𝟷𝟽. "... 𝙸𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎"

Venice has never felt colder.

Maybe it was the weight of the night. Cassian's hand slid further up my legs through the slit, reminding me that we were approaching our destination.

The Palazzo Reale di Venezia, a historic government estate, sat at the center of the hill. We rounded it before appearing at the entrance.

Lots of cars parked around and high end guest walking in, the place was flooding with reporters and security—men all in black making sure to keep the peace tonight but we all knew, this was far from it.

I hadn't noticed Cassian was out of the car until he pulled the door open for me, I pushed out a smile and took the hand he had stretched out to me.

I stepped out of the limo, lightly adjusting the white dress I wore, constrating sharply with Cassions night black suit. He linked my hands with his and we stepped forward towards the building, cameras began flashing on our faces until the double doors shut behind us.

We walked down a hall before encountering another double door, this was where it all went down.

Cassian exchanged few words with his men behind us in Russian before glancing at me, and without a word, he signaled them and the door was thrown open.

The light tone playing flooded out as we stepped into the grand hall, the government estate had been transformed into a fortress of diplomacy for the night.

The open-glass roof arched over the summit hall, offering a breathtaking view of the Venetian skyline. From below, the night sky stretched vast and clear, stars shining above a city that had seen centuries of power struggles. It was a deliberate choice—transparency above, deception below.

Inside, the hall was a blend of modern prestige and old-world authority. Towering marble columns lined the space, their bases carved with the insignias of Italy’s most influential political families.

Between them, high-definition screens displayed live projections of the summit’s agenda—key points of the economic reforms, the balance of power negotiations, and the Prime Minister’s upcoming address. Rows of flags stood at attention near the stage, each representing a region of Italy, a symbol of the unity this accord promised.

At the center of the room, a circular arrangement of tables had been set up for Italy’s top political figures, economic leaders, and foreign dignitaries and definitely for the Committee.

I couldn't catch sight of any of them as I got pulled to the left by Cassian as he saw few of his associates.

Their seating was strategic—alliances and rivalries subtly reflected in proximity. I caught sight of the Prime Minister, Cesare, who presided at the head, his polished image carefully curated for the cameras broadcasting to the nation.

Beneath the diplomatic poise, security was suffocating. Discreet earpieces and bulletproof suits adorned the summit’s elite, while armed guards patrolled the perimeters, their presence more than just ceremonial. They were prepared for protests, for political disruptions.

Minutes into the event, I was already on my second glass of champagne. The room had grown more crowded, filled with influential figures arriving in waves. The air buzzed with conversation, the music pulsing just a little louder, and the warmth of bodies packed into the opulent venue made the atmosphere even more electric.

Cassian held me close, his grip firm as he introduced me to his associates. Though the event was lively on the surface, I knew there was more simmering beneath it all. The weight of unspoken agendas, hidden motives, and power plays lingered like an unseen fog.

I took another sip, my gaze sweeping the room, searching, analyzing. Cassian hadn’t let go of me once, his hand still firmly entwined with mine, his possessiveness both protective and telling.

Then, the shift. A ripple in the atmosphere.

My head snapped up as the Committee arrived. I couldn’t see them clearly at first—too many bodies in the way, too many eyes turning, too many whispers rippling through the crowd. The Prime Minister stepped forward, engaging them in conversation. Camera flashes lit up their faces, illuminating their presence like an announcement of power.

And then I saw him.

Travis.

Dressed in black, his presence was a quiet force that commanded attention without demand. His expression was unreadable, his cold gaze cutting through the space like a blade. Even the most seasoned politicians hesitated before meeting his eyes, choosing instead to watch from the corners of their vision.

He moved with purpose, gliding through the crowd with security and attendants trailing in his wake, the entire room unconsciously shifting around him, adjusting to the gravity of his presence.

I couldn’t look away.

Cassian’s hand tightened around mine in a near-crushing grip, tugging me slightly. My eyes flicked back to him, and I forced a smile, as if I hadn’t just been caught staring.

But Cassian wasn’t looking at me. His gaze, sharp and dark, was locked onto Travis. His jaw ticked, tension rolling off him in waves.

Oh, this was about to get interesting.

Suppressing a grin, I took another slow sip of my champagne, savoring the moment before the inevitable clash.

"Let's reconvene later, Mr Harding" Cassian said to the man who nodded before he tugged me further into the room, I dropped my glass beside, picking up my dress and following his pace.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Josephine. She raised her glass to me with a knowing smile, subtle yet deliberate. Before I could fully register the meaning behind it, we were standing before the Prime Minister.

