---
Chapter 5 – Masquerade of Intentions
The chandelier above them sparkled like falling stars, casting golden flecks over the marbled floors of Palazzo del Sogno, one of Rome's most exclusive event venues. It was a night soaked in elegance and masks—both literal and metaphorical.
Elira stepped out of the black limousine, dressed in a silver satin gown that hugged her figure and shimmered with every movement. Her hair was swept into soft waves, a delicate diamond mask covering the upper half of her face. She had never attended an elite masquerade ball before, let alone one thrown by Italy's most powerful film production house.
But tonight wasn't about cinema. Tonight, it was about power.
Kairo Moretti knew that better than anyone.
He stood inside, leaning against the ornate balustrade of the second floor, observing the crowd like a panther stalking its prey. His mask was black, edged with gold, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw. He was the centerpiece of every conversation, the subject of every whispered breath.
But he only watched one woman.
Elira.
She walked into the ballroom like she didn't belong—which made her stand out all the more.
Lucien D'Angelo was here tonight too. Kairo had received word hours earlier. The man rarely showed up in public, let alone at events hosted by his enemies. Which meant one thing:
Tonight was not a coincidence.
Kairo descended the stairs slowly, his eyes never leaving Elira. She saw him before he reached her, tension tightening her spine.
He offered his hand. "Dance with me."
She hesitated. "There are hundreds of people here."
"Exactly why I need you close," he said, his voice dipped in honey but laced with steel.
They moved onto the dance floor as the orchestra began a haunting waltz. His hand found the small of her back, the other lifting her palm. As they swayed, the world around them blurred.
"You look..." he searched for the word, "...otherworldly."
"You look dangerous," she replied.
He smirked. "That's because I am."
For a moment, she allowed herself to fall into the rhythm, the music melting her defenses. But she couldn't forget the text messages, the watching eyes, the uncertainty that clung to her like perfume.
"You said you're not behind the threats," she whispered. "Then who is?"
His smile faded. "That's what I'm trying to find out. But Rome has layers, Elira. The deeper you go, the more rot you uncover."
Her eyes locked with his. "And how deep are you?"
He didn't blink. "I live in the depths."
She pulled away just slightly, enough to create space between them. "Then maybe I shouldn't be here."
Before he could respond, a soft voice interrupted.
"Elira."
She turned to find a woman in a red velvet gown, her mask dripping with rubies. It was Celestina Vega—the country's reigning screen goddess and Kairo's very public girlfriend. Or so the world believed.
"Celestina," Elira said with practiced politeness.
"I didn't know Kairo invited you," she said with a smile too sharp to be friendly.
"She's part of my upcoming film. Why wouldn't she be here?" Kairo interjected coolly.
Celestina linked arms with him possessively. "Darling, come meet the investors. They're asking for you."
Kairo's jaw flexed. He glanced at Elira. "Will you be alright?"
She gave a nod she didn't mean. "I'm used to being invisible."
As he left with Celestina, Elira turned toward the balcony to gather herself. The air was cold and perfumed with orange blossoms. Below, the garden was bathed in moonlight, almost too quiet for a party this loud.
She didn't know someone had followed her.
---
Meanwhile…
From a hidden alcove near the garden, Lucien D'Angelo lit a cigar. His eyes tracked Elira's silhouette through the sheer curtains. Behind him stood a young man in a crisp suit.
"She's more important than we thought," Lucien murmured.
"Because of her connection to Moretti?" the man asked.
Lucien shook his head. "Because she doesn't know her own bloodline."
The young man stiffened. "You think she's—?"
Lucien exhaled a slow stream of smoke. "Let's just say... she's a piece of the puzzle Kairo never saw coming."
He crushed the cigar into the stone railing.
"Time to test her loyalty."
---
Back on the balcony…
"Elira."
She jumped at the sudden voice.
It wasn't Kairo.
It wasn't Celestina.
It was a man in a gray mask with green eyes—one she didn't recognize.
"Do I know you?" she asked, her voice guarded.
"Not yet," he said with a smile. "But I know who you are. And I know what you're walking into."
She stepped back. "I'm sorry, this is private—"
"Your father wouldn't want you involved in this world," the man said quietly.
She froze.
"What did you say?"
"I'm just the messenger. But keep your eyes open, Miss Moretti. Not everyone wears a mask to hide."
And just like that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving her breathless and shaken.
Miss Moretti?
What did he mean?
Her father?
But her father had died in a car crash when she was fifteen... hadn't he?
---
The ballroom, though full of music and masquerade, no longer felt like a place of charm to Elira. Her heart pounded in her chest, not from the dance or the glamour, but from the stranger's parting words.
Miss Moretti.
That name should've meant nothing to her.
