Chapter 35
The ballroom was a vision of opulence, crystal chandeliers suspended from vaulted ceilings, casting prismatic light across marble floors.
Tables draped in black silk lined the walls, laden with champagne flutes and delicate hors d’oeuvres.
Guests in elaborate masks filled the space: feathers and jewels, silk and velvet, a sea of anonymity and wealth.
At the center of it all stood Victor Morelli, holding court like a king.
He wore a tailored black suit and a silver mask that covered half his face, his smile sharp and predatory as he surveyed his kingdom. This was his night. His moment. Years of careful maneuvering had led to this.
Dimitri, Killian, and Nico stood near the bar, their own masks in place, their expressions unreadable.
Before the party, Dimitri had pulled his brothers aside.
“Victor will poison our drinks,” he’d said quietly. “It’s the coward’s way. When he makes his toast, pretend to drink. Don’t swallow. Not a drop. Don’t even let it touch your lips.”
Killian had nodded, jaw tight. “Understood.”
Nico’s eyes had gone cold. “He’s a dead man tonight.”
Now, as the party reached its peak, Victor raised his glass and tapped it with a silver ring.
The crowd quieted, conversations dying like snuffed candles.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Victor said, his voice smooth as aged whiskey, polished and practiced.
“Thank you for joining us tonight. This evening is about family. Loyalty. The bonds that hold us together even through betrayal and heartbreak.” He paused, letting the words settle.
“Family will always be there. We will always be there.”
The chandeliers above cast gold across the masked crowd. Crystal glittered. Music had faded beneath the weight of his voice.
Every eye in the room was on him.
Victor smiled, slow and proud, and lifted his glass higher.
“To the Marchetti brothers,” he said. “Who have shown strength in the face of betrayal. Who have proven that family comes first. Always.”
A murmur of approval rippled through the guests. Glasses lifted.
“To family,” Victor said.
“To family,” the room echoed.
Across the ballroom, Dimitri, Killian, and Nico lifted their glasses too. They brought the crystal to their lips. Tilted. Lowered. None of them drank from their cups. Rage simmered behind their masks of control, cold and patient.
Victor noticed. Of course he did. His smile only widened.
Then Dimitri stepped forward. The energy in the room shifted..
Dimitri took his time, adjusting the cuff of his jacket, looking every inch the king of the house Victor had tried to steal from him.
“I’d like to offer a toast of my own,” Dimitri said, his voice calm, carrying effortlessly through the space.
Victor turned toward him, pleased, soaking in what he thought was deference.
Dimitri lifted his glass slightly.
“To Victor,” he said. “The man who found the one responsible for our stolen shipment. The man who helped recover what was taken. The man who has stood beside this family for decades.”
Victor gave a gracious incline of his head, drinking in the attention like a man born starving for it.
Dimitri’s face never changed. “We owe you a debt of gratitude,” he continued. “And tonight, we intend to repay it.”
Victor’s smile turned sincere. “Dimitri, that’s not necessary-”
“Oh, I think it is,” Nico said from beside him, voice cool as winter steel.
Victor’s eyes flicked toward him. Then to Killian. Killian was smiling. That should have been warning enough.
Dimitri lowered his glass. “But first,” he said, voice dropping, “we have a very special guest.”
The ballroom doors opened.
Every head turned.
Marco Valenti entered first, broad shoulders sharp beneath black formal wear, a dark mask covering half his face. Beside him walked a woman in black and gold, elegant and deadly, her own masquerade mask hiding everything except her mouth. The guests murmured, curious but clueless.
Only the Marchetti brothers knew.
Victor’s fingers tightened around his glass. His breathing changed, shallow, quick. Like something was wrong.
Dimitri gestured toward the center of the floor. “Come closer.”
Marco and the woman obeyed, their footsteps echoing over polished marble. They stopped beneath the chandelier, right in the heart of the room, bathed in crystalline light.
Victor’s chest rose and fell faster now. He knew. Even before the masks came off, some part of him knew.
Marco removed his first. A wave of shock rippled through the crowd.
“That’s Marco Valenti,” someone hissed.
“What is he doing here?”
Victor’s face lost color. His hand trembled.
Then the woman lifted her hands and untied her mask.
The silk fell away.
Victor’s glass slipped from his fingers and shattered at his feet. “No.” The word came out strangled, barely human. “No. This can’t-”
Bea smiled. Cold. Sharp. Beautiful. Alive. “Hello, Victor.”
He stumbled back a step, then another, eyes locked on her like he was staring at a ghost clawed up from hell itself. His mouth opened. Closed. His face went from white to red, veins standing out at his temples.
