Serafina’s POV
The first bullet shattered the chandelier.
Crystal rained down like knives as guests screamed and scattered. I dragged the maid behind me, heels slipping on polished marble now slick with spilled wine and panic.
The orchestra vanished into chaos. Men shouted orders in Italian. Somewhere behind us, Luca roared my name.
“Left,” Matteo barked. He slammed a guard into the wall, seized the man’s gun, and fired without breaking stride. The shot echoed through the corridor, sharp and final.
I didn’t look back. We burst through a service door into a narrow passage lit by flickering fluorescents. The maid sobbed, struggling to keep up.
“Keep moving,” I said, breath tearing out of me. “Don’t stop.”
Gunfire followed.
Not warning shots.
Kill shots.
Matteo shoved us ahead of
