Elena's POV
We stopped at the bottom of the grand, red-carpeted stairs, waiting for Mariana and Marco.
"Oh, please, we all know you stole it, Marco. You have a thing with shiny stuff," Mariana's voice came as they approached us.
They were always arguing like siblings. Though not by blood, they truly resembled a big brother and little sister.
"Guys, do y'all think I stole the golden gun?" Marco asked Rio, biting his apple.
Rio and I looked at each other.
But then I decided to change the subject, and Marco rolled his eyes at me for ignoring him.
"Where's Margo?" I asked Mariana, hoping we could make the entrance as one.
"I don't know," Mariana muttered, fingers worrying at the edge of her suit jacket. Her palms were damp. I slipped from Rio for a second and nudged her.
"She's coming. I've seen how her eyes light up when she sees you."
She smiled at me, and I stepped back into Rio's arms.
On cue, a soft voice said, "Sorry guys, I'm late," and Margo appeared Red hair down, glasses perched, glowing in a blue silk dress similar to mine. Her make up minimal and cute .She looked breathtaking.
Mariana's shoulders melted; her eyes widened with desire, and the two of them melted into a private orbit of compliments and squeezes. Margo took her place next to Mariana, looping their hands together. The sight was nothing short of breaking and so damn cute. Rio and I smiled at each other.
We all walked up the stairs as one united family not by blood, but bound by loyalty and love.
The guards opened the grand golden doors for us, and once we stepped inside, all eyes were on us. I smiled at the sight.
Rio tightened his grip on me.
The ballroom was a cathedral of wealth crystal chandeliers dripping with light, their golden glow bouncing off marble floors polished to a mirror's shine. Gilded crown moldings framed the vaulted ceiling, frescoes of angels and triumph painted centuries ago. Tall windows draped in heavy velvet spilled moonlight across the room, where a string quartet played softly enough to make the whispers sharper. Silver trays floated through the crowd in the hands of liveried waiters, champagne fizzing like liquid diamonds.
Every guest was dressed like power itself silk, velvet, tailored perfection while the scent of roses and expensive cigars lingered in the air. Everyone was looking at us. I suddenly tensed.
"Smell that?" I whispered to Mariana.
"Yup. Drama," Mariana and Margo said in unison, grinning.
"Women can smell that?" Marco asked from behind us as we slowly walked through the crowd.
"Yup," the three of us said casually.
Whispers and gasps filled the room when they saw the eagle tattoo, the key, and the fact that I was in Rio's arms.
"Wait—is that a Grey tattoo? Is she Rio's girlfriend? Is that the key everyone's talking about? …Mariana and Margo together?!"
The whispers were loud and clear. I smiled. Rio's grip on me tightened. Every man's eyes in the room were on me either because I looked that good, or because I was wearing something they'd kill to have. Either way, they weren't getting anywhere near me.
"I have a sudden urge to poke all their eyeballs out," Rio growled in my ear as their prying gazes lingered on my slit and the thigh strap.
We took our places at the table Marco had promised center of the room, where everyone could see. Rio and I side by side; Mariana and Margo a tasteful tangle; Marco sliding into his seat like an abrasive dot of comic relief. We were the color in a black-and-white painting me in red, Mariana in navy, Margo in blue, and Marco in sweatpants loud and alive.
The room settled into a careful ballet of polite conversation and calculated stares… until sharp heels clicked through the sound. Jessica arrived, eyes predatory. I rolled mine.
"Didn't I tell y'all I smelled drama? Look who's here," I said loud enough for the table to hear. She wore a black dress short, tight, definitely not ball material. Her makeup was a mess, and she looked like she was about to piss her pants.
Jessica halted before us. The venom in her glance was old and familiar.
"So you were fucking her?" she hissed, voice loud as she planted herself in front of Rio and me. A few heads turned.
Rio's jaw tightened. "Yeah. And?" he shot back—blunt and dangerous—sipping his whiskey, his hand gripping my thigh under the table.
"I was here first!" Jessica spat. "You were supposed to marry me! You were always allover me !Your father arranged it! That was the plan! She's just your assistant she'll never take my place, Rio, and you know it!"she hissed . I rolled my eyes again.
The accusation burst across the room and gasps followed. Marco scowled , Mariana stiffened , someone at the next table whispered.
This. Is. Exactly. Why I'd almost begged off this stupid ball.
Rio stood, his presence folding the air around him tight. Jessica took a step back.
"Listen to me, Jessica," he said, voice like gravel and silk cold and absolute.
"I was never 'all over' you. Your father painted that story. I didn't choose you. We were never a thing. She chose me. I chose her. She's mine, and I belong to her. End of fucking story. Now leave. This conversation is over. There's no we, Jessica. Never was."
Rio's deep voice boomed in the now-hushed hall.
Eyes widened. Jessica's face paled as she realized she'd lost before she'd even finished talking. She muttered a curse and retreated, leaving combustible silence in her wake. The table settled into awkward laughter. Rio loosened his tie, and I lost my breath at how much that man could look like an entire storm in a tux.
That should've been our big moment entrance, claim, deflection but the night was only beginning to reveal its teeth. We weren't even ten minutes in, and chaos was already blooming.
Before dessert, the air shifted. A calm, practiced presence parted the crowd like a knife. Rocco , Rio's father , flanked by Alfredo and another man whose face made my skin crawl. I squinted under my mask. Who was he?
The men all held their masks in hand.
I still had mine on, so I took it off , it was uncomfy anyway.And everyone else at the table took theirs off . I played with it in my hand as I watched them approach our table.
I stiffened, tightening my hold on Rio's hand under the table.