“That’s impossible,” he rasped.
“Is it?” Bea asked softly.
Victor shook his head hard, like he could dislodge the vision. “No. No, my man never fails a targ-” He stopped. The words hung in the air like smoke. But it was too late. Everyone heard what the end of that sentence was.
Bea’s smile widened just enough to cut. “Never fails a what, Victor?” she repeated, voice velvet smooth. “Go on. Finish it.”
Victor’s throat worked. Sweat beaded at his hairline, rolling down his neck.
The crowd pressed closer, sensing blood.
Dimitri didn’t move. Nico looked ready to tear Victor apart with his bare hands. Killian looked like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Victor straightened slightly, scrambling for control, for the authority he’d worn like armor for decades. But his eyes kept darting back to Bea. Standing there. Next to Marco fucking Valenti. His rage was a living thing now, coiling in his chest, squeezing his lungs.
“You-” Victor’s voice cracked. He tried again, louder. “You fucking bitch.”
Bea laughed, low and genuine.
“Oh, come on. You can do better than that.” She stepped toward him, unhurried, heels clicking on marble. “You had all this time to prepare. You framed me. You turned the men I love against me, only for a few hours, but still. You sent a man to my home to kill me.”
Her head tilted, eyes glittering behind the remnants of her mask’s shadow. “And that’s all you have?”
Victor’s face twisted into something ugly.
“You destroyed this family,” he spat. “You came in and led these boys astray. They’re failing this household because of you. I should be the one in charge. I should be calling the shots. This is my time, and I refuse, to give it up to some fat cunt who-”
Killian made a sound low in his throat, his hand drifting toward the gun holstered at his chest. Nico’s fingers flexed, hovering near the inside of his jacket. Dimitri went absolutely still, the kind of stillness that precedes violence.
Bea kept her eyes on Victor. There it was. The first clean crack in his facade.
“You should’ve stayed in your lane,” Victor continued, his voice rising. “You should’ve stayed out of my way.”
“Maybe,” Bea said. She took another step. “But then who would’ve told everyone here that their trusted house advisor has been stealing from the family for years?”
Victor barked out a laugh, but it came too fast, too sharp, too desperate. “I have done nothing but protect this family.”
“Protect them?” Bea’s eyebrows rose. “Is that what we’re calling it now? Stealing and killing?”
Victor’s jaw tightened, teeth grinding.
She pressed forward. “What about the embezzled money, Victor? The rerouted funds? The percentages shaved off every shipment that passed through your hands?” Bea glanced around the room, addressing the crowd now. “Should I keep going?”
The guests were watching with open shock, masks forgotten, champagne abandoned.
Victor pointed at her, his hand shaking. “You think anyone here is going to believe you over me? Over decades of loyalty?”
Bea looked delighted. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”
Victor frowned, confusion flickering across his rage-twisted face. His chest heaved. Sweat soaked through his collar.
Bea smiled sweetly.
“Because men like you always do the same thing when they’re cornered.” She began to circle him slowly, a shark in black and gold. “You get scared. And you open your mouth.”
Victor turned furious with her now, losing that polished calm one inch at a time. “You know nothing about what this family needs.”
“No?” Bea asked. “I know enough to know you’ve spent years convincing yourself you’d be in charge one day.
Enough to know you hated every time Dimitri made a call without you, because his way wasn’t harsh enough, wasn’t your way.
Enough to know that watching him choose me over your advice felt like someone carving out your insides with a dull blade. ”
Victor’s nostrils flared. His breathing came in short, angry bursts.
“Careful, Bea,” Marco murmured from behind her, his voice low.
Bea didn’t even glance back. “He’s slipping.”
Victor sneered, his gaze snapping to Marco for the first time. And there it was, the real fury. Not just that Bea was alive. But that she was standing there, protected, chosen, safe in the shadow of another family’s soldier. She’d escaped him. Found refuge. With them.
“Dimitri choosing you was his weakness,” Victor snapped, glaring at Dimitri now. “When a man shows weakness in this life it makes you a dead man.”
Dimitri’s eyes narrowed to slits.
Bea’s smile turned lethal.
Victor didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The rage had him now, a wildfire consuming everything.
“He was supposed to be strong,” Victor continued, voice rising. “He was supposed to protect this family, not hand it over to some mouthy little slut with a pretty face and a grudge against her step-daddy.”
Killian took one step forward.
Dimitri held out an arm without taking his eyes off Victor.
Bea kept circling, kept pressing, her voice soft and terrible.