Chapter 53 Into The Crossfire

Chapter 53 Into The Crossfire
(AURIANNA’S POV)

The second the gunshot echoes, my whole body snaps into motion and I bolt out of the bathroom.

The hallway outside is vibrating with noise—frantic voices, rushed footsteps, more gunshots in the distance. My heart beats so hard it almost hurts to breathe.

As I rush toward the main hall, the sound of screaming explodes like a wave crashing into me. People are flooding toward the exits—models still in full glam, VIP guests clutching their designer bags, security trying to push through the chaos.

“Move,” I yell, elbowing past a cluster of panicked guests. “Move!”

When I break into the event hall, I freeze for half a second.

I can’t see anything clearly. It’s people everywhere—running, yelling, tripping over chairs, knocking over champagne flutes. The chandeliers above sway from all the movement, scattering fractured light across a scene that suddenly feels like a nightmare.

My breath catches when I spot the front row.

Zayne’s seat is empty.

Empty!

But my purse is still lying where I left it.

I sprint toward it, nearly colliding with a terrified influencer who’s crying into her phone. I grab my purse, unzip it with shaking hands, and dig through until my fingers curl around my gun.

Thank God.

I snatch my phone out next and text him with trembling thumbs.

Me: Where are you?

I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears, drowning out the screams. I bite down on my bottom lip, as I stare at the phone screen.

Please. Please. Please text back.

When the text bubbles pop up, I let out a shaky breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Zayne: Backstage with Cam. Hurry.

I'm already running before I finish reading the text.

I jump onto the runway, my heels pounding against the mirrored surface as I sprint backstage. Fabric curtains smack against my arms as I push through them. The backstage is massive, a maze of makeup stations, costume racks, and scattered props. I whip out my phone again and call him.

Each ring feels like an eternity twisting my nerves tighter.

He picks up.

“Oh thank God,” I breathe out, my voice cracking. “Zayne, where are you?”

“I’m right here.”

My brows pull together. His voice didn't come through the phone.

I spin around.

He’s walking toward me from a corner with Cam right behind him. Zayne’s hair is messy, his chest rising and falling like he ran a marathon. Relief hits me so hard it nearly takes me out.

I don’t even think. I run straight to him and throw my arms around him. He catches me instantly, his hands gripping my waist like he needs reassurance too.

“You’re safe,” I whisper against his shoulder. “Thank God, you’re safe.”

He pulls back, looking down into my eyes. I reach up and cup his face in my hands, staring into those green eyes.

“When I heard the gunshot…” I say, my voice shaking. “I thought something bad had happened to you.”

Something in his expression softens like he was just as scared. But then his gaze drops to my wrist—the one that’s bleeding—and his face twists in alarm.

“Anna, shit, you’re hurt.”

He reaches for my wrist, wanting to inspect it, but I jerk my hand away.

“That doesn’t matter right now,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t matter right now.”

“Aurianna—”

“Dominik’s here.”

Zayne’s entire body goes rigid.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I saw him.”

My stomach flips.

“He—he was walking toward me with a gun,” Zayne explains, rubbing the back of his neck. “People started screaming. I ducked before the shot went off.”

Before I can respond, Cam throws his hands up dramatically.

“Hello? Sorry to interrupt whatever's going here,” he says, eyes wide. “But there's a murderous mob boss in the damn building. Can we go somewhere we won’t die?”

I nod fast. “Right. You’re right. Cam, please tell me there’s another exit.”

“Yeah, there is,” he says. “Please let's get the hell out of here.”

Cam breaks into a sprint through the backstage corridors. Zayne grabs my hand without even thinking, pulling me along.

His palm is warm against mine. Too warm. Too reassuring.

My eyes flick down to our joined hands, then up to his face. His expression is hard, protective, determined, and terrified in a way he’s trying to hide.

And that’s when it hits me like a punch to the chest.

I value his life more than mine.

If someone has to die tonight, I’d rather it be me.

Because the thought of anything happening to him makes me want to cry.

As we sprint down the corner, we turn a sharp corner and run straight into Dominik D’Angelo and three of his men.

I skid to a stop so fast my heels scrape against the floor. Zayne’s grip on my hand tightens, instinctively pulling me behind him but I shove him back and plant myself between them.

Dominik smirks like he’s been expecting this.

Without breaking eye contact, I reach into my purse, yank out my gun, and drop the purse to the floor.

Cam makes a wounded noise behind us and slowly backs away like he wants nothing to do with any of this.

I raise the gun, both hands steady even though my heart is trying to escape my chest.

“If you so much as lift a finger,” I say, my voice low, and lethal, “I’ll put a fucking bullet through your head.”

Dominik’s smirk only widens.