Chapter Two

Elena adjusted her mask, the satin cool against her skin as she scanned the glittering ballroom. Laughter and music mingled with the scent of champagne and perfume, creating an intoxicating atmosphere. If her mother could see her now—dressed to the nines among the city’s elite—she’d have a heart attack. But here she was, every inch the socialite, even while she plotted her next heist.

From the balcony of the private viewing room, Elena took in the sea of masked faces that were in attendance. The Gilded Circle Club was ablaze with anonymity, each attendee hiding behind sequins and feathers.

Tonight, the masquerade ball hosted by the state itself was a masterful illusion. The celebration of the Salvatore brothers' philanthropic work.

On paper, Lorenzo and Nico Salvatore were pillars of society—legitimate businessmen and generous patrons of the arts. Yet, Elena knew the truth: their empire was built on shadows and deceit.

To her, the Salvatores epitomized New Jersey's double standard, where powerful families with deep pockets and deeper ties to organized crime operated behind a veneer of respectability.

With a practiced smile, Elena adjusted her mask, ensuring her own disguise remained intact. She, too, wore a mask—albeit a more literal one. Tonight, she’s chosen an identity, she only had to play the role convincingly—the successful art dealer with a hint of mystery.

Her attire reflected this delicate balance: a sleek, emerald-green silk gown with subtle beading along the neckline, paired with understated silver earrings. She completed her dressing with the locket she received on her last birthday. It was her father’s final gift to her. The overall effect of her assemble was polished yet restrained, avoiding excess flair that might draw unwanted attention. Meanwhile, her baby blue eyes, though partially concealed by her mask, scanned the room with cold calculation.

As she turned, letting the silk trail behind her, her fingers traced the locket on her neck. Elena descended the staircase, her posture regal, every step designed to blend her seamlessly into the glamorous world around her.

Taking a deliberate breath, she glanced back at a painting in front of her, pretending to admire its bold brushstrokes.

"It’s an exquisite piece. Almost as beautiful as the woman admiring it."

Elena coolly regarded the man who approached—broad-shouldered, reeking of generational wealth and too much cologne. He sidled up to her, flashing a toothy grin that probably worked on less discerning women.

Elena’s smile was polite. "I'm flattered," she replied, taking a sip from her champagne flute. "But I'm not interested."

He chuckled, unfazed. “Come now, don’t be coy. It’s a party. You should loosen up a bit.”

Elena's gaze flicked past him, her fingers grazing the rim of her champagne flute. And that’s when she saw him.

She swallowed hard.

Lorenzo Salvatore had a way of drawing attention without even trying. His perfectly tailored suit clung to his broad frame, accentuating his muscular build, while his simple, elegant mask added an air of mystery. His gait spotted a slight limp that was easy to miss.

“She said she’s not interested.”

Elena raised a brow, her lips drawn into a thin line.

The smaller man’s bravado faded as Lorenzo's dark gaze pinned him in place. The sharp angles of his jaw and the slight smirk playing on his lips showed a man fully aware of the power he commanded.

Elena stifled a chuckle as the man muttered something incoherent before disappearing into the sea of masked guests. Lorenzo sure was more intimidating than she assumed.

She met his stare, unflinching.

"I had it under control."

His lips quirked. "I never doubted that."

Elena noted the smolder in his obsidian colored eyes, covered by the hint of amusement that flickered in it.

"Thank you," she said, tone flat.

He stepped into her path, smooth and unhurried.

"You're quick to brush people off, Miss...?"

She raised a brow, unimpressed. "I didn’t catch your name either."

His smile deepened, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

"Lorenzo Salvatore." He let the name hang in the air, as if expecting it to mean something to her.

She let him stew for a while.

"Enjoy your evening, Mr. Salvatore."

He watched her blend seamlessly into the crowd, exchanging nods and pleasantries.

***

Elena allowed herself to relax when she saw him called over for introduction to the people she assumed needed one favor or the other from him. She had felt his gaze on her back as she mingled with the other guests.

The music swelled, and she seized the opportunity to slip away, her steps growing purposeful as she navigated through the dwindling crowds.

The ballroom's opulent chandeliers and laughter faded behind her, replaced by the soft glow of recessed lights lining the corridor. She walked down a hallway adorned with oil paintings and velvet drapes, the plush carpet muffling her heels. Soon, she stood before a set of heavy, mahogany double doors with intricate brass hardware.

She glanced over her shoulder once, then slipped inside, her hand gripping the cool brass handle with practiced ease. The door creaked softly, closing behind her.

Elena slipped into the climate-controlled gallery, her eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. The air was thick with the scent of preservation materials and old wood. Row upon row of glass display cases stretched before her, each one showcasing priceless artifacts.

