I flinched at the name. It had been so long since I heard it that it almost sounded foreign. But I steeled myself, meeting his gaze.
“I won’t fail. And, please, practice calling me Frankie or Cheska now.”
Satisfied, he extended his arm. “Alright, I will. Let’s go.”
Tonight’s exhibit had a masquerade theme. It was the perfect way to shield my identity for just a little longer. My face was hidden beneath a delicate mask, my gown flowing elegantly as we arrived at the venue. The gallery was filled with the city’s elite, including the very people who had stolen everything from me.
The Russos. The De Santis.
Hector and I walked through the crowd, his presence exuding quiet dominance. He held my hand lightly, an act of possession and protection all at once. I felt the weight of their stares, whispers echoing around us as speculation grew.
Hera appeared at my side, her mask concealing her expression, but her eyes met mine with reassurance. “It’s almost time,” she murmured.
I exhaled slowly. This was it.
The host of the event stepped forward, microphone in hand. The gallery fell silent.
“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we are honored to introduce you to the genius behind these breathtaking works of art. The woman behind the name Vidora Ashe… Francheska Falcon!”
Hector’s hand tightened around mine as we stepped forward. My heart pounded violently in my chest, but I kept my expression calm.
As I stepped onto the stage, my eyes scanned the crowd.
And then—I saw them.
Antonio. Serena. Sergio.
The very people who had destroyed Alicia Costa. The ones who had killed her without ever spilling a drop of her blood.
Serena’s eyes widened, her lips parting slightly in surprise, as if trying to place a familiar presence in an unfamiliar setting. Antonio, stiff and unreadable, gripped his wine glass tighter. And Sergio De Santis… his expression remained composed, but I saw it—the slight twitch of his jaw, the narrowing of his gaze.
Recognition. Unease.
A slow, calculated smile curled my lips.
Let the game begin.
