Chapter 13 "Now then," Viktor says pleasantly, his voice cutting through the shocked silence like a blade. "Shall we discuss how Dante Moretti, the Renaldi and DeLuca family's pet killer, thought he could fool us all?" The room erupts. Everything happens at once-guards surge forward from every corner, their weapons already drawn. Buyers scatter like roaches when the lights come on, some diving under tables, others rushing for exits that are suddenly blocked by armed men. Madame Rouge's voice cuts through the chaos, screaming orders in three different languages. But I'm already moving. Marco's lessons echo in my head-assess, adapt, act-and I leap from the platform just as Dante launches himself toward me, his Russian disguise forgotten as pure predator takes over. Chairs scatter as he crashes through the crowd, his path a straight line to me despite the chaos erupting around us. "Lights!" someone shouts. I catch a glimpse of Dante's hand slamming into a control panel, and suddenly everything plunges into darkness except for the red exit signs casting bloody shadows across the walls. Then the windows explode inward. Glass rains down like deadly confetti as dark figures rappel through the shattered openings. The Irish backup-right on schedule, even if the rest of the plan has gone to hell. Automatic weapons fire, muzzle flashes strobing in the darkness like deadly lightning. Dante's hand finds mine in the chaos, his grip strong and sure as he pulls me toward him. Even in the dark, even with hell breaking loose around us, his touch grounds me. "Four o'clock," I whisper urgently, my eyes already adjusted to the darkness, picking out threats the way Marco taught me. "Guard with shotgun, behind the overturned table." Dante just-moves. Fast. A grunt, a wet thud, and the guard goes down. I scramble for his shotgun, nearly fumble it because my hands won't stop shaking. "Since when do you-" Dante starts, surprise bleeding through his focus. "Don't insult me, Dante," I snap as I chamber a round with practiced efficiency, the metallic sound sharp even over the chaos. "Down!" He drops without question as I fire over his head, taking out a guard rushing us from behind. The kick reverberates through my arms like a punch, but I'm already moving, staying close to Dante as we push toward the exit. The guard crumples, his own weapon clattering across the marble floor. "Christ," Dante breathes, something like pride and terror warring in his voice. "I forgot how fucking scary you can be." "How could you forget? I was with you and Marco when Anthony tried to take Elena," I retort, already scanning for our next threat. The ballroom is pure chaos now-buyers crawling over each other to escape, guards firing at shadows, the Irish team systematically taking down security while shouting coordinates in accents so thick I can barely understand them. Emergency lighting kicks in, casting everything in hellish red. A flash of silver catches my eye across the room-Maisie, struggling with Viktor near the main entrance. She's fighting with everything she has, her ballroom training giving her moves Viktor clearly didn't expect. She meets my gaze across the chaos, mouths something I can't hear over the gunfire. "Run!" I think she's saying. "Get out!" Then she drives her elbow back with vicious accuracy, catching Viktor in the solar plexus before rearing her head back and hitting him in the nose. He doubles over, and for a moment I think she's going to break free⁠- Viktor's gun comes up. The shot is impossibly loud, even in all this chaos. "No!" The scream tears from my throat as Maisie crumples, red blooming across her silver dress like spilled wine. Beautiful, brave Maisie who tried to protect all of us, who believed in me that I could help her escape, who befriended me. I start toward her, my feet moving before my brain catches up, but Dante's arm locks around my waist like a steel band. "Sofia, we can't-" His voice is rough with his own grief, but his grip doesn't loosen. "She's my friend" I fight against his hold, the shotgun nearly slipping from my hands as tears well in my eyes. "She's⁠-" But even as I struggle, I can see the truth. Maisie's eyes are already empty, staring at nothing. The girl who made breakfast conversations into intelligence briefings, who held us together when we wanted to break, who faced down Viktor with nothing but her dancer's grace and a heart full of fire-she's gone. The rage that fills me is white-hot, pure, the kind that makes people do stupid things. I swing the shotgun toward Viktor, but he's already moving, using Maisie's body as cover