I instinctively took a step back, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden shift. The two men embraced, cameras flashing in rapid succession, their white-hot bursts illuminating the moment.

"Questa è la mia donna, Pearl," Cassian introduced smoothly, his tone carrying the quiet authority he always wielded.

"Buonasera, signor Cesare. Che evento incantevole," I greeted, my voice steady despite the weight of the moment.

"Sono felice che tu sia riuscito a venire," the Prime Minister replied, offering a polite smile as he tapped my shoulder lightly. Almost immediately, the men launched into discussions of politics, their words fluid and strategic, the practiced dance of power and influence playing out before me.

Yet my mind was elsewhere.

No matter how much I tried to focus, my gaze kept drifting—flickering, searching—until it locked, unyielding, with those silver eyes across the room.

It was a moment stolen from time itself.

The world around us dimmed, the voices, the music, the weight of the event all fading into insignificance. His eyes, cold and sharp as cut steel, held mine in a silent clash, unreadable yet relentless.

It wasn’t just a glance—it was a tether, invisible yet unbreakable, pulling me into something I couldn’t name.

The air between us felt charged, humming with an energy that neither of us acknowledged but both of us felt. My breath hitched slightly, my grip tightening around the stem of my glass.

I wasn’t sure what I was searching for in his expression—or if I even wanted to find it—but something about that gaze stirred a flicker of recognition, like the whisper of a memory just out of reach.

Then, just as suddenly as it happened, I tore my gaze away, shattering the moment before it could consume me.

I forced a light chuckle, brought my glass to my lips, and took another slow sip, pretending as if my heart wasn’t racing, as if my world hadn’t just tilted for the briefest of seconds.

Still, the curiosity clawed at me.

I dared another glance.

He had returned to his conversation, his expression unreadable—except for the barest flicker of his gaze, once again meeting mine for just a fraction of a second.

Barely noticeable.

But I noticed.

And that was enough to leave my pulse unsteady, my skin a little too warm, and the champagne suddenly tasting stronger than before.

The quartet shifted to the Italian anthem, its soaring notes signaling that the Prime Minister was about to take the stage. The congregation responded, turning their attention forward. Cassian and I exchanged a few more words with those around us before making our way back to our seats.

My gaze moved instinctively to him again. He was among powerful figures, shaking hands with political titans, his presence commanding in a sea of influence. Their movements were smooth and calculated, the air thick with polite diplomacy as they made their way to their seats. We followed suit, the clinking of glasses and murmured conversations filling the grand hall.

At our table, Cassian reached for my hand, bringing it to his lips. His kiss was slow, deliberate. I smiled, and he leaned closer, brushing more kisses down my neck. A quiet chuckle escaped me as I instinctively moved into him, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down my spine.

The event officially began. Cesare took the stage, his presence striking beneath the glow of the chandeliers. The room resounded with applause, cameras flashing relentlessly as he stepped to the podium. He began speaking in Italian, his voice rich and commanding, drawing the room into a hushed silence.

Cassian leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

I turned to him, a slight smirk playing on my lips. “I guess.”

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, his voice laced with promise. “I have a lot in store for you tonight.”

The words sent a thrill through me, anticipation curling in my stomach, intrigued by what he could give me. But before I could respond—

A loud bang.

Through the glass top.

The sound shattered the elegance of the evening. My breath hitched, my body tensing as my eyes snapped toward the stage. Cesare staggered—his body jerking as if pulled by an invisible force—before he crumpled to the floor.

For a second, the world held its breath. And then—

Chaos.

Screams erupted, chairs scraping violently against marble floors as guests scrambled in every direction. Another shot rang out. Then another. The rhythmic pulse of gunfire filled the space, ricocheting off the high ceilings.

Cassian’s grip tightened around my wrist, yanking me down as a bullet shattered the glass centerpiece on our table, shards slicing through the air. The scent of spilled champagne mixed with something far more metallic—blood.

Security swarmed, weapons drawn, shouting commands in Italian. I ducked behind Cassian as another shot whizzed past, striking the stage’s golden railing. Cesare’s body was motionless, his security detail desperately shielding him.

“Stay low,” Cassian ordered, his voice sharper than I’d ever heard. He reached for something beneath his jacket—a gun.

I swallowed hard, my heartbeat a deafening roar in my ears. The room was a battlefield now. And we were caught in the crossfire.

