Crimson 7

The chandelier above me sparkled like thousands of tiny stars, casting shimmering reflections across the grand ballroom. Everything about this engagement gala was designed to impress—the towering floral arrangements, the golden accents on the tables, the soft sound of a live orchestra filling the air. It was breathtaking.

And yet, I couldn’t breathe.

My dress, a stunning emerald-green gown, felt like a cage wrapped around me, its fabric clinging to my skin as if it wanted to suffocate me. The guests—powerful men and elegant women from both the Moretti and Volkov families—moved around the room like pieces on a chessboard, exchanging pleasantries, shaking hands, making deals hidden beneath polite smiles. This was not a celebration of love. It was a performance.

A performance I wanted no part in.

I stood beside my father, Giovanni Moretti, who greeted each guest with the confidence of a man who ruled his world. To his right was him—Damian Volkov. My fiancé. The man I had been forced to marry to secure this alliance.

I stole a glance at him. He stood tall, his broad shoulders squared, his icy blue eyes scanning the room with a look of pure calculation. He was handsome, in a way that made him appear untouchable. His black suit was perfectly tailored, his posture unreadable, his expression distant. He hadn’t spoken more than a few words to me all evening.

Good. I didn’t want to talk to him anyway.

But despite my resentment, I couldn’t ignore the weight of his presence. He carried himself like a king in his domain—powerful, confident, and completely in control.

I, on the other hand, felt like a prisoner.

“This is for the family,” my father had reminded me before the gala. “For your future.”

What future? A life trapped in a marriage to a man I barely knew, bound to a world of crime and bloodshed? I clenched my fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palm. I am not a pawn. I will not be used like this.

But I had no choice.

A waiter passed by with a tray of champagne, and I grabbed a glass, hoping the bubbly liquid would settle the storm inside me. As I took a sip, my gaze swept across the room. Everyone was watching. Watching me. Watching Damian.

Whispers followed us wherever we went.

“She’s a beauty, but will she survive in his world?”

“He’s too cold. The Moretti girl won’t stand a chance.”

“They’re doing this for power. Nothing more.”

They were right. There was no love here.

And then—everything changed.

A loud crack split the air. Then another.

For a moment, I thought it was part of the music, maybe fireworks outside. But when I saw a man collapse to the floor, blood pooling beneath him, I realized the truth.

Gunshots.

Screams erupted around me. Glass shattered as people ducked for cover. My heart pounded against my ribs as I stood frozen, my mind struggling to catch up with the chaos unfolding before me.

Then, strong hands grabbed me.

“Get down!”

I was yanked backward, pulled into a hard chest, just as bullets ripped through the space where I had been standing. A second later, I was on the ground, shielded by Damian’s body.

His scent—clean, crisp, with a hint of something darker—filled my senses. His arms, strong and unyielding, pressed me against him as he positioned himself between me and the gunfire.

“Stay down,” he ordered, his voice calm despite the chaos.

I barely had time to react before he pulled a gun from inside his jacket, moving with terrifying precision. He fired twice, and the sound was deafening. One of the attackers dropped instantly.

My breath came in short gasps. This was real. We were under attack.

I forced myself to look past Damian’s shoulder. Masked men had stormed the ballroom, their weapons raised as they shot into the crowd. Some guests had managed to escape, but many were hiding behind overturned tables, their eyes wide with fear.

The Moretti and Volkov men fought back. My father’s guards had already drawn their weapons, exchanging gunfire with the intruders. It was chaos—glass breaking, bodies hitting the floor, the screams of guests mixing with the sharp cracks of bullets.

“We need to move,” Damian said, his voice low but firm. “Now.”

I could barely think. “Who—who are they?”

His jaw clenched. “Enemies.”

That wasn’t an answer.

A gunshot rang out, closer this time, and I flinched. Damian moved instantly, his grip on me tightening as he pulled me behind an overturned table for cover.

He turned to me, his expression unreadable. “Can you run?”

My heart was still racing, but I forced myself to nod. “Yes.”

“Good. Stay close.”

He didn’t wait for my response. He rose from our hiding spot, fired two more shots, then grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the exit. I had no choice but to follow, my heels clicking against the marble floor as I struggled to keep up with his long strides.

The attackers weren’t just shooting wildly—they were targeting us. I realized it when another bullet zipped past, barely missing Damian. Whoever had sent them didn’t just want to disrupt the engagement. They wanted us dead.

Damian seemed to know it too. His movements were sharp and precise, his body always positioned between me and the danger. It was almost unnatural how calm he was.

We reached the side entrance of the ballroom, where two of my father’s men had engaged in a brutal fight with one of the attackers. The man lunged at them with a knife, but Damian didn’t hesitate—he raised his gun and shot him in the head.

I gasped.

Damian didn’t even flinch.

“This way,” he said, leading me down a hallway.

“Where are we going?” I asked, breathless.

“Away from here.”

“But my father—”

“Your father can handle himself,” Damian cut me off. “I’m keeping you alive.”

A part of me wanted to argue, but the fear in my chest was too overwhelming. So I ran, my hand still locked in his.

We burst out a side door into the cold night air. The city lights of Rome glowed in the distance, but there was no time to stop. The sounds of gunfire still echoed behind us.

Damian pulled me toward a waiting black car. “Get in.”

I hesitated. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe.”

I swallowed hard. I didn’t trust him. I didn’t want to trust him. But in this moment, I had no choice.

So I climbed into the car, and as it sped away from the burning remains of my engagement gala, I realized something terrifying.

For the first time, Damian and I were on the same side.

And I didn’t know if that made me feel safer—or more afraid.