while more of his men close in. Movement to our left-I spin, weapon raised, but it's Marco's men providing cover as we fight our way toward the exit. Their gear is different from the Irish team, all black tactical wear and robotic movements. "Others!" I shout to Dante over the gunfire. "What about the others?" "Mario's team has them!" he calls back, but I can hear the uncertainty in his voice. In this chaos, plans mean nothing. Anything could be happening to Jessica, Ava, Natalie, Zoe, Kira⁠- A burst of automatic fire from the Irish team gives us an opening. I hear someone screaming orders about securing "the merchandise," Madame Rouge's voice cutting through the noise with the authority of someone who's orchestrated atrocities before. Not tonight. Not if I have anything to say about it. We make it to the hallway, and I immediately take point while Dante reloads-positioning that would horrify Marco if he could see it, but this isn't a training exercise. This is real, and I'm not the helpless princess everyone wants me to be. "Corner," I call out, moving with the moves drilled into me during years of "just in case" lessons. I've been preparing for this moment my whole life without knowing it. We're moving, but I can barely think straight. Dante's behind me, I think-yeah, he's covering the rear. Bodies everywhere down the empty, blood-slicked hallway. Jesus, there are so many bodies. "Almost to the tunnel entrance," Dante says, checking his ammunition. "Mario's team should have the others out by now." A bullet whizzes past my ear, so close I feel the heat of its passage. I don't hesitate-I spin and return fire, the shotgun's boom echoing off the walls. Someone screams. Someone falls. "Good shot," Dante sounds almost proud, but there's something else in his voice-concern, maybe, or fear at how easily I've adapted to this violence. "Thank Marco's paranoid training-" I cut off as more guards appear ahead. Too many. At least six, maybe eight, all armed and taking cover behind overturned furniture. Dante pushes me behind a marble column as bullets fly, chips of stone exploding around us. I can see him weighing options, knowing they're all bad. We're outnumbered, outgunned, and running out of ammunition. But then I spot something they missed-the fire suppression system above us, nozzles and sensors throughout the ceiling. Marco always said the best weapons are the ones your enemies don't see coming. "Cover me," I say, already moving. "Sofia..." Dante's voice carries a warning but also trust. He knows me well enough by now to recognize when I have a plan. "Trust me!" I'm already lining up the shot, adjusting for the angle and the weird acoustics of the hallway. He lays down covering fire, his shots precise and measured, keeping the guards pinned while I take aim at the main sprinkler control. The system is old, probably from when the mansion was first built, which means it's pressure-based rather than electronic. The shotgun kicks against my shoulder as I fire. The control panel explodes in a shower of sparks and twisted metal. For a moment, nothing happens. Then⁠- Water explodes outward from every nozzle, a torrential downpour that instantly turns the elegant hallway into a slippery nightmare. The guards curse and scramble for footing, their expensive shoes providing no traction on the suddenly treacherous marble. "Now!" I grab Dante's hand and we run through the chaos, past slipping guards who can't get a clear shot, around the corner toward what I hope is still our escape route. The service corridors are darker, narrower, smelling of cleaning supplies and fear. Our footsteps echo off the concrete walls, joined by the sounds of pursuit behind us. But we're faster, and we know where we're going. At least, I hope we do. "Touching," Viktor's voice freezes us both. We skid to a stop at the intersection of two corridors. He stands at the end of the main hallway, gun trained on us with steadiness. Blood runs down his face from where Maisie struck him. Beautiful, brave Maisie who fought like a warrior and died like a hero. "The princess and her protector," he continues, his voice carrying that same pleasant tone that makes my skin crawl. "Such a heartwarming reunion." More guards appear behind us, cutting off our retreat. At least four, maybe five. We're trapped in a concrete box with nowhere to run. "You really thought you could infiltrate my auction?" Viktor's laugh is ugly, full of triumph and malice. "That I wouldn't recognize the famous Dante Moretti, even with his clever Russian act?" Dante moves slightly, positioning himself between Viktor