Chapter 2 Under the Chandeliers
The gala was a lie dressed in gold.
Palazzo Serafini rose out of the night like it had something to prove—arches lit from below, marble glowing warm beneath chandeliers heavy enough to crush bone if they fell. Valets opened doors with polite smiles. Cameras flashed. Silk whispered.
Everyone here had something to hide.
Alessandro De Luca stepped inside and felt the shift immediately.
Not fear.
Awareness.
The kind that followed him wherever he went, curling around his presence like smoke. Conversations didn’t stop, but they bent—voices lowered, bodies angled away, eyes sliding in his direction and quickly pretending they hadn’t.
Neutral ground, they called it.
Alessandro knew better.
Raffaele leaned in beside him. “Romanos are on the guest list.”
Alessandro’s jaw tightened. “And?”
“And Marco hasn’t arrived.”
That made him stop.
Marco Romano did not arrive late.
Not to events like this. Not when Alessandro De Luca was breathing the same air.
“Keep an eye on the doors,” Alessandro said.
They moved deeper into the ballroom.
Crystal light exploded overhead, scattering across polished floors and mirrors positioned just wrong enough to make it impossible to tell where reflections ended and reality began. A string orchestra played something elegant and hollow. Champagne flowed like it was meant to erase memory.
Alessandro scanned automatically.
Exits.
Balconies.
Blind spots.
Enemies smiled like donors. Allies pretended boredom. Everyone was playing a role.
And yet—
Something was off.
Not wrong.
Missing.
At the top of the staircase, a beautiful woman walked and just stopped. Isabella. She didnt know anyone. Yet the weight of her name made her important.
You could tell she hadn’t wanted to come.
That was the truth she hadn’t said out loud.
Tonight was supposed to be brief. Appear, smile, leave. Her brother had insisted—Just show your face. He’d promised he’d meet her inside.
Marco was never vague.
And yet, he wasn’t here.
Isabella’s fingers tightened around her clutch as she scanned the room. People moved like they knew the rules. Like they understood where they belonged.
She didn’t.
She had spent most of her life away from rooms like this. Away from conversations that ended in funerals. Away from men whose smiles came with consequences.
Protected, they said.
Invisible, she thought.
She took one step forward—
And felt it.
A pull.
Her gaze lifted without conscious thought and locked onto a man near the center of the room.
He wasn’t loud. Wasn’t laughing. Wasn’t trying to be seen.
Which made him impossible to ignore.
Tall. Dark suit. Stillness that cut through motion. A glass in his hand that hadn’t been touched.
And he was looking at her.
Not openly. Not rudely.
Like he had felt the same pull.
Her breath stuttered.
She looked away first.
Alessandro felt it the moment she did.
Instinct sharpened, snapping his attention to the staircase like a blade finding its mark. He hadn’t been searching for anyone, and yet there she was—half-shadowed, poised, watching the room like she was deciding whether to stay or disappear.
She didn’t belong to anyone here.
He would have known.
That was what unsettled him.
He adjusted his path without thinking, letting the crowd do the work until distance collapsed naturally. She reappeared near the bar, closer now, her presence unmistakable.
She met his gaze again.
Didn’t flinch.
“Do you always stare,” she asked calmly, “or am I getting special treatment?”
For the first time that evening, Alessandro smiled.
“Only when something interrupts my night.”
Her lips curved. “Then I apologize.”
“For what.”
“For existing.”
That made him pause.
“I don’t think that’s something you regret,” he said.
She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “You don’t know me.”
“No,” Alessandro replied. “But I recognize confidence when it doesn’t need an audience.”
A beat.
“Is your date late?” she asked.
“I didn’t bring one.”
“Interesting.”
“And yours?”
Her expression shifted—so fast most men would have missed it.
“He was supposed to be here.”
Supposed to.
Alessandro filed that away.
The orchestra changed tempo then, the music sinking lower, slower. Intimate. The kind that pressed against skin instead of ears.
Without thinking, Alessandro extended his hand.
“Dance with me.”
She stared at it like it was a challenge.
“That’s not a question,” she said.
“No,” he agreed. “It’s an invitation.”
For a moment, she hesitated.
He could see the calculation. The restraint. The rules she was weighing.
Then she placed her hand in his.
The contact sent something sharp and immediate through him.
They moved onto the floor as if the space had been waiting for them. His hand settled at her back—steady, deliberate. Hers rested against his shoulder, fingers curling slightly like she needed the anchor.
They didn’t speak at first.
They didn’t need to.
The world narrowed.
Music wrapped around them, slow and dangerous. She followed his lead effortlessly. He adjusted to her without thinking.
Mesmerized.
“You’re looking at me like you’re trying to remember something,” she murmured.
“What am I trying to remember,” he asked.
“Something you’ve never had.”
The words landed harder than they should have.
Their faces drifted closer. Breath mingled. The room blurred at the edges.
He leaned in.
She didn’t pull away.
Her lips parted—
A hand seized her arm.
Hard.
“Enough.”
The voice was sharp. Male. Urgent.
Isabella gasped as she was yanked backward, stumbling as the connection snapped between them like a live wire. Her eyes flew to Alessandro’s, wide with shock.
“I—”
She didn’t finish.
The crowd swallowed her.
Alessandro stood frozen as silk and bodies closed the space where she had been seconds ago.
Gone.
As if she had never existed.
Across the ballroom, whispers started—glances exchanged, tension rippling.
Someone had pulled her away on purpose.
Someone didn’t want her seen.
Didn’t want her touched.
Raffaele appeared at his side. “Boss?”
Alessandro didn’t answer.
His gaze swept the room—corners, exits, faces—but there was no trace of her. No echo. No direction.
Just absence.
And it burned.
He didn’t know her name.
Didn’t know where she’d gone.
Didn’t know why she’d been taken.
But he knew one thing with absolute certainty:
Whoever she was, someone was hiding her. Someone had pulled her away on purpose.
Someone didn’t want her seen.
Didn’t want her touched.
And Alessandro De Luca had never accepted missing as an answer.