Chapter 3 - The Shadow in the Gala
By mid-November, Clara had settled into a strange, bittersweet rhythm within the fortress.
During the day, she walked Brutus through the vast oak gardens, grooming him and teaching him to trust humans again. By afternoon, she maintained Cassian’s private library, organizing hundreds of rare Italian manuscripts and legal archives.
And every evening, Cassian dined with her.
He no longer acted like a terrifying mafia lord in her presence; he was quiet, attentive, and fiercely protective. He listened to her talk about her mother, her love for old books, and her dreams of opening an animal sanctuary. In turn, she saw the heavy burden he carried—the endless phone calls, the territorial disputes, and the silent grief that haunted his dark eyes.
She was falling in love with her captor—a realization that terrified her far more than his guards ever could.
However, the peace was shattered on a rainy Thursday night.
Cassian was hosting a high-stakes gathering of regional syndicate leaders at the estate to finalize a peace treaty. Over fifty men in dark suits, armed to the teeth, filled the grand ballroom on the ground floor.
Clara was instructed to remain in her East Wing suite for her safety. But at 10:00 p.m., Brutus became agitated, pacing near the service elevator and whining softly.
Realizing the dog needed to go outside, Clara attached his heavy leather lead and took the rear servant staircase toward the back gardens, avoiding the main hall.
As she passed the dim corridor near Cassian’s private office, she heard low, urgent voices speaking in harsh Italian.
“...the shipment at Port Newark,” a slick, foreign voice hissed. “Cassian thinks he controls the docks. But once the girl is taken, he’ll sign whatever we put in front of him.”
Clara froze, pulling Brutus behind a thick velvet curtain.
“Are you sure about the girl?” another voice asked. “Reyes keeps her guarded.”
“She’s his weakness. Haven't you seen how he looks at her? The great Cassian Vance cleared her debts and keeps her in his private wing. We take her tonight during the toasts. If he resists, Marco puts a bullet in his chest.”
Clara’s blood ran cold. The men were planning to assassinate Cassian and use her as leverage.
She didn't think about her safety. She didn't think about running out the back gate into the night. Her only thought was Cassian.
She looked down at Brutus. “Stay,” she whispered.
Clara slipped out from behind the curtain and sprinted toward the main ballroom doors. Two guards tried to stop her at the entrance, but she pushed past them, bursting through the heavy oak doors into the crowded, smoke-filled room.
Fifty powerful, dangerous men turned to look at the breathless girl in the simple blue dress.
At the head of the long mahogany table, Cassian stood up, his dark eyes flashing with instant fury at the intrusion—until he saw the sheer terror in Clara’s eyes.
“Cassian!” Clara screamed across the room. “Behind the office—it’s a trap!”
Before she could finish her sentence, the chandelier overhead shattered into a shower of dangerous glass. Gunfire erupted from the upper balcony.
Chaos hit the room like a wave. Men reached for weapons, screaming orders, furniture overturning.
Through the smoke and deafening blasts, Cassian didn't take cover. He sprinted straight toward Clara, pulling a concealed firearm from his holster.
“Clare!” he roared.
A mercenary dropped from the balcony, landing right in front of Clara, grabbing her hair and pulling her back, pressing a cold gun barrel against her temple.
“Don't move, Vance!” the man screamed. “Or I paint the wall with her!”
Cassian stopped ten feet away. His face was a mask of absolute, murderous fury—a demon unleashed from hell.
“Let her go,” Cassian said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “And I will let you die quickly.”
“You think I’m afraid of—”
A massive black shape burst through the smoke like a nightmare.
Brutus launched himself through the air, his 150-pound frame slamming directly into the attacker’s chest. The man screamed as he hit the marble floor, the gun flying from his grip.
Cassian didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, fired two swift shots to clear the remaining threats, pulled Clara into his arms, and shielded her body with his own as his security team swept the room.
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Wrapped in Cassian’s iron embrace, smelling his scent amidst the gunpowder, Clara buried her face in his chest, trembling uncontrollably.
“I’ve got you,” Cassian whispered into her hair, his arms tightening around her so hard she could barely breathe. “I’ve got you, mia cara. Nobody touches you.”