and me. "Your auction?" I ask, mind racing through implications even as my hands check my remaining ammunition. Two shells. Not enough. "I thought Dominic Calabrese⁠-" "Dominic is a fool playing at his brother's games. Anthony had vision, but no execution." Viktor's smile is the kind that belongs on predators. "This? This is mine. My network. My buyers. My merchandise." The casual way he says that last word-merchandise-makes my blood boil. Maisie wasn't merchandise. None of us were. We're human beings with names and families and dreams. "She belongs to no one," Dante snarls, and I feel him tensing for action, muscles coiling like a spring about to snap. "No?" Viktor's smile widens. "We'll see about that when I'm done with both of you. Though I think I'll start with you, Moretti. Make her watch. Make it last." The threat hangs in the air between us, and I see something cold and lethal take over Dante's expression. The asshole is planning to throw his life away to give me a chance to run. Like hell. "When I give the signal," I whisper, "duck and roll left." He startles, looking at me with wide eyes. "Sofia⁠-" "Trust me," I repeat, and this time there's something in my voice that makes him nod. Viktor opens his mouth to say something else, probably another threat or taunt⁠- The wall behind him explodes. Not from inside the building-from outside. The charges Marco's team set as a backup plan, in case everything went wrong. Which it has, spectacularly. In the chaos that follows, I remember only fragments. Dante tackling me down as debris flies overhead. The taste of plaster dust and blood. Marco's voice shouting orders somewhere in the smoke and confusion. The rattle of automatic weapons as his team pours through the breach. When the smoke clears enough to see, Viktor is gone. Vanished like the coward he is, probably using the confusion to escape while his men die for him. But our way out is gone too, blocked by tons of rubble and twisted metal. "This way!" Dante pulls me up, toward a service door I hadn't noticed before. "Secondary exit." We run through maintenance tunnels that seem to stretch forever, my lungs burning from the smoke and exertion. Behind us, gunfire and screaming gradually fade, replaced by the sound of our own breathing and the echo of our footsteps on concrete. Ahead, finally, a hint of fresh air. Just before we reach it, Dante stumbles. "Sofia..." His voice carries something I've never heard before-weakness, pain, mortality. Blood seeps through his suit jacket, dark against the expensive fabric. A bullet must have found him in the chaos, and he's been running on adrenaline ever since. I catch him before he falls, taking his weight against my shoulder. "Almost-we're almost there," I pant, though the exit looks miles away. "Just...stay with me, okay? Don't you even think about dying, Dante Moretti!" His laugh is pained but real. "Not going anywhere, principessa." We stagger forward together, and I realize this is what partnership really means-not just fighting side by side, but holding each other up when the other falters. Supporting each other through the darkness. Behind us, new footsteps echo in the tunnel. Viktor's men, or maybe just guards who escaped the explosion. Either way, they're coming. A bullet ricochets off the concrete wall beside my head, sending sparks flying. "Almost there," Dante pants, though each step is clearly agony for him. "Just around this⁠-" He stumbles again, a grunt of pain escaping him. My hands find warm blood on his jacket, more than before. Too much. "Dante!" Fear nearly overcomes me. Not now. Not when we're so close. "Keep moving," he grits out through clenched teeth. "Exit's right there." I wrap his arm around my shoulders, half-dragging him forward. He's heavier than he looks, all muscle and determination, but I'm stronger than people think. Stronger than I knew, maybe. The sound of pursuit grows louder behind us, boots on concrete and voices calling out coordinates. They're goddamn organized. This isn't over. But ahead, finally, I see it-a faint glimmer of moonlight through an opening in the tunnel. Freedom. Safety. Home. Just a few more steps. Just a little further. The night air hits our faces as we burst from the tunnel entrance, and I've never felt anything so sweet. But there are shadows moving toward us in the darkness-friend or foe, I can't tell. I raise the shotgun with my free hand, ready to fight one more time if I have to. For Maisie. For the other girls. For Dante. For all of us who refuse to be anyone's merchandise. In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...