Chapter 4 - The Night of Masks
The Belladonna Arts Foundation had once been a cathedral.
Its stone arches still rose toward a painted ceiling, but the pews had been replaced by marble floors, modern sculptures, and people whose fortunes were built from decisions never mentioned in public.
Clara felt every eye follow her.
Some guests recognized her from business circles. Others had already heard the story of the forbidden chair.
Rumors traveled faster in Belladonna City than rainwater through broken streets.
Matteo kept one hand lightly against the middle of her back.
To anyone watching, the gesture appeared intimate.
Clara understood it was also tactical. He could move her quickly if necessary, and she could feel the tension in his fingers whenever someone approached.
Lorenzo Moretti stood before them in a cream-colored tuxedo, perfectly relaxed.
He was handsome in the polished way of a knife displayed behind glass.
“I’m surprised you attended,” Lorenzo said.
Matteo’s expression did not change.
“You sent the invitation.”
“I sent many invitations. Most people understand when attendance is optional.”
Clara glanced around the crowded hall.
“Then perhaps you should improve your wording.”
Lorenzo’s attention settled on her.
“Miss Bennett, I expected you to be more cautious.”
“I work for Matteo. Caution is already overrepresented.”
Matteo’s thumb moved once against her back.
A warning or suppressed amusement—she could not tell.
Lorenzo laughed softly.
“I understand now.”
“Understand what?” Clara asked.
“Why he keeps you close.”
Matteo stepped forward by half an inch.
The air sharpened.
Lorenzo noticed and enjoyed it.
Clara interrupted before either man turned the conversation into a threat.
“Your foundation has an impressive collection.”
Lorenzo gestured toward the nearest sculpture, a twisted figure made from black steel.
“That piece is called Submission.”
“How subtle.”
“It represents the moment resistance becomes acceptance.”
Clara examined the sculpture.
“It looks more like indigestion.”
Matteo made a sound suspiciously close to a laugh.
Several nearby guests turned.
Lorenzo’s smile weakened.
For a man who had invited them to expose Matteo’s vulnerability, he had underestimated the humiliation of watching that vulnerability refuse to behave like one.
A server approached with champagne.
Matteo took two glasses but handed Clara neither.
She noticed.
“So much for blending in,” she murmured.
“You’re not drinking.”
“Because?”
“Because I don’t know who hired the server.”
The young man carrying the tray heard him and nearly dropped it.
Clara accepted the logic.
They moved through the gallery, exchanging brief greetings with officials and investors. Matteo spoke little. Clara noticed he gathered information by allowing other people to fill silence.
Men confessed more when trying to impress him.
Women revealed alliances while pretending to gossip.
Every few minutes, Daniel Cross appeared at the edge of the crowd, giving Matteo discreet updates.
No immediate threat.
Exits secure.
Vehicles checked.
Moretti’s men identified.
Still, Clara felt watched.
Not by the room.
By one person.
A woman in a silver dress stood near the staircase, her dark hair cut sharply at the jaw. She held no drink. She spoke to no one. Each time Clara looked toward her, the woman turned away.
“Who is she?” Clara asked.
Matteo followed her gaze.
His body became still.
“Sofia Moretti.”
“Lorenzo’s wife?”
“Sister.”
Sofia approached before Clara could ask more.
“Matteo.”
Her voice carried none of Lorenzo’s theatrical warmth.
“Sofia.”
The two looked at each other with the familiarity of former allies.
Sofia turned to Clara.
“You should leave.”
Matteo’s eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“I wasn’t speaking to you.”
Clara held her gaze.
“Then explain.”
Sofia looked toward the balcony above the main hall.
“My brother has arranged a demonstration.”
“What kind?” Matteo asked.
“The kind meant to make you choose publicly.”
Clara felt Matteo’s hand tighten against her back.
Sofia continued.
“At midnight, evidence will be released connecting Viscari Holdings to illegal harbor shipments. Some of it is real. Most is fabricated. Lorenzo will offer to suppress it in exchange for your withdrawal from the eastern docks.”
“Why tell us?” Clara asked.
“Because he no longer understands the difference between victory and destruction.”
Matteo’s expression remained guarded.
“You expect me to trust you?”
“No.” Sofia looked at Clara again. “But you should trust the fact that my brother has three men waiting near the north corridor. If you refuse his offer, they will take her.”
Clara’s pulse accelerated.
Matteo moved instantly.
His hand left her back and closed around her wrist.
“We’re leaving.”
“Wait,” Clara said.
“No.”
“Matteo—”
“You agreed to follow instructions.”
“Within reason.”
“This is reason.”
They turned toward the nearest exit.
The lights went out.
Darkness swallowed the cathedral.
Guests screamed.
Music stopped.
Matteo pulled Clara against him and moved her behind his body.
Gunfire erupted somewhere above them.
Not wild shooting.
Three controlled shots.
Emergency lights flickered red along the floor.
Security guards shouted.
People ran toward the doors, creating a wave of bodies.
Matteo held Clara’s hand.
“Stay with me.”
She did.