He pulled me down under the table before he began firing back at them, I didn't even know what they were firing at or who the attackers were.

But one thing was clear. The Prime Minister was down and that was their ulterior motive. The place was in chaos and tables fell and glasses shattered.

My eyes shot to where they sat—The Committee.

They were gone.

And so was he. He did this.

A hiss escaped my lips as I slid out from beneath the table, my dress catching on the metal. I yanked it free just as movement flashed in my periphery—someone was charging toward me. Fast.

I didn’t hesitate. My fingers snapped to the dagger strapped against my thigh, unsheathing it in one fluid motion. The blade flew from my hand, embedding itself deep in his throat before he could even react. A gurgled choke. A stumble. A fall.

But there were more. Too many.

Gunfire erupted. Muzzle flashes lit the dark like violent bursts of lightning. I dropped, rolling toward the nearest body, fingers closing around a discarded pistol. I spun on my heel, firing—one, two, three shots. Blood splattered against the marble, bodies crumpling as chaos detonated around me.

A shadow moved behind me. I twisted, but not fast enough. Arms locked around my waist, dragging me back. My feet barely scraped the floor before I wrenched my dagger free and buried it into his neck. His grip loosened, a wet gasp leaving his lips as he slumped.

I turned, yanking the dagger from his flesh, but the fight was far from over.

They were everywhere—dropping from the ceiling, storming in from the hallways. But they weren’t alone. Cassian’s men were clashing with them—The Cicatrici.

My lips curled into a grin. So, the Society were repaying the Prime Minister for his betrayal? Interesting. But they weren’t the ones who took the shot.

I shattered a bottle against the bar counter and drove the jagged glass straight into another man's chest. His breath hitched, eyes widening in agony, but I didn’t let him drop. Instead, I caught his arm, shoved up his sleeve—

There. A crimson sickle etched onto his wrist.

The Bratvaz.

A sharp exhale left me. He made an alliance with them. A perfect cover, a trace that would never lead back to him. So he wasn’t incompetent after all.

An attack from family was deeper than one from an enemy. Cassian used to be part of the Bratvaz before he rebelled, this was the pay back.

My mind barely had time to register the revelation before another shot rang out. I ducked, sprinting toward the exit, weaving through the throng of screaming guests. Bodies shoved against me, panic suffocating the air. Police sirens wailed in the distance, their blue-and-red strobes slicing through the smoke.

I needed to move. Now.

But then—a force slammed into me. I hit the ground hard, breath knocking from my lungs. A sharp sting ran up my palms as I caught myself, my dagger skidding across the floor.

A mistake.

I gritted my teeth, kicked off my heels, and twisted my hair into a bun before grabbing the dagger again. No distractions.

I stomped forward, but before I could reach the door, a rough grip yanked me sideways.

An open doorway. A darkened hall.

I didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

Instinct took over. My dagger was in my hand before I even registered the movement, my arm snapping forward in a deadly arc.

A hit. But then—a pause.

My breath hitched. Silver eyes locked onto mine.

Cold. Unwavering. Familiar.

I looked down. My dagger was buried deep—through his palm. And he wasn’t even flinching.

➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣➣

TRAVIS'S P.O.V

"When are we leaving?" Silvano asked.

I adjusted my sleeves, my gaze fixed on the double doors. The chatter inside was muffled, but I could already feel the weight of the room pressing against me. "This won't take long."

"Ferrari."

A familiar voice. Smooth, calculated. I didn’t turn until she entered my peripheral vision. Josephine.

The crimson dress she wore clashed beautifully against the sharpness of her gaze. A well-rehearsed smile curved her lips, but I knew better. "We are glad you obliged in coming despite… everything that has transpired."

There was an edge to her words, a hidden blade beneath the velvet. Josephine never spoke without purpose—there was always something lurking beneath.

"Are you really glad?" I questioned.

Her smile faltered, just slightly, before she brushed her hair from her face and turned back toward the others—the Committee.

The double doors swung open, and a flood of flashes greeted us, cameras capturing every movement, every breath. The ballroom was more crowded than I anticipated. All eyes turned as we entered. The Prime Minister shot us a practiced smile.

He could fool the masses, but not me. Tonight, the illusion ended.

The crowd shifted, tightening as we moved forward. Dominic, Hastings, and Donaldson had already flanked my sides by the time he reached us.

"Ferrari, bentornato a casa," Cesare greeted, arms outstretched in faux warmth.

