Chapter Forty
Luis
The ballroom had become too loud.
Not because of the orchestra beneath the crystal chandeliers or the steady hum of conversation, but because I could no longer hear my own thoughts.
Escaping onto the balcony under the pretence of needing fresh air hadn't helped either.
The cool evening breeze rolling in from the sea did little to quiet the one problem that had followed me all night.
Sabrina Moretti.
For weeks, I'd done everything I could to keep my distance. Matteo had made his feelings painfully clear, and I respected him far too much to ignore them. He wasn't simply an ally; he was one of my closest friends.
I'd convinced myself distance would be enough.
It wasn't.
The moment Sabrina walked into the ballroom, every sensible thought I'd spent weeks clinging to quietly unravelled.
She was beautiful. Anyone could see that.
The black dress left her back exposed, revealing the scars and tattoos etched across her skin.
I'd noticed them, but what stayed with me was the way she carried them.
She never hid them or shrank beneath curious stares.
She carried them as though they were simply another part of her.
One tattoo, however, refused to leave my mind. It followed the length of her spine in elegant script.
Love her wounds, for they speak of a battle won in silence.
I'd read those words more times than I cared to admit. Somehow, they felt like the simplest explanation of Sabrina herself.
My thoughts drifted back to a convenience store in New York, to the moment those grey eyes had lifted towards mine after she'd realised I was staring.
“Is there something on my face?”
I'd almost laughed, not because the question was amusing, but because she'd asked it with such complete indifference. She hadn't cared who I was. To her, I was simply another man standing in line.
I should've forgotten about her.
Instead, I'd remembered her eyes.
Tonight had only made everything worse.
She'd spent half the evening letting Dario drag her around the dance floor, smiling through what had to be an aching back simply because it made him laugh.
Later, she'd entertained herself by provoking every protective instinct her brothers possessed while somehow managing to look completely innocent.
A smile tugged at my mouth.
She was trouble. Not the loud, reckless kind, but the quiet kind that slipped into your thoughts without permission and settled there before you realised it.
Somewhere between a convenience store in New York and a ballroom on a private island, I'd stopped pretending otherwise.
The balcony door slammed open behind me.
I barely had time to turn before a hand seized the front of my jacket and drove me backwards into the stone wall. The impact rattled through my shoulders, but it was nothing compared to the expression on Matteo's face as he shoved me hard enough to bunch my lapels beneath his fists.
He wasn't shouting.
Somehow, that worried me more.
“Well,” he said quietly, every syllable measured, “if it isn't my so-called best friend.”
I met his stare without flinching.
“Matteo.”
“No. I think backstabbing best friend suits you better.”
I let him vent. I'd known Matteo long enough to recognise the difference between anger that wanted violence and anger that needed somewhere to land. Tonight, he wasn't looking for a fight. He was looking for someone to blame.
Unfortunately, he'd found the right man.
“I warned you. I told you to stay away from my sister.”
“I know.”
“And yet there you were. Dancing with her.”
I had no defence for that.
“I tried.”
The words earned nothing but a humourless scoff.
“Don't.”
“I did. I kept my distance from the moment I found out she was your sister. I respected what you asked of me.”
“And?”
“And then she walked into that ballroom.”
Silence settled between us.
“I realised keeping my distance hadn't changed anything.”
His expression hardened.
“It doesn't matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“It shouldn't.”
“I know.”
He finally released my jacket, rubbing a hand across his face before letting out a long, exhausted breath.
“You know what's really irritating?”
“What?”
“I knew this was going to happen.”
I frowned.
“The convenience store.”
“You remember.”
“Of course I remember. You stood outside staring through that bloody window like you'd forgotten how to function.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
“I practically had to shove you through the door.”
“You did.”
“I encouraged my best friend to talk to the girl he wouldn't stop staring at.” He gave another bitter laugh. “Turns out I was introducing him to my sister.”
The bitterness in his expression softened.
I'd watched Matteo spend seventeen years refusing to believe his little sister was gone. Every dead end had only strengthened his resolve. Now she'd finally come home.
Of course he was protective. If our positions had been reversed, I wasn't sure I'd have reacted any differently.