She expertly appraised the contents of the room, taking stock of the treasures on display:

Diamond-encrusted necklaces lay beside ancient scrolls, their yellowed parchment crackling with age, a Renaissance-era painting hung adjacent to a Buddhist monastery's intricately carved door and a gold-plated, gemstone-studded sarcophagus dominated the far wall, its lid slightly ajar lay amidst a lot of other treasures that most undisciplined thieves might have a hard time overlooking.

Elena's attention settled on the jade figurine, nestled among other Asian antiquities. She approached, her eyes narrowing. The jade figurine gleamed under the soft lights, tempting her with its beauty, but she knew better than to trust appearances. She circled the display, her senses heightened, scanning for any hidden traps.

 At first glance, the figurine seemed exquisite – delicate, intricate, and radiating an otherworldly aura. But Elena's trained eyes detected flaws.

The material was too light, too porous. The craftsmanship was sloppy, lacking the precision of genuine ancient art and the patina was artificial, applied to deceive.

"This is a fake," she thought, her mind racing.

She wondered why a sane person would pay $10,000 just to have her swipe a worthless replica?

Over the years, she’d had strange requests from several clients.

There was the collector who wanted a specific, rare book – not for its content, but for the binding's supposed "historical significance,” and then the socialite who commissioned a stolen painting to match her living room's décor. The enthusiast who sought a "cursed" artifact, believing its dark history would grant him power topped them all.

Elena shrugged mentally. Clients' motivations were none of her concern. Her job was to deliver. With practiced ease, she disarmed the security system and opened the display case. The soft beep of the lock disengaging sent a thrill through her veins.

Sensing the alarm system was disarmed, she reached out, her fingers brushing the smooth surface of the display. A faint click echoed in the stillness, and she froze, her instincts kicking in.

She withdrew her hand, taking a slow, measured breath.

Silent alarm.

Damn it.

Her mind was clear. Less than a minute. No time to panic. Her body moved instinctively, pocketing the figurine. She was already on her feet, slipping toward the door when it burst open.

The first guard entered, his eyes widening at the sight of her. His muscular frame was encased in a black suit that barely seemed to contain the bulk of his biceps. His close-cropped hair and the rigid set of his jaw spoke of a man accustomed to discipline and brute force.

She saw the bulge of his weapon before he even had a chance to reach for it. Elena’s foot slammed into his knee with a crack, followed by a jab to his throat. He crumpled to the floor. She barely registered the satisfying thud of his body hitting the ground.

“Don’t even think about it.” The second guard circled her. Elena knew that his lean frame didn’t make him any less dangerous. She waited for him to come to her.

He was quicker, more disciplined, but Elena was ready. She sidestepped his charge, her body moving in perfect sync with his momentum. Her elbow connected with his temple, and before he could recover, she followed up with a vicious knee to his ribs. He crumpled, the sound of glass shattering behind him was her cue. He was out cold.

She glanced down at the fallen guards, then to the shattered glass. The plan had gone sideways fast, but she wasn’t one to stick around and admire the damage.

She pivoted, ready to move, but a whisper of motion caught her attention, just as a voice, low and dangerous, cut through the air.

“You know, we must stop meeting each other like this.”

Her breath caught for a split second, and she turned, already knowing who she'd find. Lorenzo Salvatore. He stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame as if he had all the time in the world.

“Lorenzo Salvatore,” she acknowledged.

“When you said you could handle yourself,” he drawled, a trace of amusement in his voice. “I didn’t realize you meant it so... literally.”

“You here to watch, or do you plan on doing something?” Her tone was cool, indifferent.

Lorenzo’s lips quirked as he stepped further into the room, his eyes sweeping over the unconscious guards. “We do have unfinished business and I like to know everyone who plays in my city, but this…”

His eyes flicked briefly to the stolen item she concealed, and then back to the unconscious guards. “… this doesn’t involve me.”

Elena tilted her head, her smile faint but mocking. “Glad we’ve established boundaries.”

She watched as he lingered on the torn hem of her dress, the slight bruise on her arm. For a moment, she thought he might reach out, might actually touch her.

With a casual shrug, he stepped aside, his smirk never faltering. “I’m not in the business of stopping thieves who aren’t messing with my affairs.”

“Smart choice,” she quipped.

As Elena slipped past him, Lorenzo's foot subtly shifted, grazing hers. She lost her balance for a fraction of a second before recovering swiftly. Her knife materialized in her palm, its edge pressed against Lorenzo's throat. “Next time you do that; you'd be dead before you know it.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. ““You know, that stunt with the knife last time? I had to admit it was clever, but if you keep this up, I might have to start taking it personally.”

Maintaining eye contact, Elena brushed past him. She offered a sweet smile when he winced and stepped aside.

“You sure do clean up nice, but you should watch your steps though. I don’t want you getting caught before we are finished.” He called after her.

Without breaking her strides, she flipped him the finger. His low chuckle followed her as she disappeared down the hall.