I stared him down, making no effort to return the gesture.

"Primo Ministro, Cesare. Grazie per averci ospitati," Donaldson stepped in smoothly, exchanging pleasantries while the cameras continued to flicker.

After their exchange, Cesare turned his attention to me. I forced a smile this time, stepping forward. "Sono felice che siamo tutti qui stasera, non vorrei che qualcuno mancasse."

His expression sobered, just as I expected. I tapped his shoulder lightly before moving past him, the others following as we made our way to our designated seats.

"This is a night that symbolizes peace, Travis," Hastings reminded as we walked through the crowd.

"Of course," I murmured.

The murmurs of the room shifted—whispers carrying my name like a current, drawing me in. I entertained them, let them talk, let them take what they could. Yet, my mind had already drifted elsewhere.

Instinctively, I scanned the room. A habit. A precaution.

And then I saw her.

Laughter danced on her lips as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, engaged in effortless conversation with the Prime Minister. But beside her stood—Cassian.

What the hell is she doing here with him?

My breath hitched, though I masked it well. She turned, her attention slipping from the conversation, just as mine had. Did she sense it too? This inevitable pull?

Why do we always meet like this?

Across rooms, across crowds, always just out of reach. A ghost of the past, haunting the present.

I hadn't seen her in years. And yet, lately, she was everywhere. A constant presence in my mind, distorting my reality.

Our eyes locked.

A single second stretched into eternity.

And then—she looked away, slipping seamlessly back into the world around her.

"Mr. Ferrari."

The voices pulled me back. I exhaled slowly, lifted my glass, and took a measured sip. Silvano shot me a look, sharp and knowing. He could already tell something was off.

The switch to the anthem reminded everyone why we were here. A night of diplomacy. A night of illusions.

I ended my conversation and moved toward our seats, my thoughts still tangled around her presence. But I didn’t look back. I couldn’t.

Not when I knew she would unravel me all over again. "Miss Petrovna is here," Silvano murmured.

My gaze snapped up to Yelena. She was already watching me. For a second, she held my stare before turning back to the man beside her, effortlessly slipping into conversation.

"Vasilisa must have sent her to make sure everything goes well," Silvano added.

I exhaled, unbuttoning my blazer as I sat. My voice was steady when I replied.

"No. We make sure of that."

The Prime Minister took the stage. The night was only beginning. And my mind was far from the whole ordeal.

She shouldn't be here.

Tonight wasn't that kind of night, I glanced back, not seeming to hold it in together any longer. Cassian had his head buried in the crook of her neck as he kissed her, she laughed, returning it in kind.

My hands tightened over the seat and I looked back forward. Is he trying to mess with me? Is this part of his big plan to get to me? Was he using her?

Or worst. Was she using him?

How could she get involved? Especially with him, the opposition. She was on the wrong side, the plans for tonight must go on no matter what.

Now, I was distracted.

"Any time now," Silvano reminded me, his voice low but firm.

I forced my gaze back to the Prime Minister. He was already a dead man—he just didn’t know it yet. His downfall would send a message to anyone foolish enough to stand in my way.

But my attention wavered.

Against my better judgment, I glanced back at them.

He was close. Too close. Leaning in, whispering something in her ear. Her expression remained unreadable, but the mere sight of it twisted something inside me.

Before I could look away—

A deafening bang shattered through the room.

The room erupted into chaos the moment the Prime Minister hit the floor with a sickening thud. I let out a breath as my eyes snapped back to him, his body sprawled out, lifeless—or soon to be.

"It's time," Silvano sang, practically leaping from his seat. He always reveled in the disorder, the architect of mayhem, while I remained the watcher.

People surged toward the exits, their screams swallowed by the deafening gunfire. The Volkovs fired back, their bullets tearing through bodies like paper. I hadn't intended to get my hands dirty tonight, but some bastards just didn’t know when to back off.

I searched for Cassian amid the pandemonium, my pulse a steady drumbeat against my ribs. A bullet whizzed past me, close enough to graze. My jaw tightened. That was a mistake.

The next fool who came for me met the cold steel of my gun. I gripped his throat, squeezing as I fired straight into his skull. His body crumpled, but I was already moving, already taking down the next poor soul foolish enough to cross my path.

And then—her.

Pearl stood in the eye of the storm, her white dress stained in crimson, her hand steady around the hilt of a dagger. Blood smeared her cheek, but her expression remained unreadable, as if she had done this a hundred times before.

