Chapter 16 16.
Elena stood at the edge of the ballroom, her hands trembling beneath the fabric of her dress. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard that recording. “I don’t care what happens to the girl after that.”
“Baby, don't you love me?” Elena pinched herself.
“Stop, you stupid thought. Stop!” She screamed inside her head.
She shifted uncomfortably as around her became thick with the scent of expensive vodka and the shutter of a thousand camera flashes.
“I thought it was his mom.” The thought kept lingering in her heart. “But…I was so stupid, to think a tattoo on a man's body represented his love for his mother.
Then she remembered the last scene she witnessed before running of. The lady resting her hand on Salvatore's chest slightly bending to kiss him.
“And you know what's more annoying? He didn't even move! He just stood there.”
“I hate myself for this?” She said in a low whisper biting her lower lips.
"You look like you're attending a wake, not a celebration," a voice drawled beside her.
Elena didn't turn. Because the smell of that tobacco was what she could recognise anytime. Dmitry.
"Maybe I am," Elena whispered, her gaze fixed on the center of the room where Salvatore stood, surrounded by oligarchs. Looking like one high king but her eyes saw a very different thing.
"He’s coming for you," Dmitry said, leaning closer. "The announcement is in five minutes. Are you going to be the dutiful bride, or are you going to help me take him down?"
“Help me make him pay for what he's done to you.”
"I told you," Elena said, her voice turning sharp. "I answer to no one."
“Elena doesn't seem so good.” Salvatore muttered to himself trying to brake away from the crowd, his eyes locking onto hers. He strode across the marble floor, his black coat fluttering behind him.
When he reached her, he placed a possessive arm around her waist. “They look so good together” A girl from behind said covering her mouth with a soft giggle.
“Yes, the do!” The first girls friend chipped in. “But I hear he has some one else, though it maybe a rumour.” She added in a hushed voice.
“Ohh, so they know too?” Elena muttered to no one in particular.
“What did you say?”
“I didn't say anything, Salvatore.”
"Where have you been?" he muttered, his breath warm against her ear. "I’ve been looking for you for twenty minutes."
Elena looked up at him, her heart leaden. "I was in the study, Salvatore. Listening to the radio."
He stiffened. The muscles in his arm went taut. "Elena—"
"And then I went to the west wing," she continued, her voice cold. "I saw the woman in the peach dress."
“Venna, isn't that what you called her?” Elena asked with a half smiling face.
Salvatore fought to hold his expression. He leaned in closer, shielding her from the nearby reporters. "It’s not what you think. She’s... she’s just someone from the past I haven't been able to bury yet."
"Just someone from the past? And you still have that ‘past’ tattooed on your skin?" Elena hissed. " ’Just some’ who calls you 'babe' while she’s checking your bandages?"
“Leaning over to kiss you and you didn't budge?”
“Honestly, I want to throw up. Right on your face—”
“I didn't kiss her, okay.”
“I swear, I didn't.”
“I saw her lean—” but Salvatore placed his middle finger over her mouth.
"You didn't see anything. I let her stay close because I believe she knows things, Elena! Things about your mother! I had to—"
Before he could finish, a tall, elegant figure drifted toward them. The woman . She was wearing a peach dress, looking every bit the woman who belonged to Salvatore. As she approached she looked directly at Salvatore with a sickeningly sweet smile.
"Salvatore, darling," Venna said, her voice soft and sweet. "Dmitry is calling for the toast. We shouldn't keep the world waiting for the big news."
She turned her gaze to Elena then, her eyes full of a venomous triumph. "You must be the little journalist. I’ve heard so much about your 'investigation.' It must be so exciting to play pretend in our world."
"I'm not playing, Venna," Elena said, stepping out of Salvatore’s reach. "And I’m definitely not 'little.'"
"Oh, I can see that," Venna purred, reaching out to adjust the lapel of Salvatore’s jacket. Her fingers lingered just a second too long near his neck, revealing the ‘V’ tattoo.
"Salvatore has always had a thing for me, it's a thing he just can't quit." Venna said in a chuckle. “At least I'm not some contract bride.”
"Venna, enough," Salvatore snapped, his voice a low warning growl.
"Is it?" Venna’s eyes flashed. She leaned in toward Elena, whispering just loud enough for the three of them to hear. "Ask him about the deal we made in Italy, Elena. Ask him why he really staged that 'rescue' in the alleyway. Ask him if he’d even be here if I hadn't told him exactly where to find you."
