Chapter 34: "Here For Something Else"
In standard Borgata traffic, traveling from the Sartori District to the Leone District usually took one full hour.
Today, however, traffic laws simply didn’t exist.
Caio arrived in exactly twenty-four minutes.
By the time the black Sartori convoy swept beneath the hotel entrance canopy, the tension inside the lead vehicle had become almost suffocating.
The rear door opened sharply.
Caio stepped out first.
His black tie hung loosened at the collar. His suit jacket had long since been discarded somewhere during the drive.
The exhaustion from the week remained carved beneath his eyes, but now it sat behind something colder.
Something far more dangerous.
Leo exited right after him, followed by a wall of men in black suits, all moving with the synchronized precision of armed professionals.
The atmosphere outside the hotel shifted instantly. Staff members near the entrance froze the moment they recognized him.
"M-Mister Sartori—"
One of the hotel managers hurried forward, forcing a strained smile onto his face.
"Good afternoon, sir. Is there something we can assist—"
Caio never slowed his stride.
"Where is it?"
The manager blinked.
"Excuse me, sir?"
"The luncheon."
The words landed flat and hard.
The staff scrambled to keep up with him as he crossed the entrance hall.
"Sir, this is a private women’s event," the manager stammered nervously. "I’m afraid we cannot disclose guest locations without authorization—"
Leo stepped closer.
Not aggressively.
He simply looked at the man.
The manager visibly paled.
Behind Leo, two Sartori men adjusted their suit jackets just enough for the outline of firearms to become visible beneath the fabric.
The manager swallowed hard.
"...Second-floor ballroom," he said quickly.
Caio was already moving before the sentence finished.
He ignored the elevators entirely.
The grand staircase thundered beneath rapid footsteps as Sartori men stormed upward behind him, the sound echoing violently through the luxury hotel.
By the time they reached the second floor, nearby hotel guests were already staring openly.
The ballroom doors swung open — hard enough to slam against the walls.
The entire luncheon froze.
Every conversation died instantly.
Forks lowered.
Champagne glasses halted halfway to lips.
Dozens of heads snapped toward the entrance, then came the murmurs.
"Oh my god..."
"Is that... Caio Sartori?"
"What is he doing here?"
"I thought this event was women only — "
Camera flashes burst violently throughout the ballroom.
Caio ignored every single person. His gaze swept the ballroom with brutal speed.
Blonde women.
Silver-haired women.
A pair of platinum blondes near the champagne fountain.
Neither of them were Aren.
His brow tightened further.
’Fuck.’
’She’s not here?’
At the center of the ballroom, Chiara Leone sat perfectly still for several long seconds.
Shock struck her hard enough she nearly forgot how to breathe. Then came the heat blooming violently beneath her chest.
’Oh my God.’
’He came.’
’He actually came.’
A dangerous thrill curled through her body.
’I knew it.’
’No man turns down an offer from me forever.’
Slowly, beautifully, Chiara rose from her chair.
The ballroom watched her cross the marble floor like royalty approaching a coronation.
Her silver gown shimmered beneath the chandeliers with every measured step she took toward Caio. She stopped directly before him, flawless poise radiating from every inch of her, one elegant hand resting lightly against her hip.
"Well now," she said smoothly, "what a pleasant surprise, Mister Sartori. Though I don’t recall your name being on my guest list."
Caio barely glanced at her.
"I’m aware."
His eyes continued scanning the ballroom beyond her shoulder.
"I’m here for something else."
Inside, Chiara’s pulse kicked harder.
’Ah... How delightful!’
’He really is here for the deal.’
Emboldened, Chiara stepped closer.
When she spoke again, her voice lowered into something intimate enough to ignite fresh whispers throughout the room.
"Didn’t I tell you to find me after the luncheon?" she murmured near his ear. "I’m still rather busy at the moment. But afterward..."
Her smile slowly deepened.
"You’ll have my full attention."
Caio finally looked at her.
Not warmly.
Not flirtatiously.
Annoyedly.
His head tilted slightly, away from her mouth.
"Who said I came to discuss your deal?"
Chiara froze.
"...What?"
Caio’s voice dropped colder.
"Where’s Ariana Lombardi?"
For one horrifying second, something ugly flashed nakedly across Chiara’s face.
Shock first.
Then fury.
Her nails dug into her palms hard enough to sting.
’Fucking bitch!’
’He came for that bitch?’
Humiliation struck hard enough to blur her vision for a split second.
