Chapter 10 #2
Within minutes of their arrival, Leonardo Bianchi, dressed in a white lace mask, approached Akhil, whispering urgent news regarding local carabinieri coordination near the canal docks.
"Excuse me for two minutes, Shruti," Akhil spoke, looking down at her gently. "Leonardo needs my approval on a security perimeter check near the lower water gate. Remain near this marble pillar. My security operative is standing right behind you."
"Go ahead," Shruti smiled reassuringly. "I'll be fine right here."
Akhil nodded, his fingers lingering over hers for a second before he stepped away into the crowd alongside Leonardo.
***
Shruti stood near a tall, carved marble pillar, holding a small glass of sparkling Italian prosecco, watching the dazzling masked crowd spin across the ballroom floor.
The classical orchestra began playing a famous, sweeping romantic Italian waltz, a slow, passionate melody filled with dramatic violin strings and piano chords.
Suddenly, the crowd near the center of the dance floor parted slightly.
Stepping through the sea of masked guests was a tall, imposing figure.
The man was dressed in a full, floor-length black velvet cloak, a tailored tuxedo, and an elaborate gold-and-black Venetian porcelain mask that completely hid his features. His broad shoulders and confident, powerful stride commanded the attention of everyone in his path.
Shruti’s breath caught in her throat. Her pulse did a sudden, familiar leap into her chest.
Even though his face was entirely hidden behind the gold-and-black mask, she didn't need to see his face. She knew that stride. She knew that raw, magnetic presence that dominated every room he stepped into.
It was Akhil.
He had returned from his meeting with Leonardo, but instead of walking back to her side normally, he was playing a game, a tantalizing, masked game under the golden chandeliers of Venice.
The tall masked figure stopped right in front of Shruti.
He didn't speak a single word. In total silence, keeping the mystery of the carnival alive, he bowed deeply before her with aristocratic grace, extending his broad, gloved hand towards her.
A slow, playful smirk curved Shruti’s lips beneath her emerald mask. She set her prosecco glass on a nearby tray, placed her hand into his broad palm, and allowed him to lead her onto the center of the grand ballroom floor.
The classical orchestra’s violins swelled into a crescendo.
The tall masked man wrapped his long arm firmly around her fitted velvet waist, pulling her close against his solid chest, while his other hand clasped her fingers securely.
They began to dance.
Shruti gasped softly as he guided her across the polished marble floor with effortless, breathtaking skill.
Every movement of his carried absolute mastery and raw power.
He spun her gracefully beneath the crystal chandeliers, his broad chest pressing warm against hers, his dark eyes burning into hers through the eye slits of his golden mask.
The crowd around them seemed to blur into a soft haze of colors and lights. There was no one else in the grand palace, only the two of them, moving together in perfect, synchronized harmony to the romantic Italian music.
Shruti leaned in close as he spun her into another tight turn, her cheek almost brushing against his shoulder.
She could smell the rich, unmistakable scent of his sandalwood cologne mixed with subtle cedar and sea breeze. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs as his arm tightened around her waist, lifting her slightly as he navigated the crowd.
"You dance remarkably well for a mysterious masked stranger, Mr. Raheja," Shruti whispered playfully against his ear, her voice dripping with teasing affection.
The masked man didn't answer right away. He smoothly spun her through a dramatic turn, pulling her back against his chest, his hot breath brushing against her neck.
"In Venice, Signorina," a deep, smooth, charming voice murmured against her ear, a voice carrying a distinct, heavy Italian accent, "a man will dance like a king when he holds the most beautiful woman in the room."
Shruti froze completely. Her heart dropped straight into her stomach like a lead weight.
That voice... wasn't Akhil’s deep Indian accent.
It was an Italian voice.
Panic spiked through Shruti’s veins like ice water. She pulled her head back abruptly, her dark eyes widening in pure horror as she stared into the eye slits of the gold-and-black mask.
Through the eye slits, she saw cold, grey, ruthless eyes, and a thick, jagged scar running down the left jawline beneath the porcelain edge.
Victor Romano.
"Who... who are you?!" Shruti gasped, attempting to pull her hands out of his grip and step back away from him.
Victor Romano’s grip on her waist turned into a crushing, bone-bruising vise. He didn't let her go. He continued to force her through the steps of the waltz, keeping her body pressed tightly against his, his face smiling sinisterly behind the gold mask.
"Do not make a scene, Miss Malhotra," Victor Romano whispered coldly, his voice dripping with venomous calm. "Look around you."
Shruti frantically scanned the crowded dance floor while being forced to move.