Halfway through the evening, Dominic was pulled away by the Russo patriarch. He left Aurora near the champagne fountain.
“Do not wander.”
“I’m not a toddler.”
“No,” he said. “Toddlers are less kidnappable.”
Then he disappeared into a private alcove.
Aurora lifted a glass she did not intend to drink.
“Well, well,” a voice said behind her. “The little watchmaker’s girl.”
Her blood turned cold.
She knew that voice.
Sebastian Cross stood in a white suit near the fountain, pale hair slicked back, smile sharp and bloodless. He was not a mobster in the traditional sense. He was worse. A fixer. A collector of debts. A man who ruined lives legally when violence would be inefficient.
He had bought her father’s medical debt.
He owned the interest that kept her cleaning floors.
“Mr. Cross,” she whispered.
His eyes moved over the dress.
“Diamonds. Silk. Valente’s arm. How quickly people improve themselves when they find a generous criminal.”
“I work for him.”
“Is that what he calls it?”
Her hand tightened around the glass.
“I’m paying you.”
“Not fast enough.” Cross stepped closer. “But I have a proposition. There is a server I need opened. You unlock it, and your father’s debt disappears.”
“No.”
His smile widened.
“Careful. Does Dominic know what you owe me?”
Aurora said nothing.
“Does he know your father didn’t just repair watches?”
The ballroom tilted.
“What?”
Cross leaned in.
“Your father built the trigger mechanism for the car bomb that killed Dominic Valente’s mother twenty years ago.”
The glass slipped from Aurora’s hand.
It shattered across the marble.
“Your father was a genius who needed money. Good men do terrible work when hospitals send bills.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” Cross whispered. “Imagine Dominic’s face when he learns the woman sleeping under his roof is the daughter of his mother’s killer.”
A hand appeared at Aurora’s waist.
Dominic.
His body came between them with terrifying calm.
“Cross,” he said. “Why is my analyst shaking?”
Cross lifted his glass.
“Just catching up. Aurora and I have history.”
Dominic looked at Aurora.
He saw the terror.
Not social fear.
Animal fear.
“Aurora owes you nothing,” Dominic said.
Cross smiled.
“She owes me quite a lot. Enjoy the party, Valente. And be careful what kind of history you bring into your bed.”
He walked away.
Dominic turned Aurora toward him.
“What did he say?”
“I want to go home.”
“Please.”
His eyes hardened.
“Did he send you?”
Aurora recoiled.
“Are you working for him?”
“Then why are you terrified?”
Before she could answer, the chandelier exploded.
Glass rained like bullets.
The ballroom plunged into darkness.
Gunfire erupted from the mezzanine.
Dominic threw Aurora to the floor, his body covering hers as screams tore through the dark.
“Stay down!”
A bullet struck marble inches away.
People ran toward the main doors.
Dominic did not.
He dragged Aurora toward the service corridor, moving through chaos with cold precision. Blood ran down her arm from a crystal cut. Her heels slipped on champagne and shattered glass.
The words Cross had spoken hammered inside her skull.
Your father killed his mother.
Dominic kicked open the kitchen doors and shoved her inside.
The industrial lights were brutally bright after the ballroom darkness. Chefs crouched behind counters. Steam rose from giant pots. Copper pans swung overhead.
“Behind the block,” Dominic ordered.
“What are you doing?”
“Buying time.”
He pulled a matte-black handgun from beneath his tuxedo jacket.
The kitchen doors burst open.
Dominic fired three times.
A masked attacker dropped.
Aurora screamed.
Dominic grabbed her again and pulled her into a dry storage pantry. The door slammed shut. Shelves of spices shook around them. The air smelled of flour, oregano, and dust.
Then he turned on her.
The protector vanished.
The predator remained.
His forearm pressed across her collarbone, not choking, but trapping.
“Cross knew you.”
“He whispered to you, and then my ballroom exploded.”
“I didn’t—”
“Who are you really?” he snarled. “Did you open the vault to get inside my organization?”
“Then why did Cross say history?”
Aurora broke.
“I’m his data,” she cried.
Dominic froze.
“He bought my father’s medical debt. Half a million. Interest compounding. I’ve been paying for three years, and it never goes down. He threatened me tonight. He wanted me to unlock a server for him.”
Dominic’s grip loosened.
“This is about money?”
“I was ashamed,” she sobbed. “I didn’t want to be another desperate person asking you for rescue.”
His face shifted, but suspicion remained.
“What else?”
Aurora looked up at him through tears.
“He said my father built the trigger for the bomb that killed your mother.”
The pantry went silent.
Dominic took one step back.
All color left his face.
Aurora reached for him.
He stepped away.
“My father was good,” she whispered. “He fixed clocks. He loved opera. But we were poor. We were desperate. I don’t know if Cross lied.”