But deep inside, it cracked something open.
She leaned on the stone railing of the balcony, gripping it as if to keep herself from collapsing. Her breath fogged in the night air. The scent of roses from the garden below was drowned by the storm of confusion in her mind.
Her father was not a Moretti. Her father had been an artist. A painter. A dreamer. At least, that's what she was told.
But then again... how much of her life had been carefully constructed lies?
She needed answers. And she needed them now.
Inside the ballroom, Celestina stood beside Kairo, all charm and sensuality as she smiled at the investors. Her hand was possessively looped around his arm, nails digging just slightly into the expensive fabric of his tuxedo. Kairo answered questions smoothly, but his eyes drifted—again and again—to the balcony where Elira had disappeared.
Celestina noticed.
"She doesn't belong here," she said under her breath.
"She's part of my film," Kairo replied without turning.
"She's a distraction," Celestina said. "And if you keep chasing her, people will start to notice."
Kairo turned to her at last, his expression unreadable behind the black-and-gold mask. "Let them."
Celestina's smile faltered.
"Do you remember why we're together, Celestina?" he asked quietly.
She stared at him. "Of course. We agreed to protect each other's reputations. You get the clean image, I get the press."
"Exactly. But if you keep behaving like a jealous lover, people might start believing you actually care."
Her face stiffened, then she forced a smile and excused herself.
Kairo didn't wait. He walked away from the group and headed to the balcony.
—
Elira didn't notice his presence until he spoke.
"Who was it?"
She spun around, startled. "What?"
"The man who spoke to you out here. I saw him. Who was he?"
"I don't know." Her voice cracked slightly. "But he called me—he said something strange."
Kairo stepped closer. "What did he say?"
"He called me Miss Moretti."
Kairo's brow furrowed. "What?"
"Do you know anything about that? Could it be a joke? A threat? Why would he call me that?"
He looked at her for a long moment, then slowly said, "No. That doesn't make sense. Moretti is my name."
Her eyes locked with his. "Exactly."
He searched her face, then reached into his coat and pulled out a small, silver key. "Come with me."
"Where?"
"Somewhere no one will follow us."
—
They drove through the twisting streets of Rome, the city lights casting shadows across the windows. Elira didn't speak. She just watched Kairo's jaw clench and unclench, the silence between them a mix of dread and urgency.
Eventually, they arrived at a discreet villa outside the city. The gates opened without a word. It was old, beautiful, and clearly private.
He led her into a library lined with leather-bound books and hidden compartments.
"This place," he said, "belonged to my grandfather. He kept secrets here. And I think it's time I share one with you."
He walked to a panel on the wall, pressed a combination of wood in a particular rhythm, and a drawer slid open. From it, he pulled out a file folder and handed it to her.
Elira opened it.
What she saw made her blood run cold.
Photos. Documents. Birth certificates. One, in particular, stood out:
Elira V. Rosetti – Birth Certificate
But the father's name…
Leonardo Moretti
"No..." she whispered. "This… this can't be…"
"It was hidden for a reason," Kairo said. "Your mother left the Moretti name behind when she left the family. She married a man who raised you as his own. But biologically, Leonardo Moretti was your father."
"I don't understand," she said, shaking her head, "Why didn't anyone tell me? Why now?"
"Because your father—Leonardo—was murdered twenty years ago. And someone made sure no one would trace his bloodline again."
"By who?"
Kairo's eyes darkened. "That's what I've been trying to uncover."
She sat down on the antique couch, trembling. "So what does this mean? That I'm… part of your family?"
"No. My father was Leonardo's half-brother. We're not blood-related." He paused. "But it does mean you're a Moretti. Which makes you a target in this world."
Elira stared at the folder in her lap, everything tilting. "So… that's why I was being watched? Threatened? That's why I was cast in your film?"
Kairo didn't flinch. "I didn't know who you were when I chose you. I just knew… I couldn't stop looking at you."
Their eyes met.
The silence between them hummed like a powerline.
"You were never supposed to get dragged into this," he said quietly.
She stood slowly. "But I am. Aren't I?"
"Yes."
She walked toward him, close enough to feel the heat of his breath. "Then stop lying to me."
He blinked. "I haven't lied—"
"You've hidden things. Important things."
He nodded. "You're right. But I'll tell you everything now. No more masks."
She took a step back. "Good. Because I need to know who I'm standing next to."
A long beat.
Then she asked, "Kairo… are you part of the mafia?"
The question hung between them like a sword.
He didn't look away.
"I'm not just part of it," he said finally. "I control it."
Elira's breath caught.
"And you brought me into this world," she whispered.
"I tried to keep you out," he said, voice raw. "But now... you're the storm I never saw coming."
---
End of Chapter 5