Page 95 of Goldrage
Similar scenes begin playing out across the ballroom as other key players receive devastating news. The Whitman’s, the Smith’s, DeMarco’s. Taking calls, hushed conferences, the gradual realization that something massive and coordinated is happening. All while elegant music plays in the background.
Eleanora and I keep standing near the columns, watching it all unfold. I notice her hand drift to her hip, fingers resting near where her concealed weapon must be. Adrian takes up a position near Lorenzo, the two men exchanging subtle glances as they monitor everything.
I catch Julian watching me from across the ballroom, his cold blue eyes locked on mine with an intensity thatmakes my stomach drop. He’s not moving, not reacting to the growing pandemonium around him, just staring at me with an expression I can’t read. Has he already figured out we’ve been planning something? If so, he doesn’t look concerned. He just keeps staring, like he’s seeing through to something I’m trying to hide.
The whispered conversations grow more urgent, accusations begin flying, and the false camaraderie of the Consortium starts chipping away. I watch as fingers point and voices rise, decades of suppressed resentments and rivalries bubbling to the surface as paranoia takes hold.
Eleanora gently guides me behind one of the massive marble pillars, positioning us where we have cover but can still observe. She grins, her amber eyes alive with a dark excitement that seems at odds with the danger surrounding us. Clearly loving the chaos, she reaches under her dress and pulls out a compact pistol.
“Now is when the fun begins,” she says. She’s literally giddy.
I don’t share my friend’s joy. My hands shake as I reach for my own weapon, concealed in a thigh holster beneath the emerald silk. I take several deep breaths, trying to prepare myself for what’s coming. God, I’ve killed before, but never in a situation like this, never in an all-out war.
The first gunshot echoes through the ballroom like a thunderclap. I flinch as it shatters the last pretense of a civilized gathering. I’m not sure who fires first—maybe someone from the DeMarco’s, maybe a paranoid Whitman—but suddenly elegant evening wear issplattered with blood and the marble floor becomes a battlefield.
Adrian appears at my side, no longer wearing his mask because who’s going to notice? They’re all busy pointing fingers. Adrian’s arm slides around my waist. “Stay down,” he commands. Bodies drop, crystal shatters, and screams mix with gunfire in a symphony of destruction.
With Adrian now protecting me, Eleanora rushes off to join Lorenzo in the fight. I watch them move together through the carnage—and God help me, they both seem to be enjoying the violence. Lorenzo grins as he takes down a Smith family enforcer, while Eleanora moves like a dancer, her shots precise and deadly. They’re a matched pair, and it’s both beautiful and terrifying to witness.
Adrian signals to loyal guards to seal the ballroom. All the main exits slam shut. The heavy locks engage with a series of clicks that sound like a countdown. No one enters, no one leaves, and the Consortium’s elite are trapped and forced to confront their doom.
Through the smoke and screaming, I catch sight of Sergio Castellano taking a bullet to the chest. His body crumples near the massive birthday cake, red spreading across his white dress shirt and pooling beneath him. Another name crossed off my list, though not by my hand. The realization brings no satisfaction, only a hollow sense that justice comes in many forms—sometimes it arrives wearing an emerald dress and carrying concealed weapons, sometimes it comes from the barrel of a paranoid ally’s gun.
I spot Olivia Marlowe taking cover behind a different pillar, her dark hair coming loose from its updo as she shouts orders to her men. The Marlowe family soldiers move through the chaos, their focus clearly on protecting us and our men rather than participating in the larger slaughter.
I exhale, thankful I was right in trusting her.
Across the carnage, Olivia catches my eye and offers a small, grim smile—acknowledgment between women who understand that sometimes destruction is the only path to freedom.
“Hubby!” Bianca’s voice is high and desperate. She stumbles toward us. Her pink gown is torn at the shoulder and streaked with what looks like someone else’s blood. Mascara runs down her cheeks in dark rivers. “What’s happening? Please, get me out of here!”
Adrian’s expression remains coldly neutral as he watches his wife. His arm stays firmly around my waist, his body shielding mine, and he makes no move toward Bianca. When a DeMarco soldier swings his weapon in Bianca’s direction, Adrian doesn’t even flinch.
I hate the woman, but my heart twists.
I yank on Adrian’s sleeve. “She’s not actually part of this,” I say suddenly, the words surprising me as much as him. After everything—after she violated Adrian while he was drugged and vulnerable—I should want to watch her die. But looking at her now, terrified and abandoned, I can’t help but see what she really is: pathetic. “She’s a horrible person… but she doesn’t deserve this death. We should help her.”
Adrian sighs, the sound barely audible, and starts toshift his position. But Bianca is too far away, separated from us by twenty feet of marble that’s become a killing field.
Help comes from an unexpected source. Gideon appears like a pale ghost from behind an overturned table, his usual nervous energy transformed into something purposeful. Without hesitation, he sprints across the open space and tackles Bianca to the ground just as bullets shatter the air where she’d been standing.
“You saved me,” Bianca says loudly, staring up at Gideon with wonder. The expression on her face is almost comical—the kind of instant, overwhelming attraction I’ve seen in terrible romance movies. Her eyes go wide and soft, fixed on her unlikely savior like he’s made of pure light.
For a moment, she tears her gaze away to look at Adrian. Her face crumples as understanding finally pierces her self-absorbed bubble. Her husband stands with his arms around another woman, having made no move to save her life. The realization is written across her expression in bold strokes; she means nothing to him, never did, never will.
I can’t feel sorry for her, even though I know the pain of loving someone who doesn’t love you back. I only hope she’ll leave Adrian alone now, once and for all. Maybe Gideon can give her whatever attention she so desperately craves.
“Lady Harrow and Julian!” Valentine shouts as he appears near us, blood spattered across his vest. “They’re not in the ballroom! They must have slipped out the back way!”
Adrian’s expression darkens. Of course they escaped. Lady Harrow always has an exit strategy. And Julian… God knows what state of mind he’s in right now.
“Gather our people and we’ll go out the secret exit,” Adrian commands Valentine. His hand finds mine, fingers interlacing with a grip that’s both protective and possessive.
Valentine nods and melts back into the chaos to carry out the order. Around us, the ballroom continues its descent into hell. Crystal chandeliers swing dangerously overhead, their light catching on pools of blood. The cake is toppled and now just gobs of icing and mounds of crumbs. The elegant birthday celebration has become a graveyard, the Consortium’s elite slowly destroying each other.
But my focus narrows to Adrian’s face, to the cold determination in his eyes. Lady Harrow and Julian are somewhere in the mansion, carrying with them the last parts of this empire that’s consumed so many lives.
But their time is running out, and the hunters are closing in.
