TWO

VALENTINA'S POV

"Mr. Leonardo. I sincerely admire your paintings." Mark started shaking Mr. Leo's hand with a firm grip. "It's truly an honor to finally meet you in person."

I stood behind him, sipping my champagne, totally uninterested as I recalled Russo's words from yesterday.

'Work with me, and I'll give you everything you ask for.'

Work with him? He never mentioned what for. Now I am currently with my boyfriend.

Besides, he didn't bother introducing me. It was as though I was non-existent to him.

I rolled my eyes and looked around, sighting all the gentlemen and women laughing amongst themselves with elegance.

I mentally mocked myself. I could never be one of these high classes. I was just too unsophisticated. 

A professional stripper raised in the hoods.

"And who is this beautiful lady?" Mr. Leonardo asked, catching my attention.

"Oh, this is my fiancee." Mark finally introduced. I nearly rolled my eyes again, but instead forced a professional smile.

A smile that seemed real after so many months of practice. Being a stripper is huge work.

"Pleasure to meet you ." He complimented while I gave a warm smile.

"And you too Mr. Leo." I said before he gave Mark a knowing look.

"You really outdid yourself Mr. Valdin." Mr. Leo let out a laugh while Mark forced him just to join him.

I was sick of this place already. Can we get out of here?

I was here not because I wanted to be, but because I was invited by my boyfriend Mark.

The scent of prosecco mingled with the sharp tang of fresh paint filled my nostrils.

As an artist, he had his painting mixed with the prestigious paintings of the cavernous space of Galleria d'Oro.

Flickers of tiny fairy lights cast warm glows on the polished marble floors.

Tonight was the opening of Marco Rossi's latest exhibition, "Luce e Ombre" as I heard... meaning light, and shadow.

I had no idea that Leo was already gone till Mark gripped my hand and pulled me close.

"I saw what you fucking did there Sabrina. Flirting with a man in front of me." His grip was so painful I winced.

"But I did nothing, I didn't even speak until he spoke to me." I defended myself.

"Talking back. You're fucking starting to grow wings. " He eyes were so menacing that I couldn't even bring myself to utter another word because of the terror of what he'd do that whirled in me. "Now behave."

He really seemed to have forgotten that I got him to this level in his life. If it weren't for me, he wouldn't be here today and he remains so ungrateful.

For weeks I helped him prepare for this night. My heart swelled with so much pride for him and yet, he had never done one big thing for me. 

Not as much as buying chocolate gifts on my birthday.

I sighed before turning to walk away. He gripped my hand again.

"Where the hell are you going?" He questioned angrily.

And before I could open my mouth to say anything a commotion erupted at the entrance.

Four men in black leather jackets and menacing expressions walked in, their eyes darting around the room.

Perplexed, an unsettling chill snaked down my spine as realizations dawned on me.

Intruders.

The leader, a man with a cruel twist to his lips and a shaved head etched with a menacing scar, shoved a security guard aside with a sneer.

He reached into his pocket, and my breath hitched as the glint of a switchblade caught the light.

He wasn't here for art appreciation.

"Questa festa è finita," he growled, his voice gravelly and laced with menace. (This party is over.)

"Run." I said and Mark saved himself, leaving me to stand. Coward.

People scramble back knocking over glasses and spilling wine.

A shriek pierced the air as a crystal sculpture toppled, shattering into a million glittering pieces.

I spotted Enzo Ferrari, the owner of the rival gallery.  He stood there in shock,his eyes darting between the intruders and Marco Moretti.

"Pensavi di potermi superare, Enzo?" The leader whose name I later knew as Luca spat, his voice dripping with disdain. (Did you think you could outdo me, Enzo?)

Moretti straightened his spine, a flicker of defiance replacing his initial shock. "La galleria è mia," he retorted, his voice surprisingly firm. (The gallery is mine.)

"Non più," Luca snarled, pulling a gun from his jacket holster. (Not anymore.)

A deafening gunshot pierces through the air, splintering another one of the chandeliers. Glass rained down like a deadly hailstorm.

The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

A wave of nausea washed over me. I had to do something, anything. My eyes darted around the room, desperate for a weapon. My gaze fell on a fallen wine bottle, the ruby liquid shimmering on the polished floor.

Without a second thought, I snatched it up, the cool glass biting into my palm. With a wild throw of my arm, I launched the bottle at Luca's head.  It sailed through the air with surprising accuracy, the impact connecting with a satisfying crack.

The bottle shattered against his temple, sending shards of glass flying. Luca stumbled back, momentarily stunned, the gun falling from his numb fingers. It clattered across the floor, skidding several feet away.

Enzo didn't waste the opportunity. He lunged at Luca, tackling him to the ground. They grappled like wild animals, a flurry of fists and kicks. But this time, Enzo seemed fueled by a righteous fury, raining blows down on Luca.

The silence that followed was thick and heavy. People began to stir, murmuring amongst themselves. 

But the jovial atmosphere of the evening was gone, replaced by a lingering sense of unease.

A folded piece of paper caught my eye nestled beneath a fallen easel. 

Curious, I picked it up. It was just a white card, smooth and pristine. 

"You know too much about Valentine. And I'm coming for you." 

My heart jumped to my throat as I read the content in the paper. 

I looked around trying to see any suspicious movements lurking between the crowd.

My eyes suddenly landed on a pair of cold calculating eyes.

They belonged to a man that I never thought I'd see again.

His lips were curved into a chilling smile, one that could send shivers down your spine.

His eyes pierced through my soul, and I found it difficult to look away.

A silent threat trapped in a single look.