Naples gleamed like a city kissed by gold.
From the terrace of the Hotel Luna d'Oro, the view was breathtaking. Marble courtyards spilled into sweeping cliffs that dropped off into a sapphire sea. The air smelled of salt, lemons, and something ancient—like whispers tucked into the folds of time.
Aurora adjusted the diamond-studded mask across her face, her reflection gleaming in the mirror of their suite.
The black velvet gown hugged her like it was made for her alone—backless, slit high on the side, the neckline plunging just enough to tempt but not distract. She'd always been elegant, but tonight, she was a vision designed to disarm.
"I hope Mateo Valenko likes danger," she murmured.
Behind her, Damien finished knotting his obsidian mask into place. His tuxedo was tailored within an inch of perfection, the lines of his broad shoulders and tapered waist stealing even her breath for a second.
"Let's hope he likes flattery more," Damien said, his tone dry. "We need him talking, not running."
Aurora stepped closer, her fingers brushing down the lapel of his suit. "You do realize this might be the most absurdly attractive sting operation in history?"
Damien caught her hand and kissed her knuckles. "We do what we must for justice."
"Mm," she smirked. "Justice with a dress code."
---
The gala was held at the Villa Bellanova—a private estate perched like a crown over the Amalfi coastline.
Dozens of black cars lined the narrow road leading up the hill, their passengers clad in designer couture and glittering with power. The villa's marble courtyard was lit by thousands of golden lanterns and string lights, casting a surreal glow over everything.
A string quartet played near the fountain. Waiters in white gloves offered champagne and blood-orange cocktails to guests who moved like royalty through a sea of opulence.
Aurora and Damien stepped from their town car like they belonged there.
And for a moment, they did.
Damien's arm slid around her waist, guiding her forward as their names were called—not their real ones, but the aliases created for this night.
"Signor and Signora D'Alessandro."
Eyes turned toward them. Whispers fluttered behind fans and between champagne sips.
Aurora's every step was deliberate. Confident. Calculated.
Her eyes swept the crowd.
Maxwell's voice echoed in her earpiece. "Mateo Valenko arrived ten minutes ago. Third courtyard, southern balcony. He's already had two drinks."
"Copy," Damien murmured.
They made their way through the glittering crowd, stopping occasionally to nod politely or greet another guest.
The villa was designed like a dream—arched doors led into expansive halls, each more decadent than the last. Laughter echoed off frescoed ceilings, and everywhere, eyes hid behind masks. Every smile was a lie.
As they crossed the threshold into the southern courtyard, Aurora caught sight of him.
Mateo Valenko.
He was lounging against a marble balustrade, dressed in a deep blue velvet jacket, his long hair tied at the nape, and his mask gilded in gold leaf. He looked like a Renaissance prince, all flair and malice.
Aurora stepped forward.
"Mr. Valenko," she said, her voice soft and accented.
He turned slowly, raising a brow. "Have we met?"
She smiled. "Not yet. But I know art when I see it."
---
For the next twenty minutes, Aurora played the role of curious heiress flawlessly.
She fluttered her lashes, mentioned fictitious gallery interests in Vienna, and dropped hints about wanting to "invest" in underground collections.
Damien lingered nearby, the attentive husband, occasionally laughing or adding just the right touch of intrigue.
Mateo, like most narcissists, loved the sound of his own voice.
"You must understand," he was saying as he sipped his drink, "true forgeries are not copies—they are interpretations. A perfect mimicry of intent. I do not just paint—I become the master."
"And Julian Blackwood appreciates this… talent?" Aurora asked.
Mateo laughed. "Julian appreciates many things. Mostly himself. But yes, he has vision."
She tilted her head. "He's funding your work?"
Mateo looked at her for a long moment. Too long.
Then, quietly, he said, "You're not who you say you are."
Her heart didn't skip—it froze.
But she didn't move. She didn't blink. Instead, she laughed.
"Darling, he's onto us," she said sweetly to Damien. "Time to stop pretending."
Damien's smile never faltered. "Pity. I was enjoying the game."
Mateo's expression darkened. "You think this is a game? Julian will know you were here. If he doesn't already."
"He will," Aurora said coolly. "But we don't care."
The forger stepped closer. "Then you're suicidal."
"No," Damien replied. "We're desperate. And desperate people make excellent enemies."
Mateo looked between them, his calculating mind working overtime. He wasn't afraid—yet. But he was curious. That was their edge.
"You came for a name," Mateo said eventually. "Why?"
"Because Julian is using your work to fund black-ops surveillance and mercenaries," Aurora said. "He's targeting civilians. A child."
Mateo blinked. That caught him off-guard.
"Julian told me the work was political. Controlled," he murmured.
Damien's voice was like steel. "It's personal now. He sent death threats. He crossed a line."
Mateo downed the rest of his drink. "I never signed up for that."
Aurora leaned in. "Then help us stop him."
Mateo hesitated. For one breathless moment, it felt like he would agree.
Then gunfire exploded.
---
Screams shattered the air.
Guests ducked and scattered as masked gunmen stormed the courtyard.
"DOWN!" Damien roared, grabbing Aurora and pulling her behind a statue.
Security clashed with intruders. Bullets ricocheted off marble columns.
"Maxwell!" Damien shouted into his earpiece. "Status?"
"Compromised. We've got six hostiles inside. Extraction route blocked. Hold position."
Aurora's blood pounded in her ears. She searched frantically for Mateo—he was gone.
Damien reached into his jacket, pulling out a concealed firearm. "You okay?"
"I've had better parties," she gasped.
He looked at her then—not like a CEO, not like a lover, but like a soldier about to go into battle with the only person who mattered.
They moved fast, ducking behind pillars, weaving through smoke and chaos.
They found cover in a narrow hallway lined with tapestries. From there, they slipped into a hidden stairwell that led down to the wine cellars.
Maxwell's voice cracked in. "Back entrance is clear. Emergency evac vehicle en route. Five minutes."
They ran.
---
The car was waiting beyond the cliffside wall. Damien shoved the door open and helped Aurora inside just as the villa behind them erupted in more gunfire.
"Drive!" he barked.
The vehicle sped into the night.
Aurora's hands were still shaking.
"We lost him," she whispered.
Damien exhaled hard. "He'll resurface. He's too arrogant not to."
"He was about to talk."
"I know."
Aurora stared out the window, her chest tight. "Julian knew we'd come."
"He didn't plan to kill us," Damien said. "He planned to send a message."
Aurora looked at him. "What kind of message?"
Damien's eyes were dark.
"That this ends his way."
---
They returned to the manor just before sunrise.
Noah was still asleep, curled up with his stuffed fox, unaware of the world that had almost swallowed his mother whole.
Aurora stood in his doorway, staring at him for a long time.
She didn't cry. She didn't collapse.
But she made a promise.
"No more running," she whispered. "No more being scared."
Damien found her an hour later in the sunroom, the light casting halos around her.
"We're going after him," she said.
He nodded. "Whatever it takes."
She looked up, fire in her eyes. "He threatened my son. He declared war. He doesn't get to walk away from that."
"I'll make some calls."
"I already did," she said. "Mateo left a burner phone in my clutch. He sent a location before disappearing."
Damien raised a brow. "Where?"
"Barcelona," she replied. "A villa he once painted in. Julian uses it for meetings. Mateo says it's our one shot to catch him face-to-face."
Damien inhaled slowly. "He'll have it rigged."
"Good," Aurora said. "Let him try. This time, we're not coming to talk."
She met Damien's gaze and saw the same fire reflected there.
No more games. No more masks.
Just truth. And vengeance.
---