4. Kanyan
4
KANYAN
T he air crackles with excitement as I step into The Magnolia Hotel, the newest jewel in the Gatti Brothers’ empire. It’s been years in the making, and now Scar’s vision has finally come to life. He usually sticks to buying and renovating established hotels, but this project is his first from the ground up. The result is stunning—a tribute to his determination and his wife Allegra’s relentless dedication to its design. She poured her heart into every detail, ensuring the hotel radiates the kind of elegance that turns heads and drops jaws.
Guests move through the ballroom like waves of glitter, their laughter and chatter filling the massive space. Security personnel, sharp and alert in their tailored suits, are stationed at every critical point. The room itself is breathtaking, its soaring ceilings and crystal chandeliers framing the massive stage set up for tonight’s performances. Scar didn’t hold back for this opening night, and it shows.
Tonight, security is ironclad. Scar’s orders. Nothing can go wrong—not with his entire family here. This isn’t just any event; it’s rare for the Gattis to be seen together in public, and when they are, no detail is overlooked. We’ve brought in the best —experts in crowd control, surveillance, and close protection. Every inch of the hotel has been combed for threats, every guest vetted and double-checked. Scar even ordered a full bomb sweep. He’s not taking any risks when it comes to his family.
I spot him across the room, watching everything with his piercing gaze. Scar Gatti doesn’t just walk into a room—he owns it, daring anyone to challenge him. His presence alone keeps most problems at bay, but tonight, his focus is sharper than ever. His wife, Allegra, moves through the crowd with effortless grace, smiling pleasantries as she sweeps through the room. Public appearances like this are rare for them, and Scar’s protectiveness is palpable. It’s his family that drives this intensity; Allegra and Scarlett are his world, his Achilles’ heel and his strength all at once. He would burn this place to the ground before letting anything happen to them.
I weave my way through the crowd, my focus narrowing to the job at hand. Scar asked me to oversee security tonight as a personal favor. As the new head of the Moreno family, I’ve stepped away from my old roles, but this is different. Scar trusts me, and I don’t take that lightly. His trust is hard-earned, and the weight of responsibility presses heavy on my shoulders. Failure isn’t an option. Not tonight.
Near one of the security checkpoints, I exchange a nod with one of the guards. Everything is running smoothly—for now. But I’m not about to get comfortable. I’ve seen too many things go sideways when people let their guard down. Every guest who entered this building tonight was vetted, but even the best plans can unravel. That’s why I keep scanning the room, watching for anything out of place, any hint of trouble lurking beneath the surface.
I pause at the edge of the bar, taking in the scene. The gowns sparkle, the laughter flows freely, and the champagne glasses clink like a chorus of celebration. On the surface, it’s a perfect night. But in a place owned by the Gattis, perfection is an illusion, something carefully constructed and fiercely guarded. Behind the glamour and smiles, there’s always an edge. A threat waiting in the wings.
Scar’s demand for perfection tonight isn’t just about the hotel or his reputation—it’s about the people he loves most. I get it. If I had what he does, I’d do the same. I’d protect it with everything I had, no matter the cost.
When the music starts, the crowd’s attention shifts to the stage. The lights dim until a single spotlight cuts through the darkness, focusing on a slim, taut wire stretched high across the room. A ripple of gasps sweeps through the audience as a performer steps into the glow—a tightrope dancer. Her sequined costume glitters like shards of starlight, scattering reflections across the ceiling.
She steps onto the wire, arms outstretched, moving with a precision that’s almost hypnotic. I hear a few gasps of excitement before the room holds its collective breath, but she doesn’t hesitate. Every step is deliberate, graceful. When she spins mid-wire, the crowd erupts into cheers and applause. But she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t glance down. She’s commanding the moment, owning every eye in the room. Including mine.
I should be watching the crowd, keeping an eye out for threats, but I can’t look away. There’s something about her—grace fused with courage, a quiet confidence I’ve only ever seen in people who’ve faced danger and walked away stronger. For the first time tonight, I lose focus. I’m not clocking exits or tracking potential risks. I’m watching her glide across that impossibly thin wire like she’s weightless, like nothing in the world can shake her.
Her performance ends with her suspended midair, silver glitter raining down like a shower of stars. The applause is thunderous, echoing off the high ceilings, and instinctively I know this night is a massive success. Even when she vanishes backstage, the applause continues and her image lingers in my mind, a strange pull I can’t quite shake.
I push all thoughts of the dancer aside and return to the rhythm of my job, patrolling the perimeter, weaving through the sea of well-dressed guests, keeping everything under control.
But the night doesn’t let me off easy.
At the end of the hallway near one of the exits, movement catches my eye. My gut tightens. A shadow shifts where it shouldn’t, and I hear voices—a man’s, low and sharp, and a woman’s, tight with defiance. My instincts kick in.
Rounding the corner, I see her—the tightrope dancer—pinned against the wall by a man in a waiter’s uniform. His hands grip her arms hard enough to bruise, his face too close to hers. She’s struggling, her voice low but fierce, but he doesn’t let go.
“Get your hands off her,” I growl, my voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
The man turns, his expression twisted with anger. His accent is thick when he snaps, “This is none of your business.”
I step closer, my gaze locked on his. “Everything in this building is my business. Let her go. Now.”
For a moment, he freezes, his eyes darting between me and her. There’s desperation there, mixed with something darker. Then he shoves her aside and lunges at me.
Bad choice.
I intercept his swing, twisting his arm behind his back and slamming him into the wall hard enough to make the frames rattle. He groans, but I don’t let up. “You’ve got two options,” I say, my tone cold as steel. “You walk out of here, or I make sure you leave in pieces. Choose.”
He spits out something in another language—a curse, maybe—but the fight drains from his body. I shove him toward the hallway, nodding to a security guard. “Get him out of here. And make sure he doesn’t come back.”
As the guard drags him away, I turn to her. She’s still pressed against the wall, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths. Her hands tremble, but her eyes are defiant, holding onto some shred of control.
“Are you okay?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
She nods, but the cracks are showing—fear, exhaustion, something deeper I can’t name.
Her long brown hair is in disarray; it looks like they may have struggled before I arrived, and I bite the edge of my lip, wishing he were back here so I could do more than tackle him to the wall.
“Who was he?” I press gently, trying not to spook her. I look toward the exit he went through to make sure I’ve seen the back of him, before I turn back to her.
Her gaze flickers to the floor, then back to mine. “My past,” she says, her voice soft, laced with an accent that’s as smooth as it is foreign. “And a promise I ran from.”
The weight of her words hangs between us, heavy and unspoken. I don’t push. Instead, I offer her the only thing I can give her. Safety.
“You’re safe now,” I say, meaning every word.
For a long moment, she stares at me, like she’s trying to decide if she believes me. Then, slowly, she nods before she turns and walks away without another word.