They moved through the crowd toward the west corridor. Daniel appeared beside them, weapon drawn.
“Main exit compromised,” he said. “Vehicle explosion outside.”
“Casualties?”
“Unknown.”
“Use the service route.”
They reached a narrow hall behind the gallery.
Two guards led.
Daniel followed.
Matteo kept Clara beside him.
A door slammed behind them.
One guard turned.
A man emerged from an alcove and fired.
The shot struck the wall.
Daniel returned fire.
The attacker fell.
Clara froze for half a second.
Matteo grabbed her shoulders.
“Look at me.”
She did.
“Can you move?”
“Yes.”
“Then move.”
They ran.
At the end of the corridor, a metal service door opened into an alley. Rain had begun again, thin and cold.
A black SUV waited.
The first guard opened the rear door.
Clara stepped forward.
A second vehicle came around the corner without headlights.
Matteo saw it first.
He pushed Clara down.
The SUV’s window lowered.
Gunfire shattered the night.
Glass exploded.
Daniel fired back while guards dragged Clara behind a concrete barrier.
Matteo crouched over her, shielding her with his body.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
Blood ran down his left hand.
“You are.”
“Glass.”
The attacking vehicle accelerated away.
Daniel shouted into his radio.
The rear door of the SUV remained open.
“Move now!”
They climbed inside.
The vehicle surged forward before the door fully closed.
For several seconds, no one spoke.
Clara’s breathing sounded too loud.
Matteo examined her face, shoulders, arms.
“I said I’m fine.”
“You could be in shock.”
“So could you.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re bleeding.”
He looked at his hand as though he had forgotten it.
A shard of glass had cut across his palm.
Clara took a handkerchief from her purse and wrapped it around the wound.
Matteo watched her fingers.
“You should not have attended.”
“Don’t.”
“I knew the risk.”
“You did not know the lights would go out.”
“Neither did you.”
“That is different.”
“Because you’re accustomed to being shot at?”
“Because I made the choice to live this life.”
Clara tied the cloth tightly.
“And I made the choice to come tonight.”
His eyes lifted to hers.
“You nearly died.”
“So did you.”
“I can accept that.”
“Well, I can’t.”
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Silence filled the vehicle.
Daniel looked straight ahead.
The guards became deeply interested in the windows.
Matteo’s expression changed.
Clara loosened her grip on his hand but did not release it.
“I mean,” she said, “it would create a scheduling nightmare.”
The joke failed.
Neither of them believed it.
Matteo leaned closer.
“Why can’t you accept it?”
Clara looked down at the blood seeping through the cloth.
Because beneath the suit, the power, and the name that frightened the city, he had thrown his body over hers without hesitation.
Because she had seen his fear when he thought she might be hurt.
Because the sound of his laughter had made something inside her shift long before she understood what it was.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
Matteo did.
She saw it in his eyes.
But he did not force her to say it.
The SUV entered the secured garage beneath his estate.
Doctors waited inside.
Matteo refused treatment until Clara had been examined.
She had no injuries beyond bruises and a shallow cut near her elbow.
His hand required seven stitches.
An hour later, Clara found him alone in the library.
His jacket was gone. A white bandage wrapped his palm. Rain traced silver lines down the windows.
She stood in the doorway.
“You should rest.”
“So should you.”
“I don’t live here.”
“You do tonight.”
“That sounded less like an invitation.”
“It was.”
Clara entered.
“Moretti wanted to make you choose.”
“Yes.”
“What would you have chosen?”
Matteo looked at her.
“You know.”
“The docks?”
“No.”
The answer came without hesitation.
Clara’s throat tightened.
“You would surrender territory for me?”
“I would surrender a city.”
“That is not romantic.”
“I wasn’t trying to be.”
“It’s reckless.”
“Yes.”
“People would call it weakness.”
“They already do.”
She approached him.
“Does that frighten you?”
“Only because it endangers you.”
Clara stopped inches away.
Matteo raised his uninjured hand, then paused before touching her face.
For a man who commanded armed men with a glance, the hesitation felt astonishingly vulnerable.
Clara leaned into his palm.
His thumb moved across her cheek.
Neither spoke.
Then Daniel entered.
His expression ended the moment.
“We found Marissa’s brother,” he said.
Matteo lowered his hand.
“Alive?”
“Yes. But Moretti left a message with him.”
Daniel placed a phone on the table and played a recording.
Lorenzo’s voice filled the library.
“Midnight tomorrow, Matteo. Come alone to Pier Seventeen, or the next bullet will not miss your secretary.”
The recording ended.
Matteo looked toward the dark garden.
Clara saw the decision forming behind his eyes.
“No,” she said.
He turned.
“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“You’re going.”
“Yes.”
“Alone.”
“Yes.”
“That is exactly what he wants.”
“Which is why he’ll believe it.”
Clara stepped closer.
“You cannot keep protecting me by walking into traps.”
“I can if the trap closes on me instead.”
His voice held no drama.
Only certainty.
Clara realized then that Matteo Viscari was not afraid of death.
May you like
That was what made him powerful.
And what made loving him terrifying.
