Chapter 6: The Gala Gambit
Lila Voss stood in Damon Creed's penthouse, city skyline of neon reflected through floor-to-ceiling glass. Jazz thrummed from a thin speaker, its sensual rhythms conflicting with her racing heartbeat. Tomorrow, the gala—a mafia summit at which she would expose Marco's smuggling empire—was tomorrow, and Damon was molding her into an instrument. His tailored suit hugged his physique as he paced her, green eyes transfixing. "Charm the bosses, parry their questions, and never show fear," he taught, voice smooth but commanding. "Crestfall's best feed weakness for breakfast."
Lila nodded, rustling her black dress as she stood, trying to hide the tremble in her hands. The penthouse smelled of whiskey and his overwhelming cologne, a heady mixture that turned her head. Damon stepped nearer, offering his hand. "Dance with me.". You’ll need to blend in.” She hesitated, then took it, his grip firm, pulling her into a slow waltz. Their chemistry crackled, his breath warm against her ear as he murmured, “Smile, Voss. Make them want you.” Her heart raced, but his hand tightened on her waist, a warning. “Don’t cross me tomorrow. You’re mine.”
Her defiance flared. “I’m nobody’s,” she snapped, stepping back. Damon’s smirk was all danger, but his eyes lingered, possessive and hungry. Across the room, Evan Holt watched, his broad frame tense in a black shirt, brown eyes dark with something unspoken. Lila’s stomach flipped. Evan’s quiet strength tugged at her heart, a contrast to Damon’s fire, and she hated how both men unraveled her.
Damon waved her off, reaching for his phone, but Evan cornered her in the hallway, talking in a low voice. "You're not a mafia princess yet," he said, teasing and worried both. "I'll show you how to fight." They went to a bare gym in the basement, the air thick with sweat and leather. Evan guided her through fighting moves, his hands gentle as he corrected her stance. “Keep your guard up,” he said, his touch lingering on her arm. His warmth steadied her, and when their eyes met, her breath hitched. “You don’t have to be what he wants,” he added, softer. Lila wanted to lean into him, but Damon’s deal—and her revenge—held her back.
Back at her apartment, Lila’s phone buzzed. Sofia Creed, Damon’s tech-whiz sister, had sent a file: Found this on Rossi’s servers. See it by herself. Lila's fingers shook as she opened the video. Tessa's face filled the screen, her voice cold and detached: "Lila knows too much. Push her off the cliff. Make it look like an accident." Tessa's smile was recorded by the camera, her red lipstick bright against her white skin. Lila's chest tightened, tears burning. Her best friend had ordered her murder, not only taken Marco. The betrayal was closer to home than the fall.
Sofia called, her tone soft but firm. "I know what it's like—family screwing you over," she said, referencing her own pain with Damon's world. "You're not alone, Lila." Her compassion wrapped around Lila, a sisterhood forming. But Sofia's next words sent a shiver down her spine: "Nico's been emailing Rossi. He's cooking up something big, and your name's in it." Lila's mind ran wild. Nico, the suave go-between who'd saved her from the cliff, was a loose cannon, and his taunts regarding her past gnawed at her.
That evening, Tessa sashayed into Damon's penthouse, her scarlet dress screaming confidence. Lila, there to confer on gala matters, froze as Tessa put a proposition to Damon to form an alliance against Marco. "We could co-own Crestfall," Tessa whispered, her hand caressing Damon's arm. Jealousy stabbed Lila, bitter and irrational, but she hid it, drawing closer to eavesdrop. Tessa's voice dropped: "The Voss girl's background could… be helpful." Lila's blood ran like ice. Her childhood secret—fuzzy recollection of bullets and a killing—was a weapon Tessa knew.
Lila couldn't help herself. She stepped out, confronting Tessa alone in the penthouse's chic kitchen. "You tried to kill me," she snarled, her voice trembling with rage. Tessa's sneer was venomous. "You were always so perfect, Lila. I should have had Marco, not you." The ruins of their friendship were laid bare, each sentence a blade. Tessa slapped Lila, the hurt stinging, and spat, "I'll kill you at the gala." Lila's cheek burned, but she looked Tessa in the eye, unwavering. "Try it," she whispered, voice icy. Tessa stormed away, leaving Lila shaking.
Evan had seen her by the penthouse hallway, cheek flushed, one tear on her face. He clenched his jaw and inched forward, wiping away the tear with his thumb. "She's not worth this," he whispered roughly, his warm voice barely above a whisper. Their lips nearly touched, and his breath and hers mixed together, making Lila's heart pound. She longed to kiss him, to be immersed in his sturdy solidity, but Damon's invitation—and the gamble of the ball—flashed into her mind. She retreated, taking soft breaths, "I can't. Not now." Evan's eyes flared with hurt, but he nodded, retreating.
Damon appeared, his eyes cold, catching the moment. “Trouble in paradise?” he drawled, but his tone was sharp. He assigned Evan a risky scouting mission at Rossi’s warehouse, effective immediately, his gaze daring Lila to object. “Keep him busy,” Damon said, smirking, but the order felt like a wedge, separating her from Evan before the gala. Evan left without a word, his broad back disappearing into the night, and Lila’s chest ached.
Later that evening, at the safehouse, Lila pored over the gala itinerary with Damon's crew, her mind jagged between Tessa's threat and Evan's disappearance. A note under her door, ink sharp: Meet me prior to the gala, or your history becomes public. —Nico. Her breath caught. A memory clarified—teenaged Lila, huddled in a smoke-filled alley, gunfire ringing, the face of a man looming over her. Nico's? Her fingers shook as she burned the note, flames licking her fingers. The gala was her chance to destroy Marco, but Tessa's cruelty, Nico's machinations, and her own conflicting heart were closing in on her.
Crestfall's lights glinted in the distance, hiding its blades. Lila wasn't the girl who'd jumped off that cliff. She was a storm now, ready to walk among the gala crowd, to unmask Marco, and to survive Tessa's anger. But Nico's letter stuck to her, an omen that promised devastation, and her history was a ghost that she couldn't shake.