MATTEO'S POV
Helena didn't look back.
She gave me a single glance as she stepped through the grand entrance of the masked ball, her red dress shimmering under the low lights like spilled wine. It was a glance meant to reassure, but all it did was tighten the knot in my stomach. As she disappeared into the crowd, I stayed behind, lingering by the car, letting the cool night air ground me.
There was a heaviness to the night, a thickness in the air that clung to my skin like smoke. People filed into the hall, their laughter and idle chatter masking the tension beneath their ornate feathers and flashy masks. They came here to escape, to lose themselves in the decadence and mystery of the night.
But I had no intention of hiding.
My mask was a reflection of who I truly was-dark, daunting, and utterly unafraid. It wasn't meant to conceal but to intimidate, to remind anyone who dared look too long that I wasn't here to play their games. I was here for one thing, and one thing only.
To kill Dante.
Helena might have been the spark that ignited this war, but this wasn't about her anymore. This was about everything else-Dante's cruelty, his insatiable greed, and the way he trampled on everything and everyone to get what he wanted. For years, I had been the shadow, the second son, the half-brother who would never be enough in his eyes. But tonight, that shadow would rise, and it would swallow Dante whole.
I straightened my suit and made my way into the hall, my steps deliberate and steady. The dimly lit room swallowed me as I merged seamlessly into the darkness. Low chandeliers cast flickering light over the crowd, and the music pulsed in a haunting rhythm, a heartbeat for the night's sinister undercurrent.
From the shadows, I scanned the room, my gaze sharp and calculating. It didn't take long to spot her-Helena, standing near the edge of the dance floor, her red dress a beacon amidst the sea of blacks and silvers. We'd chosen that dress for a reason. She was the bait, and Dante wouldn't be able to resist.
I slipped upstairs, unnoticed, finding the vantage point I'd scouted earlier. The balcony was perfect-dark, secluded, and with a clear view of the floor below. I picked up a glass of whiskey from a tray on my way up, letting the burn settle my nerves as I leaned against the railing.
She moved gracefully, her head tilted slightly as if listening to the music, but I knew her well enough to see the tension in her posture. She was searching for him, waiting, the way we'd planned.
And then, there he was.
Dante.
Even in a crowd of masked faces, he was unmistakable. His aura preceded him-an arrogant, predatory energy that set my teeth on edge. He approached Helena with an ease that made my blood boil, his mask a cruel mockery of the darkness he carried inside.
I tightened my grip on the glass, resisting the urge to shatter it. My chest burned with an unfamiliar mix of emotions as I watched him close the distance between them. I told myself it was anger, but there was something else buried beneath it, something colder, sharper.
I watched as he spoke to her, his posture casual yet commanding. Helena's back stiffened, but she didn't falter, her head tilting slightly in defiance. That's my girl, I thought, but the sentiment was fleeting.
A flicker of movement to my left caught my attention. Before I could react, I felt it-a cold, unyielding pressure against my back.
A gun.
"Don't do anything stupid."
Paulo's voice was low and calm, but the threat in it was unmistakable. My cousin had always been Dante's favorite lapdog, loyal to a fault and willing to do whatever it took to prove himself.
I didn't turn around. I didn't need to. Instead, I let my gaze drift, scanning the room below. It didn't take long to spot them-Dante's men, strategically positioned around the hall. Their eyes were fixed on me, their postures tense, their hands resting near their weapons.
"Dante thought you might try something tonight," Paulo continued, pressing the muzzle harder against my back. "He wanted to remind you who's really in control."
My teeth clenched, the weight of the situation sinking in. The plan was unraveling before my eyes, and every move I made felt like stepping onto thin ice.
Below, Dante placed a hand on Helena's waist, guiding her onto the dance floor. The sight sent a wave of fury through me, but there was nothing I could do. Not yet.
"You're outnumbered, Matteo," Paulo said, his tone almost pitying. "Walk away while you still can."
I didn't respond. My mind raced, searching for a way out, a way to turn the tide back in my favor. But the more I thought, the clearer it became-Dante had planned for this. He'd been a step ahead from the moment we walked through those doors.
Below, the music slowed, and Dante pulled Helena closer, his hand splayed possessively on her back. My jaw tightened as I watched, the whiskey in my hand forgotten.
The game had changed.
And for the first time in years, I wasn't the one in control.
HELENA'S POV
"Matteo!"
My scream tore through the heavy silence as I saw him dragged into the room, his body sagging between two of Dante's men. Blood streaked his face, and bruises marred his jawline, but his eyes-those piercing, unrelenting eyes-still sought mine. When he found me, they widened with a mix of relief and dread.
I took a step toward him, but Dante's iron grip on my arm yanked me back. "He's fine," Dante drawled, his tone mockingly casual. "A little shaken, maybe, but he'll live-probably."
"What the hell did you do?" I spun toward him, fury blazing in my chest.
Dante shrugged, his lips curling into a cruel smirk. "The same thing you were planning to do, just better. You can't beat a master at his own game, cara. I made Matteo, and what does he do? Turns around, steals my woman, and tries to kill me. Ungrateful, wouldn't you say?"
My hands clenched at my sides as his words sank in. I couldn't bear to look at Matteo. The sight of him beaten and bloodied broke something inside me. I wanted to run to him, to cradle his face and promise him it would be okay. But Dante-cold, calculating Dante-was making damn sure that was never going to happen.
"Just let us go," I said, my voice trembling despite my attempt to sound strong. "We'll leave Algreen Cove. You'll never have to see us again."
Dante laughed-a low, sinister sound that made my skin crawl. "And what do I gain from that? Hmm? I no longer have a wife, and my traitorous half-brother gets to walk free? Where's the fun in that?" He leaned closer, his dark eyes boring into mine. "You know me better than that, Helena."
"Then what the hell do you want?" I snapped, my voice cracking as desperation clawed at my throat.
Dante's expression shifted, his smirk fading into something darker, more dangerous. His gaze turned to Matteo, who was barely holding himself upright, the blood dripping from his temple pooling at his feet.
"I want him dead," Dante said, his voice low and final.
The room spun. My chest tightened, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. "No," I whispered, shaking my head. "No, you don't mean that."
But Dante's eyes had darkened further, and the grim determination in them told me otherwise.
"And you," he said, turning back to me with a chilling grin, "are going to watch."
My heart stopped as he pulled out a gun, the metal glinting coldly under the dim light. He raised it slowly, first pointing it at me. My breath hitched, and I froze, unable to move, unable to think. Then, with a devilish smirk, he shifted the barrel toward Matteo.
"Dante, no!" I screamed, my voice cracking with terror. "Please! You can't do this!"
But he didn't waver.
"Dante-stop! I'll do anything! Please, don't-"
The deafening crack of a gunshot shattered the air.
"NOOOOO!"
The scream ripped from my throat as the world blurred, and my legs buckled beneath me.
And then-darkness.