A Veil Of Vengeance

Chapter 5: Into the Lion’s Den

Sofia’s POV

“Lia, you there?” Torres’s voice crackled in my earpiece as I stepped out of the cab, the Volkov mansion looming ahead, its marble facade glowing under New York’s evening sky. The gala invite from Damian was my ticket in, but that gunman from last night and that pendant had me on edge.

Here,” I whispered, adjusting my emerald gown, the hidden wire taped to my ribs itching. Just got to the gala. Volkov’s place is a fortress.

No kidding, Torres said. Cameras everywhere, armed guards at the gates. You got the wire live?

Recording now. I smoothed my dress, the knife strapped to my thigh a cold comfort. Any word on that guy from the club? The one with the g*n?”

“Nothing yet,” Torres replied, tense. “No match on the footage. But Crane’s pissed. Says you’re moving too slow. You need dirt on Volkov tonight.

Crane can wait,” I snapped, scanning the crowd of tuxes and gowns spilling into the mansion. “That pendant on Sal’s keychain, it’s my mom’s. I know it.

“Focus, Russo,” Torres hissed. You’re not here for family mysteries. Get close to Volkov, get evidence, get out.

Easy for you to say. I forced a smile as a guard checked my ID. Lia Russo, invited by Damian Volkov.

Cleared,” the guard grunted, waving me through. Mr. Volkov’s in the ballroom. Don’t wander.

Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, my heart pounding as I stepped inside, chandeliers casting light on gilded walls.

Lia Russo! A woman in a red gown—some socialite, probably—grabbed my arm as I entered the ballroom, music swirling. That poem at Velvet Pulse? Genius. You performing tonight?

“Maybe.” I scanned for Damian, spotting him by a bar, his black tux sharp, tattoos peeking at his collar. Just here to enjoy the vibe.

“Vibe? With Damian Volkov watching?” She laughed, sipping champagne. He’s got eyes on you, girl. Be careful.

“Careful is my middle name,” I said, slipping away, my wire humming. Torres, you getting this?

Loud and clear, Torres said. Volkov’s at ten o’clock. Looks like he’s waiting for you.

Great. I took a deep breath, heading toward him.

“Lia.” Damian’s voice was low, smooth, as I reached the bar, his dark eyes locking on mine. You clean up nice.

You’re not so bad yourself, Damian. I smiled, pulse racing, his cedar scent hitting me. This gala’s a big deal. You throw these often?

When I feel like it. He handed me a champagne flute, his fingers brushing mine, deliberate. “You impressed?”

“Hard to impress a girl from Italy.” I sipped, holding his gaze. “But the chandeliers are a nice touch.”

He chuckled, leaning closer. You’re dodging again. Why’d you come, Lia? Not just for the lights. “Maybe I like a challenge.” My voice stayed light, but his stare made my skin prickle. You invited me. I’m curious.

“Curious?” His brow arched, the birthmark on his temple catching the light—Matteo’s mirror image. About what?

Your world. I gestured to the room, packed with power players. This isn’t just a party. It’s a chessboard. You’re the king, right?

King’s a stretch. His lips curved, but his eyes were sharp. More like a player who knows the board. You play chess, Lia?

I’m learning. I tilted my head, flirting just enough to keep him hooked. You gonna teach me?

Maybe. He stepped closer, voice dropping. But my games have high stakes. You sure you’re ready?

Born ready. I matched his tone, my wire catching every word. What’s the first move?

“Trust.” His eyes searched mine, like he could see the lie. You trust me, Lia?

“Do you trust me?” I shot back, heart in my throat.

Not yet.” He smirked, but his hand grazed my wrist, lingering. “But I’m getting there. Come with me.

Where? I asked, as he guided me toward a side hall, away from the crowd.

My study,” he said, his grip firm but not forceful. Got something to show you.

“Torres, he’s taking me somewhere,” I whispered, covering it with a cough. Stay sharp.

Stay alive, Torres hissed. “If he’s isolating you, he might suspect something.”

“This your office?” I asked, stepping into the study, dark wood and leather bookshelves screaming wealth. A desk held a single item, a pendant, identical to Sal’s, and to my mom’s.

Something like that. Damian shut the door, the click loud in the quiet. “You like art, Lia. Ever seen this?

He held up the pendant, its intricate design glinting. My stomach dropped. “It’s… beautiful,” I managed, my voice steady despite the panic. “Family heirloom?”

Something like that. His eyes narrowed, watching me too closely. “You looked at Sal’s keychain like you knew it. Why?

Just caught my eye. I forced a laugh, stepping back. “I like shiny things.”

“Don’t lie to me, Lia.” His voice was soft, dangerous. This pendant’s old. Tied to my family’s history. You’ve seen it before, haven’t you?

“Maybe in Italy.” I shrugged, my wire burning against my skin. Lots of designs like that back home.

Not like this. He stepped closer, holding it up. This is one of a kind. So what’s your story, Lia? Really.

Just an artist, Damian. My mouth went dry, his proximity dizzying. You’re the one with secrets.

Plenty. He set the pendant down, his fingers brushing mine again, electric. But I don’t like surprises. You hiding something?

Who isn’t? I deflected, heart racing. You gonna frisk me to find out?

Tempting, His smile was sharp, predatory. But I’ll settle for answers. For now.

Ask away, I held his gaze, praying the wire didn’t pick up my heartbeat.

“Lia!” Sal’s voice boomed as the door swung open, his face flushed. “Boss, we got a problem. Warehouse got hit again. Lorenzo’s men.”

“Damn it,” Damian growled, turning to Sal. What’d they take?

“Nothing.” Sal’s eyes flicked to me, uneasy. “But they left another message. Same pendant, same word Traitor. And… a photo.”

“Of what?” Damian’s voice was ice, but his hand tightened on the desk.

Sal hesitated, glancing at me. “It’s you, Lia. From tonight. Outside the club. Someone’s watching her.”

“Who?” Damian spun on me, his eyes blazing. “What the hell aren’t you telling me, Lia?”

“I don’t know!” I said, my voice rising, genuine panic mixing with my cover. I’m just an artist!

“Bullshit,” Damian snapped, stepping closer, his breath hot on my face. You’re in this, somehow. And I’m gonna find out how.

Before I could answer, my earpiece crackled, Torres’s voice frantic. “Lia, get out now! Lorenzo’s men are outside the mansion. And they’ve got your real name—Sofia Russo!