Silent Scars

CHAPTER 103

The first sound was the soft click of shoes against marble.

Every head in the banquet hall turned.

Dmitri Volkov was descending the grand staircase slow, deliberate, his smile gleaming under the chandelier light. His voice carried down in drunken triumph, feeding off the illusion of power he thought he still had.

He didn't see the two men walking out under his nose.

The air tightened around him. Conversations cut short. Laughter froze mid breath.

It was the perfect distraction.

From the far end of the hall, Domain moved.

Silent. Calculated.

He didn't look back. Marco was behind him, stride matched to his, movements so smooth they looked rehearsed. The swirl of gold gowns and black suits masked their departure; to anyone watching, they were just two men walking.

Every door and corner was already covered by their own.

The Volkov guards never stood a chance.

One turned, noticing movement at the edge of the hall.

"Hey...!"

He frowned, stepping forward, a hand halfway to his earpiece.

Domain turned his head, just slightly. That was all it took.

Predator met prey.

And the Volkov guard froze. His pulse jumped, eyes flicking to Marco, then back to Domain, who hadn't broken stride.

The man's instincts screamed run, and before he could move, two Hastings men stepped out of the side hallway, grabbed him by the collar, and dragged him into the dark.

No sound.

Only the orchestra resuming its song, and Dmitri's laugh echoing down the marble.

No one noticed the side door closing.

No one saw the shadows slipping through it.

The corridor outside was dim, narrow, humming with the quiet that follows chaos. Their footsteps fell in rhythm, brisk, silent.

When they stepped out into the night, the city lights hit them like cold fire. The smell of exhaust hung in the air.

Marco slid into the passenger seat.

Before he could fasten his belt, Domain turned the key.

The engine roared alive.

Tires screeched against asphalt as they tore through Florence's empty streets.

Streetlights flashed gold and white across Domain's jaw, tight, pale, unflinching. His hands strangled the wheel, veins visible, knuckles ghost-white.

Marco glanced at him. The silence was heavy not fear, not doubt, just pressure.

"Montagna's men are already surrounding the estate."

Marco said quietly.

"You don't need to..."

"I do."

Domain's voice was low, final. No explanation. No emotion.

The speedometer climbed past 100. 120.

The car shuddered, but he didn't slow down.

His mind wasn't on the road. It was back home, with his brothers, with her.