pulsing, suffocating.

Bella knew only one thing. If he hadn’t pulled her then … she wouldn’t be running.

But she didn’t know his name. She didn’t know why he’d chosen her. Only that he had.

Bella’s breath came steady, controlled. Violence in a ballroom was nothing new. What rattled her was that someone had intervened—for her. He hadn’t just saved her life. He had rewritten the rules of the night. And in that instant, the danger felt… infinitely more personal.