Rocco's grin was a promise of trouble. The room understood. Eyes tracked their progress.
"Son… I see you brought your storm. Or should I say… trouble?" Rocco snarled bitterly.
His gaze moved to Mariana, who had Margo in her arms.
"Tsk… what has become of my family?" Rocco muttered, shaking his head before turning to me.
"Elena," he said simply.
"Rocco," I replied dryly.
"Elena… Rosa… Grey." The third man's voice was smooth, deliberate—pronouncing my name like an execution. The syllables landed like a blow. My heart skipped.
"And you are?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Enzo," he said slowly, poisonous grin spreading.
And my vision blurred. Everything I'd eaten threatened to come back up.
Something inside me collapsed and reassembled all at once. Ten years peeled back: rain-slick streets, my mother's frantic hands pressing the real key into mine. Run. Her whisper as gunshots split the night. The name that had been a nightmare—the one she screamed before dying—now stood inches away, smirking under polished lights.
My breath hitched. The world thinned. I had rehearsed being brave a thousand times, but nothing prepared me for this.
I kept my chin high. I would not give him the luxury of my fear.
"Father," Rio said—polite, but sharp. The room hushed.
Enzo's eyes found mine. He smiled like a man who still owned a wound. The name punched at me—my mother, the scream, the night she died.
My throat went raw. I squeezed Rio's hand until his knuckles blanched. He flinched, looking at me. I couldn't take it anymore—I was trembling.
"Pleasure," I said simply, giving Enzo a fake smile. With shaking hands, I set my glass down.
"Bathroom," I muttered, standing abruptly. My chair screeched back. Rio shot up, but I was already walking away. I heard Enzo chuckle. My ears rang, tears swelling.
I stormed through clusters of silk and whispers, heart pounding. I cut down a corridor, breathless. I needed air. I needed to breathe.
"Princess! Wait! Elena!" Rio's voice called behind me.
He caught me by the wrist and spun me around. Mascara had run down my cheeks. My mask was crushed in my palm like an anchor. I sagged against the cool wall, the brave shell peeling away.
"Baby, look at me," he said gently, lifting my chin until I met his eyes.
"What's going on, princess?" His voice was low, thick with concern, as his thumb brushed the mascara on my cheek.
I stayed silent.
All I could think about was that night. And one small wish—I wished everyone here had kept their masks on. Maybe then I wouldn't have seen his face. But he still would've said his name. And I still would've remembered.
Because now I'd seen. I'd heard.
And one thing was for sure: the revenge I'd waited years for… it was coming sooner than I expected.
And I would stop at nothing. Because he took something from me. I would take everything—and burn it all down.
"He killed my mother, Rio," I whispered. The words felt like a blade leaving a bad taste in my mouth.
His breath hitched. Rio staggered back like I'd punched him.
"W-what?" His voice cracked.
"Ten years ago. Before my mother helped me flee, she screamed one name before the gunshots followed—'Enzo.'" The memory flooded back—gunshots, shouting, Mom's terrified eyes. "She said his name," I repeated.
Rio's face went stone, then white-hot. His hands suddenly closed around my waist, pulling me into him with brutal tenderness. I sobbed into his suit, my tears soaking his chest.
After a long minute—long enough for the world to shrink to just us—I pulled back. Rio guided me toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind us. He lifted me onto the marble counter, wiping my face with a tissue, hands trembling.
"Let me," he whispered.
"Elena," he said, voice tight. I froze mid-swipe of lipstick.
"Yeah?"
He exhaled. "I knew."
I stilled.
"About the key," he added.
My heart dropped.
He licked his lips, confession spilling fast. "I knew some of it. The day I saw you wearing it at the store—it looked familiar. I didn't ask, but I already knew. I found out my dad was after you. The day you went to Sam's house—someone broke into your apartment to look for that key."
I stared at him, throat closing.
"You hid this from me?"
"I hid it to protect you," he said, voice breaking.
Well, no shit, Sherlock.
"My father was coming for that key. Dangerous people. I figured I'd protect you—keep men on you to make sure you were safe," he said, exhaling.
The confession was a bomb that cut both of us.
I wanted to be furious—but how could I be, when he did it to protect me?
Still… he should have told me. It was my life at stake.
"I'm sorry," he said simply.
"You should have told me," I whispered. "You should have let me make choices. Did you know before or after giving me that job?" My voice broke. He didn't answer.
I hopped off the counter, turning to the mirror. I looked worse, but I didn't care.
"El—" he started.
"No," I whispered. I washed my face clean, took my hair down, fluffed it, grabbed my purse.
He caught my wrist, caging me against the wall.
"Look at me, princess." His voice dropped to a dangerous growl.
"I know this was a shitty time to bring this up, I know you're hurt, and I know you hate me right now. But as selfish as it sounds, I'm not letting you walk out of here without me holding your hand," he whispered against my ear.
"We'll fix this when we get home. For now…" he said, stepping back and offering me his hand.
I looked at it. Then took it.
He grinned faintly, opening the bathroom door for me.
When we stepped back out, the ballroom clucked like a shaken hive. Rocco and Enzo had taken their seats—close enough to be seen, not close enough to listen. Jessica whispered with her father, Alfredo, both of them stealing glances at us.
I ignored them. My hand steady on my drink.
Rio's hand found mine—possessive, grounding. No more apologies; his silence said enough.
The pendant at my throat chimed false, the eagle on my neck burned visible for everyone who knew what it meant.
Tonight had shifted the board. Allies and enemies recalculated. The counterfeit key hung heavy, the real one buried elsewhere, safe.
I had been a Grey in hiding, but tonight I had shown my face.
Now the ledger had names again—and Enzo had seen me.
The war had begun.