“That was before I knew she'd been taken from us,” Matteo said quietly, leaning against the balcony railing. His eyes drifted towards the moonlit gardens below. “Before I knew she was the little girl we'd spent half our lives searching for.”
His voice faltered almost imperceptibly.
Beneath the anger lay something heavier.
Fear of losing her again.
“I know,” I said.
“No, you don't.”
“I know enough.”
He shook his head.
“No, you don't.”
Neither of us spoke for several moments. Music drifted faintly through the open balcony doors behind us, accompanied by the muffled laughter of guests who had no idea what was happening outside.
When I finally broke the silence, I chose my words carefully.
“You know as well as I do that people are going to pursue her.”
His jaw tightened.
“I don't want to hear it.”
“You need to. Whether it's me or someone else, it will happen.”
“She's my sister.”
“She's beautiful, intelligent and kind. Men are going to notice her.”
“I'll deal with them.”
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
“You can't threaten every man who looks at your sister.”
“I can certainly try.”
“I don't doubt that.”
For the first time that evening, something close to amusement flickered across his face.
“So answer me honestly.”
He folded his arms across his chest without replying.
“If someone's going to pursue Sabrina, would you rather it be a complete stranger whose intentions you know nothing about...” I held his gaze. “...or someone you've known almost your entire life?”
He didn't answer.
That told me I'd finally reached him.
“I took an interest in her before either of us knew who she was,” I said. “I didn't know she was a Moretti. I didn't know she was your sister.”
I paused.
“I just couldn't forget the woman from the convenience store.”
Matteo closed his eyes for a moment before dragging both hands down his face with a long, weary sigh.
“I really hate you.”
“I know.”
“No.” Despite himself, a short laugh escaped him. “I really, really hate you.”
“You'll get over it.”
“I won't.”
“You will.”
He looked at me for another long moment before shaking his head.
“You've made my life incredibly complicated.”
“I think Sabrina's already done that.”
A reluctant smile finally broke through.
It lasted less than a second.
The crack of a gunshot shattered the night.
Every instinct I'd spent years honing snapped into place. Matteo and I exchanged a single glance before sprinting through the balcony doors as another volley of gunfire erupted inside the ballroom.
Chaos greeted us.
The orchestra had fallen silent. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead above shattered glass, splintered furniture and overturned tables. Guests screamed as bullets tore through chairs and exploded against marble pillars, showering the room with pale stone dust.
I drew my pistol as Matteo peeled away towards the left side of the ballroom, disappearing behind one of the marble columns. I slid behind another just as a burst of automatic fire ripped through the space where I'd been standing moments earlier, fragments of stone spraying across my shoulders.
The Russians.
My stomach tightened.
The estate had been under lockdown for weeks. Security had been doubled, every entrance guarded around the clock. Breaching the island should have been impossible.
Yet somehow, they were here.
One of the Russians emerged from behind an overturned table with his rifle already raised.
I squeezed the trigger twice, and he folded before he'd managed to fire a shot.
Another appeared almost immediately, followed by a third, but by then Moretti soldiers were flooding into the ballroom from every entrance.
The Russians had come expecting an ambush.
Instead, they'd walked into one.
Matteo barked orders while Dante and Salvatore coordinated the evacuation. Leonardo and Carlo advanced methodically, forcing the remaining Russians backwards without giving them the chance to regroup.
Across the room, I caught sight of my father. He fired one-handed while shielding my mother. Enzo reached them moments later and escorted her into one of the secured hallways.
Relief lasted all of two seconds.
My eyes searched instinctively for Sabrina.
She wasn't beside Bianca or Rafael. She wasn't anywhere behind the Morettis’ defensive line.
A knot tightened in my chest.
Leaning out from behind the pillar, I caught my father's attention between exchanges of gunfire.
“Did Sabrina go with Mum?”
He fired twice before looking towards me.
“No!”
The answer landed like a punch to the ribs.
My gaze swept frantically across the ballroom until it finally found her.
She wasn't hiding or running.
She stood in the middle of the ballroom, completely surrounded.
Three Russians had broken through the defensive line before anyone could intercept them.
The first charged with a combat knife raised high. Sabrina caught his wrist before the blade reached her, twisted hard enough to break it and drove her elbow into his throat. The knife slipped from his hand, but she caught it before it hit the floor.