I froze. The world, the chaos, the gunfire—it all blurred into nothing.

She had taken down five men.

Just like that.

Her movements had been precise, practiced. She didn't hesitate, didn't falter.

"Mr. Ferrari," someone called, but their voice barely registered. "We have to go."

She pulled up the hem of her dress and walked out, stepping over bodies like they were nothing more than obstacles in her path. That bastard had left her in the middle of this bloodbath, but she hadn't needed him.

I had been right about her.

She had been using him.

I turned, heading for the second exit, the first one clogged with panicked guests pushing and shoving their way out. The sharp wail of sirens filled the air, their flashing lights painting streaks of red and blue against the night.

This would be front-page news before the hour was out.

But I couldn’t leave.

I stopped, glancing back. My men caught the signal, fanning out, weapons raised as they secured the perimeter. I moved in the opposite direction, slipping back inside.

Through the dimly lit hallway leading to the first exit, I pushed the doors open—only to stop dead in my tracks.

There she was.

I took one stride, then another, grabbing her arm to yank her out of the chaos—only to feel a sharp, searing pain in my palm.

She had stabbed me.

Without hesitation. Without a second thought.

Her reflex was quick, brutal. But I couldn’t feel it. Because my focus was locked on her eyes.

And for the first time tonight, I wasn’t sure if I had been watching the chaos—Or if the chaos had been watching me.

The whole place getting silent, the noise panning out as she let out ragged breaths, her hair covering a part of her face. Her eyes shot up to my hand which still had her dagger pierced through, and my other hand holding her in place.

Her eyes moved rapidly, I couldn't tell what she was thinking, I couldn't believe we were just a breath away after all this years.

And neither of us were the same, we had morphed into someone else.

We heard heavy footsteps approaching our way, Cassian's goons were closing in but we didn't flinch until the door was thrown open and they flooded in. She immediately pulled the second gun out of my waistband and we both turned and began firing at them.

I've done so many shitty things over the years, I've done insane and crazy things but never—in my wildest thoughts did I imagine I'll be killing a room full of men with her.

She attacked with ruthless precision, discarding the gun the moment it burnt out. With no dagger in sight, she adapted, turning everything within reach into a weapon.

That dagger—her dagger—was now mine. I had ripped it from my hand, tucking it into my pocket like a prize, a reminder of this night. Even amid the chaos, I found myself mesmerized.

She was a force of nature, commanding the battlefield with a deadly grace that left me momentarily distracted, caught between awe and something I couldn’t name.

Then came the hit. A sharp crack of pain, hot and blinding. I hissed, wiping the blood from my face before turning my fury onto the bastard who landed the blow. My fists drove into him, relentless, again and again, until he crumpled to the ground.

But when I turned back—she was gone.

Vanished.

Not a trace left behind. The room went silent as I stood at the center of it all, dead men all around. She was a different way, I got out the dagger and stared at it.

The silver blade gleamed under the light, its handle adorned with intricate patterns and subtle shades of purple. I barely had a moment to admire it before a deafening bang echoed behind me, freezing me in place. The goon charging straight at me collapsed instantly, lifeless.

I spun around, heart pounding—only to be met with a sight that made my blood boil.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

The trigger-happy idiot standing there? My stupid twin brother.

I immediately strode towards him, ready to bury that dagger in his chest. "Whoah whoah whoah" Trent backed up immediately.

"Che diavolo ci fai qui?!" I gritted, my anger now simmering. "I came to have your back" he pointed back at the dead guy and my hand immediately shot to his throat.

"I warned you not to get involved"

"You would have been dead by now" he replied, a little smile on his lips. "How am I not sure you were the one who wanted to pull the trigger first? "

"I've come a long way from trying to kill my brother" he mused and I let go of him, shoving him back. "It is indeed an eventful night. The Prime minister is dead" he continued as I put the dagger back in my pocket.

"And you'll be next if you don't leave" I replied, walking past him to the exit but he followed. "I saved you back there, don't I get a reward or something—"

"All you get is a bullet to the head. What the hell are you doing here?!" I shot back to him once again and he halted. "You might need me"

"You will die"

"I know you only gave me the company to keep me occupied, so I don't get involved" he pointed out. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

He nodded, taking a step closer. "Yes but you're living the life now, brother. The chaos, the adrenaline, the madness. I live for it"

I scoffed, looking away, "since I paid the price for your stupidity. I get to choose how the game is played. My best advice? Stick to your side. I won't be merciful this time"