The last Echoes of gunfire faded, leaving only the smell of gunpowder and fear clinging to the ballroom. Isabella lowered her blade, its edge glinting red in the fractured light, before setting it down beside her discarded pistol.
Before she could even straighten, Camilla was n her, fingers gripping her arm with fierce desperation. "Bella", she whispered, eyes scanning her from head to toe, "are you hurt?".
"I'm fine, I'm not a kid, and this is not my first kill," Isabella replied, her voice calm but firm. though her chest still rose and fell with the battle's aftermath.
Camilla's grip only tightened, her brown eyes sharp with worry. "Fine? You just fought off an assassination attempt, and you think I'll believe you're fine?" She tugged Isabella's hand.
"Camilla," Isabella said more softly this time, brushing her cousin's hand down, "I promise you, not a scratch."
Camilla huffed, clearly unconvinced, and continued clinging to her arm like she wasn't letting go anytime soon. "Good. Because if I do find one, you won't be leaving the house for a week. Sebastian will make sure of it."
At the sound of his name, Sebastian, looming just a step behind them, silent and watchful, narrowed his eyes. "For once, I agree with her."
The protective weight of his words was not lost on Isabella. For years, he had been at her side, part guard, part brother, though lately his silences carried heavier things she chose not to name.
But now, his eyes were fixed on her, searching for damage, not daring to look away. Seeing as she wasn't hurt, he turned and left
Across the room, Alistair drew the attention of the shaken crowd. He stood tall and unflinching, half-mask cracked at the edge, but his composure intact, one hand still casually gripping the pistol he had used moments ago. His presence commanded respect, his calm in chaos both unsettling and admirable.
Whispers rippled through the guests like wildfire.
"Wow, I didn't know the D'Amato heir could match the Black Rose.
" I thought he left most of the blood behind... that he focuses on his clean business now. And yet"
"Yet he fights like the old days. On par with the Racci heir and Wilson heir"
The words slithered through the air, feeding the spectacle that now held the entire ballroom hostage. Alistair D'Amato stood tall among the broken shards of glass and chaos, adjusting the sleeve of his suit as though he had just returned from a boardroom, not a brawl.
Isabella tilted her head, studying him, her emerald eyes gleaming with something caught between amusement and curiosity. "You," she said softly, voice carrying despite the murmurs, "are full of surprises, Mr. D'Amato"
Alistair's lips curved, though not into a smile. "I could say the same about you, Miss Wilson. Rumors don't lie as much as people think."
For the briefest moment, their gazes locked. Two predators recognizing something dangerous and undeniable in the other. The air between them felt alive, electric, charged with more than the aftermath of violence.
And then the sound of a microphone clicking broke the tension.
Matteo, the host, stood at the center of the hall, his mask removed and his usually sharp expression dulled by irritation and fatigue. He looked across his guests, most of whom had fallen silent. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice calm but commanding. "I owe each of you an apology for tonight's interruption." His gaze flickered briefly to Isabella, then Alistair. "This is unacceptable under my roof. I give you my word. I will find out who was behind it, and they will regret ever daring to disrupt my house."
He spread his hands, smoothing the rumpled tension that clung to the room. "But for tonight, the party is over. Go home. Rest. You will hear from me soon."
A murmur ran through the guests, disappointment mixing with fear, and slowly they began to file out. The music had long since died; and all that remained was the sound of footsteps, whispers and the distant hum of engines as cars were summoned to the grand entrance.
Isabella exhaled, the weight of Camilla still on her arm. Alistair turned away, his cousin Damien beside him, pale but alive. Their paths didn't cross again in that hall, not knowing the night had bound them closer than either intended.
The masks were coming off, and the world would remember.
The drive back to the Wilson Estate was tense and quiet, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows. Once inside the grand home Sebastian was waiting.
The moment Isabella stepped through the door, his stern gaze met hers. He had heard enough, seen enough. The expression carved onto his face told her what was coming.
"You could have been killed", he snapped, his tone low but seething restrained anger. His fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw tight. "Do you have any idea what it felt like to hear gunfire and know you were in the middle of it?"
Isabella slipped off her gloves, her expression sharp. "And yet here I stand, untouched. Sebastian, I don't need a warden and i certainly do not need saving." She shot back
"You need protecting, " he shot back. "But you don't let anyone do that for you." His voice cracked slightly, betraying the care buried beneath the anger. "You think you're untouchable, Isabella, but you're not"
Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of pain flashing before she masked it. "I don't need protection, because protection makes you weak. It makes you hesitate. And hesitation gets you killed. This isn't my first rodeo, so stop treating me like a kid and treat me like your master"
The words hung heavy in the hall. Sebastian's shoulder sagged slightly, his anger deflating into something rawer, heavier. Isabella turned on her heel, unwilling to show anything more. "I'm going to my room, " she muttered, disappearing down the corridor with Camilla behind her.
Sebastian stood frozen, torn between reaching for her and letting her go.
It was Marcus who moved, placing a gentle hand on Sebastian's shoulder. "She doesn't mean it, Marcus said softly. "That's her armor. She builds walls so high no one can scale them."
Sebastian sighed, raking a hand through his air. "I know. And still..."
Marcus's eyes lingered on him, soft but unreadable. "You're not alone in this. " Then, almost too casually, he stepped aside, pulling out his phone. His voice was as he spoke into it, sharp and efficient. "Find out who sent them. Now I want names. And I want to know if their blades were aimed at Isabella or the D'Amato heir.
Across the city, the D'Amato estate was lit, but not alive. The party had drained more than just its guests; it had left an invisible scar on its host.
Alistair removed his jacket, blood splattered faintly across the fabric. He glanced to where Damian sat, his shoulder bandaged by a doctor Alistair had called the moment they arrived.
"You'll live," Alistair said simply, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. His cousin smirked faintly despite the pain.
"You're different when it's not about business," Damien said, His voice raspy. "All those People thought you were just a man with too many companies, too much money. They don't know the man who kills as quickly as he signs a contract."
Alistair's jaw tightened, but he didn't deny it. He swirled the whiskey, watching the amber liquid catch the light. "Let them believe in the businessman," he said finally. "The fewer who see the other side of me, the better."
But his mind lingered, unbidden, on a pair of emerald eyes and a voice that had whispered. You're full of surprises.
For the first time in years, Alistair D'Amato wondered if hiding in plain sight was enough.