The music shifted, softening into a sultry jazz as the grand double doors swung open. Conversations halted, laughter stilled, and all eyes turned toward the man who stepped inside.
He was young, not much older than Alistair, but carried himself with the confidence of a king who had already won his wars. The tailored black suit clung to his broad shoulders, a half mask of silver covering sharp cheekbones. His smile was languid, amused, as though the world itself existed to entertain him.
"Is that the host?" Camilla whispered beside Isabell, leaning closer with the mischief of a child eavesdropping. "Mateo Ricci".
Isabella's eyes narrowed. She'd heard the name whispered in the back rooms and bloodied alleys. Ricci wasn't old mafia. He was new money, new methods, clubs, ports, shell corporations, and web of digital laundering that no one could untangle. A man who killed not just with bullets but with bankruptcies, scandals, and disappearances that left no trace.
Around them, the crowd stirred like water around a stone.
"Is that really him?"
"I thought he was older"
"Some say he's on par with the black rose"
"Some say he actually comes from a fallen family and has come for revenge"
Matteo's eyes swept the hall like a blade. Then they landed o Isabella. For a heartbeat, the room seemed to pause. Recognition or maybe curiosity sharpened his gaze.
Camilla smirked, whispering under her breath, "Well, someone looks interested."
Isabella ignored her, though her soine stiffened, regal as ever. She had faced worse men than Matteo Ricci. But still.... there was a weight in his stare. A challenge.
Across the room, Alistair noticed too. His glass hovered midair, ice clinking as he lowered it slowly. He knew power when he saw it and he knew danger when it looked at Isabella like prey.
Damian, of course, was oblivious, leaning closer to Camilla as the music swelled. "You know, if we keep standing here, people will think we're together."
Camilla rolled her eyes but didn't move away. "And if we do move, they'll still think that. So what's your point?"
His grin widened. "My point is, why fight it?"
Their bickered was light, harmless, but neither noticed the subtle shift in the room's air. Neither saw the waiter who brushed too close, slipping something beneath the tablecloth. Neither caught the figure in black easing along the second-floor balcony.
But Isabella noticed. Her green eyes flicked. "Camilla," she said softly, though her tone left no room for dismissal.
Her cousin froze mid-retort, instantly recognizing the steel beneath her voice.
"What is it?"
"Eyes sharp. Something's wrong."
Camilla glanced around quickly, her hazel eyes scanning the crowd. At first, nothing seemed amiss. Music played, laughter rose, and champagne glasses clinked. But then she caught it, a man's gaze locked too intently on Damian. Another shadow was hovering close to Isabella's side of the hall.
Her lips parted to say something, but she never got the chance.
The attack came swift.
One of the chandeliers shook violently, a chain snapping with a sharp crack, glass raining down. The hall erupted into screams as guests scattered, masks tumbling to the marble floor. From the far edge of the room, the first shot rang out clean, precise, aimed at Damian's chest.
"Down," Isabella barked, lunging forward. She shoved Camilla behind a column as Damian ducked, the bullet grazing the edge of his shoulder instead of piercing his heart.
Chaos exploded.
The masked men, Isabella noted earlier, drew weapons, blades flashing in the shifting light. They surged towards her, ruthless and trained, their intent clear: end her there.
But the name La Rosa Negra wasn't just given to her, she earned it.
Isabella moved like liquid fire, her gown swirling as she ducked beneath one strike and slammed her heel into a man's knee, bone cracking. Her hand snapped his wrist, twisting the blade free, and in a single moment, she slit his throat with his own weapon.
Camilla gasped, but there was no time to falter. another man lunged, only to be met with Isabella's cold, merciless precision. Her green eyes burned, a serpent striking in silence.
Across the room, Damian cursed, blood seeping from his shoulder as he fought off another assailant with brutal efficiency. He wasn't just a spoiled heir: Isabella realized quickly that he could handle himself far better than she'd assumed. After all, she was no saint. His strikes were clean, controlled, efficient, military training or something close.
But what startled her more was the man who stepped in beside him.
Alistair.
The golden heir of a legal empire, whispered to be more politician than predator, moved with frightening grace. His mask barely hid the sharp focus in his eyes as he disarmed one attacker with a twist, slammed another into the wall, and shot the third with his own gun in a blink.
For a man who was supposed to keep his hands clean, Alistair's hands looked very practiced in blood.
A murmur broke out even amidst the panic, half whispers, half awe.
"His skill.... on par with the Black rose"
"Impossible. He focuses on his legal empire, doesn't he?"
"Doesn't matter. You saw that. He fights like Matteo"
The words carried, heavy and unshakable. Alistair barely flinched at the comparison; his jaw tightened as he caught Isabella's gaze across the chaos. For a split second, their eyes locked, icy green meeting storm grey. Enemies, rivals... yet something unspoken stirred.
But then another wave of attackers broke the moment.
Isabella cut through them with ruthless elegance, her movements a dance of death. Still, the numbers pressed too hard, too fast. And then....
"Isabella Wilson"
The voice froze her. Sebastian.
Her most loyal guard, her silent shadow, shoved his way past terrified guests, gun blazing. He shouldn't have been there. He wasn't supposed to know she'd attended this masquerade. Fury burned in his eyes as he reached her, dropping two men in quick succession before taking position at her back.
"You disobeyed me," Isabella hissed between movements.
"And you nearly got yourself killed," he shot back, not sparing a glance as he reloaded. "Forgive me for not sitting quietly while they carve you up."
She shot back, "I'm not a kid and this is certainly not my first kill" Her lips pressed into a thin line, after that she said nothing more. There would be a reckoning later. For now, survival came first.
The assault dragged on, steel clashing, bullets ricocheting, screams echoing. Matteo, the host, finally stepped forward, his own guards flooding in to crush the chaos. The weight of his fury silenced even the attackers; what remained of them were swiftly executed on the spot, except one that was barely breathing.
The ballroom floor was slick with blood. Shattered glass glistened underfoot like diamonds. Guests huddled at the edge, whispering in terror and awe.
"I see why she's called the Black Rose now."
"And Alistair.... My goodness. He's not just a businessman"
The rumors, already fertile, would spread like wildfire.
Matteo stood aside calling someone, probably to handle the mess and take away the man half head.
Isabella wiped the blade clean with deliberate calm, her expression unreadable as she adjusted her mask. Alistair, across the carnage, set aside his gun, his storm gray eyes finding her again, lingering just a moment longer this time.
And in the corner, Sebastian's chest heaved as his gaze cut toward her half relief, half anger, all devotion.
Camilla, shaken but alive clung to Isabella's arm, despite that she had fought along side her.
And Damian despite being shot, had fought back in the scuffle.
"Impressive", Matteo finally said, stepping forward into the silence. His voice carried, smooth and commanding. "Someone dared stain my banquet with blood. They'll regret it."
His eyes slid towards Isabella, then Alistair.
And a slow, dangerous smile curved his lips.