Chapter 36
The ballroom had emptied in slow, uneasy waves.
Guests had slipped out in hushed clusters, their masks still on, their whispers following them like smoke.
Victor’s body was gone. The blood had been scrubbed from the marble.
The shattered glass had been swept away.
Someone had even righted the overturned chairs near the center of the room.
It was almost like nothing had happened tonight. But the room still felt haunted.
Now only six people remained.
Dimitri stood near the bar with one hand braced against the polished wood, his discarded mask lying beside an untouched glass.
Killian lingered a few feet away, broad and dangerous and far too pale beneath the ballroom lights, his hand pressed carefully to his side where his stitches pulled.
Nico stood near the grand piano, slowly polishing his glasses with a handkerchief even though they were already spotless, his nerves showing in every tight movement.
Isabella sat in one of the velvet chairs near the edge of the room, regal as ever, watching all of them with sharp, knowing eyes.
Marco stood beside Bea. His suit was still immaculate except for the loosened tie and the slight tilt of his vest, like even formal wear had given up trying to control him.
His mask dangled lazily from two fingers.
Bea stood next to him in her beautiful gown, her throat mottled with bruises that no powder or jewels could quite hide.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Marco clapped his hands together once. “Well,” he drawled, glancing around the ballroom, “this is awkward as hell.”
Killian let out a rough sound that might have been a laugh if his chest had not been so full of guilt.
Marco looked at the three brothers and shook his head. “I leave her in your hands and you manage to accuse her, break her heart, let a rat nearly destroy your family, and almost get her killed. Truly impressive work.”
“Marco,” Bea murmured.
“No, beautiful, let me have this.” He held up a hand, eyes still on the brothers. “I have been waiting all night to tell them how I feel.”
Dimitri straightened, shame and pride warring in every line of his body. “You saved her life. I won’t forget that.”
Marco’s mouth curved, but there was no real humor in it. “Good. Because I won’t forget why I had to.”
Nico flinched. Killian looked at the floor.
Marco took a few unhurried steps closer to them.
“You want to know the worst part?” he asked.
“She still defended you. She was half strangled, covered in bruises, barely able to catch her breath, and she still looked at me like she wanted to tell me that she had this coming.” Bea shut her eyes briefly.
Dimitri’s face tightened like he had been hit.
Marco nodded once. “This incredible woman has been through hell and back, all she wants out of life is to be happy and to be loved, and for the tiniest moment you all truly believed she would be capable of screwing you over, did she ever give you a reason to think she could or would?.” No one answered.
The silence that followed was heavier than anger.
Then Marco exhaled through his nose and his grin returned, though it was softer now.
“That said, I am genuinely happy you all removed your heads out of your assholes and she found her way to the three of you idiots. Against all odds, she loves you. I know. I have known for a while.” He looked at Bea and his voice gentled.
“And you deserve to have the kind of love you used to think only happened to other people.”
Bea’s throat tightened. Marco stepped in front of her, cupped her face, and kissed her.
It was not sly nor was it a performance. It was a kiss full of history, comfort, affection, and goodbye. The kind of kiss shared by two people who had once found shelter in each other and would always matter to one another. Even if they were never the final answer.
When he pulled back, his forehead brushed hers for just a second.
“I’m happy for you,” he said quietly.
Bea swallowed. “Marco-”
He smiled. “Don’t ruin this by making me emotional in public Bea.” A shaky laugh broke from her.
He kissed her forehead, stepped back, and looked over at the three brothers again. His expression turned dangerous under all that charm.
“If any of you ever make her cry like that again, I will come back and make this ballroom look like a fucking vampire rave.”
Killian nodded once. “Fair.”
Nico said, “Deserved.”
Dimitri just held Marco’s gaze and said, “You have my word.”
Marco studied him for a long moment, then apparently decided it was enough.
“Wonderful. I have done my heroic duty. I have delivered the traumatized love of your lives back into your incompetent hands.” He turned to Nico and smirked.
“And for the record, if you ever decide you want to get a bit wild and run away with Bea, my lover and myself, I am still open to discussing it.”
Nico stared at him.
Marco winked. “You are pretty when you blush, baby boy.” Killian barked out a laugh.
Even Dimitri huffed one short, startled breath.
Nico muttered, “I am going to pretend you did not say that.”
