The ballroom was chaos — the kind that smelled of smoke and fear. Screams tangled with shattering glass, chandeliers swayed violently, and masks littered the marble floor like the broken illusions they were.

Dante didn’t look back. His arm was around Isabella, pulling her through the crowd, his jaw tight, his pulse a drumbeat beneath his skin. Every instinct screamed at him to turn, to fight, to save Marco — but he couldn’t risk her.

Not again.

Lucia had turned this into a trap. A performance. A warning.

“Keep your head down,” he muttered, his voice sharp with control, though his mind was fracturing.

Isabella’s fingers clutched his suit jacket....