Saturday – The Gala Night
If there were a dress code for surviving a mafia gala, Vincent missed the memo.
The moment he stepped out of the car Adriana sent for him—chauffeur, matte-black town car, and all—he felt like a lost puppy on a designer leash.
St. Helena's charity gala wasn't just black tie.
It was Bogdan-black tie.
Which meant gold-stitched tuxedos, silent guards posing as waiters, and a rooftop venue where the champagne was laced with secrets.
Adriana was already there, of course.
And she was devastating.
Not in the cliché prom queen way. In the if-you-saw-her-in-an-alley-you'd-hand-over-your-wallet-and-your-heart way.
Blood-red dress. Black gloves. A silver hairpin shaped like a dagger.
Vincent blinked. "You said 'formal.' You didn't say 'assassin chic.'"
She smirked. "Consider this a warning."
-
Everyone stared as they entered.
Mostly at Adriana.
Some at Vincent.
None at the fact that two of Adriana's bodyguards followed them in—one with a noticeable limp, the other with a scar through his eyebrow that screamed I've killed for less.
The crowd buzzed. Students. Parents. Donors. Hidden enemies.
Noel, from the punch table, mouthed 'Oh my god', then 'Are you two ACTUALLY dating?!'
Vincent gave a helpless shrug.
Adriana whispered through her smile, "Everyone here either wants to date me, dethrone me, or die trying."
"And me?"
"You're just my adorable civilian cover."
"I should've stayed in chemistry class."
"Too late, Romeo."
-
Rooftop Balcony.
Adriana leaned against the glass railing, champagne untouched, gaze scanning the skyline like a sniper.
Vincent joined her. "Why am I really here, Adriana?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Then: "Because someone sent black lilies to your locker. And if they know you're involved, they're watching."
"You needed bait."
"I needed proof."
"Do I at least get hazard pay?"
"You get me."
Pause.
"Temporary deal."
Vincent exhaled, half-laughing. "Why do you talk like you're on a time limit?"
"Because I am."
Her phone buzzed.
She checked it—and her face hardened.
Text Message – Unknown Number
'Nice date. Pity if he disappears too.'
– B
She locked the screen.
"Vincent. We're leaving. Now."
"What—"
"Now."
-
Backstairs
They took the fire exit down, Adriana gripping his wrist like a vice.
"What happened?" he hissed.
She didn't answer—until they reached the empty kitchen hallway. Then she shoved open a freezer door and pulled him inside.
Yes. A literal industrial freezer.
"Okay," Vincent whispered, teeth chattering. "Either this is where you murder me, or we're starting a very illegal romance novel."
Adriana leaned close. "Shh. Listen."
Footsteps passed just outside the door.
Not waiters.
Not security.
Different gait.
Heavier.
Vincent's breath hitched.
Adriana pulled a switchblade from beneath her dress.
"You brought a knife to a gala?" he whispered.
She leaned in, whispered against his ear:
"Baby, I never go anywhere unarmed."
-
Later – Adriana's Car, Driving Through the City.
She didn't speak for minutes.
Just stared out the tinted window, jaw clenched.
Vincent, still shivering from the freezer, finally broke the silence. "Whoever's texting you… they were there tonight."
"Not whoever," she said. "Bishop."
"You're sure?"
"He once said: 'Pretty girls make the best weapons. But boys? Boys are just bullets.'"
Vincent stared. "That was… romantic?"
"No. That was a warning."
She turned to face him. Her voice softer now.
"I didn't mean for you to get involved."
"Too late," he said. "You dragged me into your world."
Adriana looked down.
"No," she whispered. "You walked in."
Midnight (Unknown City)
He watched the gala footage on repeat.
Paused on Adriana's smile.
Paused longer on the boy at her side.
"So that's the new face," Bishop murmured. "Poor little thing. Doesn't even know which part of her will cut him first."
He clicked a remote.
The screen flickered—now showing footage from the orphanage fire, years ago.
Children screaming. A girl watching it burn.
Her.
He smiled to himself.
"See you soon, little monster."