Marco grinned. “Pity.”
He squeezed Bea’s shoulder once, then stepped away. “Go on, beautiful . They’ve been looking like men at their own funerals for the past hour. Put them out of their misery I have someone waiting for me.”
He gave the brothers one final warning look, collected his mask, and headed for the ballroom doors.
Halfway there, he glanced back. “Oh, and Dimitri?” Dimitri looked up.
Marco’s grin turned mean. “You owe me.” Then he was gone. The doors shut behind him.
Silence settled again, softer this time, but no less tense. Bea turned and found Isabella already rising from her chair.
The older woman crossed the room without hesitation and pulled Bea into a fierce embrace. Bea folded into it almost instantly, breathing in lavender and silk and strength.
“That was very entertaining, I should invite him to all our holiday parties.” She laughed then she pulled Bea back to look at her. “I am so glad you are alive, how are you doing?” Isabella whispered.
Bea’s eyes burned. “I’m okay.”
Isabella pulled back just enough to cup Bea’s face. “No, Honey. You are standing yes, but that is not always the same thing.”
A tear slipped free before Bea could stop it, and Isabella brushed it away with her thumb.
Then Isabella turned to her sons.
Her gaze landed first on Dimitri, placing her hands on his face. “Do not ever make me watch you destroy something precious because you were too proud to listen.”
She moved to Killian, touching the side of his face. “Love does not mean you get to protect her only when it is convenient. It means you protect her even from yourselves.”
Then Nico. Cupping his face just like his brothers’. “And if you know in your gut that something is wrong, you do not bury it under what seems like real evidence because it is easier to read numbers than listen to your heart.” Nico dropped his eyes.
Isabella stepped back and looked at all three of them together. “You boys were not raised gently. I know that. I lived it too. But if you want to keep that girl, then learn the difference between ruling through fear and loving someone through the hard moments.”
None of them spoke, they had no words at the moment, Isabella nodded once, satisfied enough with their silence, then kissed Bea’s cheek and headed for the door.
As she passed Dimitri, she said quietly, “On your knees.” All three brothers looked at her.
Isabella did not skip a beat. “If you want forgiveness, do not ask for it like kings.” Then she left. The doors closed behind her.
And suddenly it was only the four of them.
Bea stood in the center of the ballroom, hands loose at her sides, heart beating hard enough to shake her ribs. Dimitri, Killian, and Nico stood across from her looking like three different versions of grief.
Dimitri moved first. He crossed the room slowly, stopped a few feet in front of her, and dropped to his knees.
The sight of it stole Bea’s breath.
Dimitri Marchetti did not kneel. Not for anyone.
But here he was, on the polished ballroom floor, suit immaculate, shoulders straight, blue eyes ruined by remorse.
“I was wrong,” he said. No games. No excuses. No softening it.
“I was wrong to doubt you. I was wrong to raise my voice at you. I was wrong to let another man’s word outweigh yours.” His voice roughened. “And I was wrong to make you stand there and defend yourself to men who should have defended you first.”
Bea’s chin trembled.
Dimitri held her gaze. “I do not expect you to forgive me because I love you. Loving you does not erase what I did.” He swallowed once, hard. “But I do love you. And if there is any way for me to earn my place back at your side, I will spend the rest of my life doing it.”
Killian came next. He did not stride. He limped the last two steps, then lowered himself to his knees beside Dimitri with a muttered curse when his stitches pulled. He ignored the pain completely. He looked up at Bea, his expression open and wrecked.
“I failed you,” he said. “That is the truth of it. I am supposed to be the man who keeps danger away from the people I love, and I let you walk out of that house with your heart broken and a target on your back.” His voice cracked on the last word.
Bea had never seen Killian look ashamed before. Angry, yes. Possessive, absolutely. Obsessed, constantly. But ashamed? Never.
He rubbed a hand over his mouth and looked at the floor for one second before forcing himself to meet her eyes again.
“When I saw those bruises on your throat, I wanted to tear the whole fucking city apart. But that rage belongs to me. You are the one who paid for my mistake.” He shook his head.
“I should have come after you the second you walked out that door. I should have trusted what I knew about you. I should have trusted you.”
A tear slid down Bea’s cheek.
Killian saw it and looked like it physically hurt him. “I am sorry, baby,” he said softly. “I am so damn sorry.”