Chapter 106: The Devil found me.

I stand frozen, staring at the dead man lying on the floor.

His eyes are still open, wide and unblinking.

As though he cannot quite believe he is dead.

Neither can I.

Blood pools beneath his body, spreading across the polished floor and staining the shoes of the guests who have fled in every direction.

My stomach twists.

I want to look away, but I can’t.

I can’t seem to do anything. The gunshot still rings in my ears, and my body feels disconnected from my mind. I know I should move. I should run, scream, or perhaps throw up on the nearest carpet.

Instead, I stand there like an idiot, staring at a corpse.

"Nerissa."

I don’t respond.

"Nerissa. Look at me."

Two large hands suddenly cup my face.

I flinch but it’s just Lysander.

His thumbs brush my cheeks as he gently but firmly turns my face away from the dead man. His expression is hard, but something flickers in his eyes when he looks at me.

Concern? Fear?

I don’t know.

All I know is that his face is the first thing that makes sense in a room that has descended into complete madness.

"Look at me, little riot."

His voice cuts through the fog in my head.

I blink a few times and suddenly, I can breathe again.

Air rushes into my lungs so quickly that I almost choke on it.

"Lysander..."

"I’m here."

Two words.

That’s all he says.

But for some reason, hearing them makes my knees feel weaker.

I grab his wrists, holding on to him as I look around.

The gala has become a nightmare.

Women are screaming. Men are shouting orders. Security guards are drawing weapons and forcing guests away from the windows. A crystal glass lies shattered near the drinks table, and champagne spills across the floor, mixing with the blood.

Someone is crying, sommeone else is yelling for a doctor.

The beautiful evening I had spent complaining about is gone, replaced by chaos and the unmistakable stench of gunpowder.

Oh, God.

Someone was shot.

The thought hits me, and I look toward the body again.

Lysander immediately shifts, blocking my view of it.

"Don’t look."

I swallow hard.

"Did you..."

I can’t finish the question.

His jaw tightens.

"He’s dead."

I nod, even though I hadn’t meant to ask about the man he killed.

I want to know whether the person behind me is alive. I want to know whether anyone else has been hurt. I want to know why a man I haven’t seen in years just pointed a gun at my face.

Most of all, I want to know how he found me.

But before I can ask anything, Isabella approaches us.

Her gun is drawn, and her eyes are moving constantly, scanning the room for threats. She looks nothing like the playful, carefree girl who was laughing with me barely ten minutes ago.

Her shoulders are squared, her expression focused.

I stare at her.

Well.

I guess Bella isn’t just a pretty princess, seems she can handle herself.

"Lysander," she says sharply. "Security is clearing the hall, but we don’t know if the shooter came alone."

He looks at Isabella.

"Take her. Find somewhere secure and stay there until I come for you. There might be another shooter in the building."

Isabella nods immediately.

Then Lysander turns to me, his hands leave my face, and for a moment, I feel strangely cold without them.

"Go with Bella."

I catch his wrist before he can step away.

"Where are you going?"

"To make sure nobody else is coming for us."

Us.

"Lysander, wait..."

He looks down at my hand gripping his wrist, then his gaze returns to mine.

"Stay with my sister, Nerissa. Don’t leave her side."

His voice leaves no room for argument.

Before I can protest, he gently frees himself from my grip and turns away.

I watch him disappear into the chaos, his men immediately gathering around him.

A part of me wants to run after him. Another part wants to curl into a ball and pretend none of this is happening.

Unfortunately, Isabella takes my hand before I can decide which instinct to follow.

"Come on."

She leads me away from the main hall, moving quickly through a side corridor. Her gun remains in her other hand, and she keeps glancing over her shoulder as we go.

We pass two armed guards and a woman sobbing into her hands. Somewhere nearby, I hear another loud crash.

I nearly jump out of my skin.

Isabella squeezes my hand.

"Keep moving, Rissa."

I obey.

Eventually, she takes me into a smaller room tucked away from the main reception area. It looks like a private sitting room, with a sofa, a small table, and thick curtains covering the windows.

She checks the room before pulling the door shut.

Then she positions herself beside it, listening for a moment. Satisfied that nobody is coming through, she turns toward me.

"Okay. Stay here."

I nod.

The moment she steps closer, my legs finally give up on me. I press my back against the wall and slowly slide down until I’m squatting on the floor, my arms wrapped around my knees.

My dress pools around my feet but I don’t care, I don’t care about the dress, the gala, or the fact that I probably look like a complete mess.

All I can think about is the gun pointed at my face and the his stupid smile.

The Devil says hi.

My stomach twists so violently that I press a hand against it.

No.

No, no, no.

Not him.....Anyone but him.

Isabella crouches in front of me until we’re eye level.

"Hey...hey"

Her voice is softer now.

"Are you okay?"

I blink several times, trying to make my eyes focus on her face.

She looks worried.....Really worried.

I clear my throat, but the first attempt at speaking produces nothing more than a strangled sound.

I swallow and try again.

"Yeah.

My voice comes out weak.

"Yeah, I’m okay. Just a bit traumatized."

Isabella gives me a look.

"A bit?"

I manage a shaky laugh

"Fine. A lot traumatized."

"Yeah, I get it." She exhales, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "I’m sorry about that shit. I’m just glad Lysander killed him before he could do anything to you."

I stare at her. Then I nod slowly.

"Yeah. Yeah, me too."

And I am.

I am grateful Lysander was there. Grateful he reacted quickly enough to stop the man from pulling the trigger on me. Grateful that, for one brief moment, I wasn’t alone.

But none of that changes the truth.

The Devil found me.

After all these years, after everything I did to bury the past and convince myself I could live without looking over my shoulder, he found me.

And he didn’t just send a warning or a message.

He sent someone who walked into a room full of people and put a gun to my face.

Isabella reaches for my hand.

"You’re safe now, Rissa."

I look at her fingers wrapped around mine.

I want to believe her.

God, I want to.

But she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know who that man is to me. She doesn’t know what he took from me, what he made me endure, or how many nights I’ve spent wishing I could erase every memory of him.

She doesn’t know that the worst thing about tonight isn’t the gun, the blood, or the dead man lying on the floor.

It’s the fact that the man I feared most in this world knows where to find me again.

I lower my head, fighting the tremor in my hands.

I’m not safe, I’m not safe at all.

Because the Devil has found me.

And this time, I don’t know if there’s anywhere left to run.

Lysander’s POV

This shit is fucked up.

We are still gathering the last of the guests and making sure everyone understands that whatever they witnessed tonight stays within these walls. My men are handling the situation discreetly, but I don’t trust anyone enough to assume they’ll keep their mouths shut.

The woman who was shot has been taken to the hospital. The last report I received says she’s stable.

Thank God for that.

But I couldn’t give a damn about the gala, the guests, or the blood staining the floor.

Someone tried to shoot my wife.

My freaking wife!.

I’ve sent Mother home with additional security in case the shooter wasn’t working alone. Isabella is staying with Nerissa until I know the building is secure.

Right now, I’m standing with Jeremiah and Councilman Accardo, the father of the man whose cock I cut off.

What a fucking evening.

We’ve searched the entire area, checked the exits, and questioned everyone who might have seen something suspicious.

Nothing.

No accomplices, no useful leads. Nothing that tells me how the bastard got inside.

I rake a hand through my hair.

Fuck. I shouldn’t have killed him.

We could have taken him alive and questioned him.

But the moment I saw that gun pointed at Nerissa, all I wanted was to watch the bastard die.

And now, I have no answers.