Elena felt the floor tilt as she went back the memory lane. Then as she looked behind venna she saw the guard from that day, the guard who had tricked her with Salvatore's name.
“Wait—” she said blinking her eyelids.
“How did you know of my rescue by the warehouse.”
“Did you send them?”
"Or maybe you ou did it together," Elena breathed, looking at Salvatore with her eyes full of horror. "You and your obsessed ex. It was a show."
“Well, talk to your contracted husband. I'd be back in a bit.”
Venna winked at Salvatore as she walked out.
"No," Salvatore said, his voice desperate. "Tell me you don't believe her, Elena, she’s blackmailing me.
"Believe you?" Elena laughed. "Of course I don't believe you!”
"The toast!" Dmitry’s voice boomed over the speakers, cutting through the bustling activities. "To the union of the Romano and Moretti lines! Don Salvatore, bring your fiancée to the stage."
The crowd cheered as the lights shifted, focusing on the three of them. Salvatore reached for Elena’s hand, his eyes pleading.
"Please. Just get through this. I’ll explain everything. I’ll send her away, I swear."
Elena looked at his hand. Then she looked at Venna, who was watching them with a smug, satisfied smirk. And then she looked at the cameras as her eyes darted around.
“Well, I pity Venna if she thinks I'm weak.”
Elena took a deep breath taking salvatore’s hand. They walked toward the stage and the crowd erupted in cheers.
When they reached the microphone, she waited for Dmitry to speak while Salvatore stood beside her. When he left the podium she stepped in taking the microphone.
"Thank you all for coming," Elena said, her voice clear and carrying to every corner of the ballroom. "It’s been an... enlightening evening."
Salvatore stared at her, his face pale while his eyes kept darting toward the security detail. He tried to take the microphone from her. "Elena, honey, let me—"
"I have a statement to make," Elena said, stepping back and speaking louder. "As a journalist, I’ve spent my life looking for the truth. And tonight, I think I might have finally found a lead."
She turned to Salvatore, her eyes burning with a fire that made him actually flinch. But in her eyes was pity.
"I hate to announce thahis engagement was a strategy," Elena announced to the room. The gasps that followed were instantaneous as people placed their hands over their mouths.
The cameras began to flash like strobe lights she continued "A way to protect an investigation into the Volkov and Moretti alliances. But I cannot be a bride to a man who keeps his secrets in the shadows and his past on his skin."
She looked directly at Venna, who was standing at the foot of the stage, her smirk frozen in shock.
"Don Salvatore Romano is certainly a man of many talents," Elena continued, her voice cold. "But he is not my fiancé. As of this moment, the 'undercover investigation' is closed. And so is my association with the Romano family."
The room erupted into total chaos. Reporters surged forward, screaming questions. Dmitry stepped forward, a slight smile on his face. Salvatore stood frozen, his hand still outstretched toward a woman who was no longer his.
"Elena, what have you done?" Salvatore hissed under the roar of the crowd. "Do you want to kill yourself.” “What did Dmitry say to you, I know it's not about Venna?”
Elena refused to uther a word but Salvatore could see the glimmer of tears in her eyes.
She turned to walk off the stage, but Venna was there, blocking her path. Her face was distorted with rage. "You stupid brat! You just ruined everything! He was doing this for you!"
"No," Elena said, pushing past her with a strength she didn't know she had. "He was doing it for himself. And you were helping him. You can have him back, Venna. He’s exactly what you deserve."
Elena marched through the crowd, the sea of people parting for her. She didn't look back at the man who had saved her multiple times nor at the Russian monster who wanted her mother’s secrets.
But as she reached the heavy oak doors of the ballroom, a hand grabbed her arm.
"Miss Moretti," he whispered, his face grim. "The cars are blocked. The Volkov guards have the perimeter. You can't go out there."
"I'm not staying here, Luciano."
"Then you have to go down," Luciano said, sliding a small, heavy key into her palm. "The basement. Level four.
I think I found something that might interest you. She’s in the boiler room. Go now, before anyone finds you."
Elena looked at
the key then at the chaos behind her.
“This gala might just be interesting.”
Then she turned and ran for the service stairs, leaving everything behind her.
Elena reaches the boiler room, gasping for air, and finds a woman sitting in the dark. She turns around holding a gun to her own head.
“Mum?”
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