Chapter Two
1482 Words
“Smile.”
Elena didn’t turn her head.
“I am smiling.”
Her cousin Marisa leaned closer anyway, lowering her voice. “No, you’re thinking. That face is your thinking face.”
Elena raised her champagne glass, letting the light from the chandelier catch the bubbles dancing within, and turned her gaze towards her. With a smile, she declared, "This is my smiling face."
Marisa snorted. “That’s terrifying.”
They stood near the centre of the ballroom, surrounded by a flurry of activity. Waiters weaved through guests, dresses swept across the marble floor, and voices layered over one another in a polite competition. Above them, the chandelier glowed warmly, casting light that softened faces and concealed tired eyes.
“Elena!” someone called.
She turned smoothly, already arranging her expression. Councilman Bianchi was approaching, hand outstretched, smile fixed a little too wide.
“Councilman,” she said warmly, accepting his hand. “You made it.”
“I wouldn’t miss this,” he replied, squeezing her fingers longer than necessary. “Your foundation does remarkable work.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Elena said. “But the credit goes to the donors; we simply ensure that the money reaches its intended destination.”
Marisa shot her a look, which Elena ignored.
Bianchi chuckled. “If only every organisation worked that way.”
“If only,” Elena agreed.
He leaned in slightly. “Your father mentioned the zoning issue might be… revisited.”
Elena tilted her head, thoughtful. “I’m sure he did. He believes cooperation benefits everyone.”
“Especially hospitals,” Bianchi said pointedly.
“Especially children,” Elena corrected gently.
The councilman laughed, hands raised. “Of course. Children.”
He excused himself moments later, already scanning the room for his next conversation.
Marisa waited until he was gone. “You didn’t even blink.”
Elena shrugged. “He wanted reassurance. He got it.”
“You always do that,” Marisa said. “You speak as if you agree, but you never make any promises.” “That’s because promises are costly.”
They moved toward a small table near the stage. The auctioneer was adjusting his microphone, tapping it twice.
“Testing—yes, good evening, everyone.”
Applause rippled through the room.
Marisa leaned in again. “Papa’s been watching you.”
“I know.”
“He’s proud.”
Elena paused before responding. She observed her father from across the room, laughing with a developer while resting a hand on the man's shoulder. Don Alessandro Valerio appeared relaxed tonight, at ease among donors and officials, where violence was disguised in suits and blood remained hidden.
“He’s proud when things go well,” Elena said finally.
Marisa frowned. “And when they don’t?”
Elena brought the champagne flute to her lips, savouring the crisp bubbles as they danced on her tongue. With a knowing smile, she tilted her head slightly and said, “Then he reminds me whose name I carry.”
Marisa softened. “You carry it well.”
Elena smiled at that, this time, genuinely.
The auction began. Paddles rose. Numbers climbed. The crowd responded exactly as expected, with small bursts of excitement and polite laughter when bids jumped higher than anticipated.
Elena leaned back slightly, letting the room wash over her.
A shiver ran down her spine. She recognised that familiar tightening in her chest, the uncanny sensation of being observed, not with admiration but as though she were an object of intense scrutiny, weighed and measured in the eyes of an unseen judge.
Her eyes moved instinctively, scanning past the stage, past the donors, toward the ballroom entrance.
A man stood just inside the doorway.
He wasn’t dressed like security, and he wasn’t dressed like a guest. His coat was dark, still damp at the shoulders. He wasn’t talking to anyone. Just standing there, hands loose at his sides, gaze slow and deliberate as it travelled across the room.
Elena’s fingers curled around her glass.
“Do you see that man?” she murmured.
Marisa followed her line of sight. “Which one?”
“The one by the door.”
Marisa squinted. “Tall? Dark coat?”
“Yes.”
“He’s handsome,” Marisa said. “Brooding type.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Marisa glanced at her. “You think he’s trouble?”
Elena didn’t answer immediately.
The man’s eyes passed over her just once and moved on.
That bothered her more than if he’d stared.
“Maybe,” Elena said. “Maybe not.”
Marisa studied her face. “You want me to get security?”
“No,” Elena said quickly. “If he’s nothing, we don’t make him something.”
“And if he’s not nothing?”
Elena watched as the man turned and disappeared back into the rain, swallowed by the glass and darkness beyond.
“Then we remember his face,” she said.
The auction ended to applause. Waiters returned with fresh trays.
“Elena,” her father’s voice cut through the hum.
She turned.
Alessandro Valerio approached, smiling broadly for those around him. When he reached her, his hand settled lightly on the small of her back, familiar and possessive.
“You’re doing beautifully,” he said. “The minister just pledged another fifty thousand.”
“That’s excellent,” Elena replied. “Did he say why?”
Alessandro laughed. “Because the cameras were on him.”
She smiled. “Then we should thank the cameras.”
His fingers pressed slightly. “Walk with me.”
They moved toward the quieter edge of the room.
“You handled Bianchi well,” Alessandro said. “He likes you.”
“He likes what he thinks I am,” Elena said.
Alessandro’s smile thinned, just a little. “Be careful with that tone.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you meant,” he said softly. “But remember, perception is power.”
Elena met his gaze. “Then I’ve learned from the best.”
That pleased him.
“Stay close tonight,” Alessandro continued. “There are… murmurs.”
Elena’s posture remained relaxed. “About?”
“Moretti,” he said, lowering his voice. “One of his men was seen near the docks last week.”
“Docks are neutral grounds,” Elena said.
“For now.”
She considered that. “Do you think he’d risk a move during a public event?”
Alessandro gazed intently at her features, the weight of his words hanging in the air. “No, they don’t. Men like Moretti have a way of pushing limits, and they often act without waiting for an invitation.”
Elena thought of the man at the door. The rain on his coat.
“I’ll be careful,” she said.
Alessandro squeezed her hand once, then released her. “Good. Enjoy the rest of the night.”
As he walked away, Marisa reappeared, holding two glasses of water.
“You look like you just had a sermon,” she said, handing one over.
“Elena Valerio,” Marisa added dramatically, “patron saint of caution.”
Elena laughed quietly. “If only.”
They stepped toward the service corridor as the crowd began to thin.
“You ever think about leaving?” Marisa asked suddenly.
Elena stopped.
“Leaving what?”
“All of this,” Marisa said, gesturing vaguely. “The city. The name. The expectations.”
Elena took a slow breath. “Sometimes.”
“What stops you?”
Elena looked at her cousin. “Responsibility.”
Marisa tilted her head. “Or fear?”
Elena smiled sadly. “Those two are cousins, too.”
They shared a quiet moment before a waiter passed, breaking it.
“I should go check on the accounts,” Elena said.
Marisa rolled her eyes. “Of course you should.”
As Elena turned down the corridor, the noise of the ballroom softened behind her. The air grew cooler, quieter. Staff moved quickly, avoiding eye contact.
At the far end, near the back exit, she saw him again.
The man from the doorway.
He stood with his back to her now, speaking quietly to a hotel security guard. The guard nodded, stepped away.
The man turned.
For a second, they looked directly at each other.
His expression was unsettlingly calm, a stillness that seemed to linger in the air. His eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that held no challenge or curiosity, only a piercing awareness that made her heart race.
Elena felt a chill slide down her spine.
Then he turned and walked out into the rain.
She stood there for a long moment, her heart steady but alert. Whatever role he played in this city, she suddenly knew one thing with certainty: their paths would cross again.
- Writer
