Chapter 5 : Smoke Behind the Masks

SOFIA POV

The world outside was silent, heavy with the kind of darkness that whispered of coming storms. I lay on my bed, a thick book propped against my knees, letting my mind drift. For once, I allowed myself to relax, to pretend that danger wasn’t always breathing down my neck.

The soft creak of the floor shattered that illusion.

I froze.

All the small hairs along my arms stood on end. Someone was inside. The estate was locked down. No one should have been able to enter.

Unless they knew how.

Unless they were here for me.

I set the book down carefully, silent as a falling feather. My fingers slid under the pillow, closing around the cool hilt of my dagger.

Every sense sharpened.

The creak came again — closer.

For a wild moment, Marco’s face flashed across my mind — that crooked smile, the weight of his hand against mine.

Was this him? Had he seen through me already? Had I underestimated him?

No. No time for that now.

A shadow moved near the doorway.

I rolled off the bed, landing lightly, my dagger ready. The masked figure lunged toward me — fast, but sloppy.

I ducked low, slashing upward. A grunt of pain, but the man kept coming. I twisted, driving my knee into his ribs. His knife grazed my shoulder — hot pain slicing through skin — but I ignored it.

One clean movement —

One strike to the neck —

The intruder crumpled silently to the floor.

Blood pounded in my ears.

I knelt quickly, checking for any marks or clues, but he was clean. No insignia. No crest. Professional — but not noble.

Not Marco’s style.

I pressed my hand against my bleeding shoulder, breathing heavily.

If not Marco...

Then who?

The question burned as hot as the wound.

...

(THE SAME NIGHT) MARCO POV

Far across the city, inside the private confines of a centuries-old villa, I wasn't thinking about Sofia Wilson. Not directly, anyway.

I stood over a man bound to a chair, his face bloodied and pale.

Another traitor.

Another warning to those who thought they could cross me.

"You had one chance," I said coldly, wiping the blood from my leather gloves. "You chose wrong." I nodded once. My men understood.

One shot.

Clean.

The body would disappear by morning. I turned away without flinching. Mercy was a weakness I couldn't afford.

I had empires to protect. Deals to secure. Threats to erase. And somewhere, a woman whose smile made my blood stir and my instincts sharpen.

I loosened my tie, glancing at the clock. Soon, the real games would begin.

...

...

...

SOFIA POV

The private gathering was held inside a glittering, ancient hall — a place reserved for only the highest bloodlines and the most dangerous players.

I moved through the crowd gracefully, my shoulder hidden beneath the tailored folds of my dress. The wound throbbed, a sharp reminder of last night.

I caught sight of Marco before he saw me — tall, devastating, dressed in a sharp black suit. Power clung to him like a second skin.

Our eyes met across the room.

The air tightened between us — invisible wires pulling, tangling.

He made his way toward me, slow and certain, like a wolf circling prey he wasn’t ready to devour yet.

"You look pale," he murmured, his voice a low purr. "Rough night, amore?"

My heart stuttered.

Did he know?

He reached out, fingers brushing my arm — and I flinched.

His eyes darkened instantly.

He noticed.

His touch grew firmer, anchoring me, as if he could feel the pain I tried to hide. For one maddening second, real concern flashed across his face.

Not a trick. Not a manipulation.

Real.

I swallowed hard, pulling away smoothly. "Not every injury is caused by dancing, Mr. Ruggiero," I said, my voice cold but steady.

Something flickered in his eyes — suspicion, yes. But something else, too.

Possession.

As if he didn’t like the idea of someone else hurting me. This is not good. I needed him confused. Curious. Intrigued. Not protective.

Because if Marco Ruggiero started protecting me...

I would be in far deeper trouble than I already was.

...

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