Fifty-two

The atmosphere in the grand ballroom shifted in an instant. One moment, the air was filled with the soft hum of conversation and the gentle strains of music, and the next, it was thick with tension so palpable that it seemed to pulse like a living thing.

Sunny felt it before she saw it—an almost imperceptible change in the energy of the room. Her eyes darted around, searching for Santo, but he had already disappeared into the hallway after the mysterious man. Her heart pounded in her chest, a growing sense of dread tightening its grip around her.

She glanced at Rico, who had subtly positioned himself closer to his father, his easy smile gone, replaced by a look of cold determination. Rosa, too, had become a quiet sentinel, her eyes scanning the crowd, her posture rigid with anticipation. They both seemed to sense the danger lurking beneath the surface, as if the entire room was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable.

And then, all hell broke loose.

It started with the sharp cr