Around them, the ballroom had already erupted into scandalized whispers.
"Oh my God..."
"He came looking for Ariana?"
"At Chiara’s own event?"
"This is insane—"
Then suddenly—
"Ha ha ha—!"
Chiara laughed.
Bright.
Elegant.
Loud enough to cut cleanly through the chaos.
"Oh dear," she said, one hand touching her chest. "How presumptuous of me."
Her smile returned seamlessly, as though nothing had happened at all.
"Mister Sartori, I’m afraid your dear Ariana isn’t here. She excused herself to the restroom earlier."
Then Chiara turned sharply toward the center table.
"Corinna darling," she called sweetly, "would you mind fetching Ariana for us?"
Corinna looked up immediately, irritation written openly across her face.
"What? Why me?" she complained. "Why not send a servant?"
Chiara crossed the distance toward her sister with graceful calm. The instant she leaned close enough that only Corinna could hear her, every trace of warmth vanished from her face.
Each word dripped venom.
"Go fetch me that bitch before I burn your entire wardrobe."
Corinna’s eyes widened in horror. She shot upright from her chair.
"Y-Yes. I’m going."
Chiara’s smile returned like a mask snapping back into place.
"That’s my good sister."
She patted Corinna’s shoulder affectionately.
Then, very softly, she added, "And Corinna dear... be careful on your way back, hm? Those stairs are terribly tall."
Understanding flashed instantly across Corinna’s face. Every trace of fear disappeared, replaced by a vicious grin.
"Of course, sister," Corinna said smoothly. "I’ll be very, very careful."
She swept out of the ballroom at once.
The moment Corinna disappeared through the doors, Chiara turned gracefully back toward the crowd.
"Now then, dearest ladies," she announced elegantly, "there’s one special event I haven’t revealed yet."
The room stirred with immediate curiosity.
Chiara gestured grandly toward the ballroom doors.
"We’ll continue the luncheon downstairs in the reception hall for a small charity showcase."
Her gaze flicked briefly toward Caio — sharp as a knife beneath her elegant smile.
"Mister Sartori, shall we?"
─ •✧• ─ ✿ ─ •✧• ─
Meanwhile, Micaela Accardi had followed the servant into the VIP lounge.
The moment she sat down on the couch, she crossed one leg elegantly over the other and leaned back like a queen settling onto a throne.
The posture was effortless, practiced, the sort of stillness that came only from wealth and the belief that everyone else in the room existed to serve her.
The servant remained standing.
He uncorked the vintage bottle with careful precision, poured a measure of wine into a crystal glass, and placed it gently onto the table before her.
"To you, Donna Micaela."
Micaela gave a bitter scoff as she lifted the glass.
"Donna?" she repeated mockingly. "If I were truly the powerful Donna of House Accardi, I wouldn’t have needed to sell my husband out like this."
The servant’s expression remained perfectly flat, as though refusing to be part of whatever this family drama was.
"Once you become a Donna," he replied evenly, "tradition dictates you are treated as one regardless."
Then his tone turned politely regretful.
"Unfortunately, I cannot remain longer. I must return and report to my superior."
Micaela waved one hand dismissively, already bored of him.
"Of course. Efficiency above all else. You Ombra soldiers are all the same."
She reached into her handbag, withdrew a small black USB drive and slid it across the table toward him.
"When is the payment?"
The servant picked up the drive and slipped it into his inner jacket pocket.
"Full transfer will be sent once the material is verified."
He bowed politely.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Donna Micaela."
Micaela flicked her fingers lazily toward the door.
"Just leave already. I’d like to drink in peace."
Outside the lounge door, Aren listened in complete silence.
She stood close enough to the door to hear the murmur of Micaela’s voice through the wood, but not so close that she risked being noticed.
The moment she heard footsteps approaching from inside, she moved instantly away from the doorway and slipped behind a recessed corner farther down the corridor.
The lounge door opened.
The servant exited calmly, shutting it carefully behind him before heading toward the emergency stairwell.
Aren followed without a sound. Her footsteps disappeared completely into the thick hotel carpeting.
The servant quickened his pace as he neared the emergency exit.
Then suddenly—
Click. Click. Click.
Sharp heels struck rapidly somewhere from the corridor ahead, moving straight toward Aren’s position.
A female voice accompanied the sound — sweet, soft, thoroughly pleasant — like a grandmother calling her grandchildren in for dinner.
"Lady Ariana. Where are you?"
