Chapter 13 · Blackout Grab

The chandelier didn't fall.

It exploded.

Crystal rained across the ballroom floor, and the lights died with it. Two hundred guests screamed at once. Marble cracked under stampeding heels.

The barrel pressed against my spine was still hot.

"Down," Dante muttered against my ear. "Now, Lucia."

"Did you shoot the damn chandelier?"

"Wasn't me." His arm snapped around my waist like iron, hauling me flush into his chest. "Stay on me."

His heartbeat hammered through my silk gown. Steady. Dead calm. A man whose house was actively getting shot up, and his pulse didn't even skip.

Mine was practically coming through my ribs.

A second shot cracked. Quieter this time—suppressed. A woman near the champagne tower shrieked and choked on it. Boots hit the marble at a dead sprint. Voices barked lockdown orders in Italian, then in English.

Dante spun me against the nearest pillar, shielding my front with his whole frame. Smoke. Heavy cologne. Gun oil. I hated that my body recognized all three before my brain did.

"Marco, east stairs," Dante called into the dark. Flat. Ice-cold. "Nobody leaves the floor."

"Boss, they killed the mains. Breaker box is fried."

"Then use your eyes.