35. Daniela

As I look around the tent, I have a small panic attack. Tonight, we’re hosting seven hundred and sixty people for dinner and dancing, and the tent is still in complete disarray. Although there are dozens of people scurrying about.

This is, by far, the largest event of the week, with the most dignitaries in attendance. High maintenance hell. After tonight, it’s all downhill from here.

“Look at you!” Victor cries. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you.” I smile at the man who has been my biggest source of support since the moment I arrived—seven months ago. It’s hard to believe it’s been that long. “Is the china here yet? I’d love to see how it looks with the linens and flowers.”

“Everything’s here. The caterer will have a fit,” he whispers. “She gave specific instructions that no one is to go into the staging tent until she arrives at noon, but by then you’ll be at your luncheon. Let me see if I can sneak into the tent and grab a few things so we can set a table.”

The very last thing I need is for the caterer to be in a snit. “Maybe we shouldn’t rock the boat. She’s so persnickety.”

“I’m just going to look. If I come across the dinnerware, without disrupting her setup, she’ll never be the wiser. That way you’ll know that everything’s perfect before you leave. It’ll be one less thing for you to worry about.”

I don’t normally ask a lot of him, but Victor believes that one of his missions in life is to make me happy. I do love that about him. “Only if you can do it easily. Don’t get into trouble because of me.”

He winks. “I don’t get into nearly enough trouble for a man of my age. I’ll be right back.”

Victor must be in his mid-fifties, maybe a bit older, but he moves with the ease of a much younger man.

After he disappears, I wander around, looking for something to do. The dance floor is being assembled at one end of the enormous tent, gold ballroom chairs with thick cushions are being placed around the tables, and young women are decorating the posts with small twinkling lights. At this point, there really is nothing for me to do but get out of the way. It’s an odd feeling after being so involved for weeks.

When Antonio enters from the back of the tent, my heart stops. He’s wearing a deep-navy suit, tailored to within an inch. It’s a modern cut, with classic details. The inky fabric is rich and luxurious. The man looks good enough to eat, and tonight, after everyone has gone home, I’m going to do just that.

“I see you changed.”

“Don’t want to be upstaged by my date.” His gaze rakes over me, top to bottom. “But there’s no way around that.”

As he admires me lewdly, I feel myself blushing, like a teenager, and divert his attention to the tent. “What do you think?”

“It’s chaos,” he says, shaking his head as he looks around.

“Controlled chaos. I’m glad you saw it now. Wait until you see how it looks tonight.”

“I have no doubt it’ll be perfect. My beautiful, talented wife was heavily involved in the planning.” His brow furrows as he regards me. “You okay, Princesa? You seem restless.”

“I’m a little nervous,” I confess. “I wasn’t until I came out here and realized, it’s happening. We’re having an intimate dinner party for hundreds of our friends this evening. I’ve never done anything like this before. I guess it’s a little late to mention that,” I say sheepishly, even though he’s fully aware.

Antonio takes hold of my chin and tips it up until I’m staring into those sultry dark eyes. “Don’t spend a second worrying about tonight. Many of our friends are insufferable bastards, like me,” he quips. “If a waiter drops a tray of drinks on someone, or if the caterer forgets forks and we need to eat with our fingers, it’ll serve them right.”

Antonio squeezes my hand, and my anxiety lessens, some.

“We need to go in about ten minutes,” he says, reaching for his phone. “I need to take one more call before we board the helicopter.”

I’m excited about the luncheon. I want to watch Antonio’s face as his young wine walks away with everything. It will be a financial boon, but he doesn’t need the money. He does need more things that make him smile, though.

“I need to find Victor. He has something to show me, and then I’m ready.”

“Ten minutes, Daniela. Ready or not.”

Don’t get yourpanties in a twist. Although, if Victor is right, I need to be more concerned with pissing off the caterer than Antonio.

“I’m just going to the staging tent, a few yards from here.”

“Huntsman,” he says into the phone, walking away.

I’m not even sure he heard me.

I hike my purse onto my shoulder and go in search of Victor. There won’t be time to see a fully set table, but I’ll have a good idea of how it’s going to look once I see a dinner plate near the cloths.

I approach the staging tent gingerly, holding my breath, hoping that no one from the catering staff sees me skulking around were I don’t belong, and rats me out to their boss.

As soon as I step into the canopy, I hear a woman crying. I take a hesitant step closer.

“Please don’t hurt us,” she sobs.

Victor’s kneeling beside a young woman who was setting up fairy lights. Their hands are behind their heads. A man, with his back toward me, appears to be holding them at gunpoint.

Oh my God. My heart pounds in my ears. But he hasn’t spotted me, yet.

Shaking, I crouch behind the stacked crates of bar glasses near the entrance. I’m not sure if I can get out without him seeing me.

“I told you to shut the fuck up,” he hisses.

The crying stops abruptly.

“What have you done?” Victor barks.

I find a narrow opening between the crates. When my eyes adjust, I see the woman lying on the ground.

The gunman scans the area around him, before going over to her.

Do I scream? No. ButI’m not sure I can go for help without him noticing me leave. What if he sees me and kills Victor?

I feel my purse at my hip.

I have a phone. And a pistol. “Go nowhere without it,” Antonio warned me, just a few days ago. And I haven’t.

The man drags the lifeless woman behind some boxes at the edge of the tent and throws a tablecloth over her. He keeps his gun on Victor the whole time.

I reach into my purse for my phone. The mints I tucked in earlier rustle, and I freeze. The gunman is striding toward Victor, and he doesn’t flinch at the sound.

I shudder when my fingers graze the gun barrel as I pull out the phone.

Without wasting another second, I send Antonio, Duarte, Cristiano, and Lucas the same text: Gunman has Victor. Staging tent.

“You’re next,” he snarls, grabbing Victor by the neck. He lets out a muffled cry.

“Please don’t kill me,” Victor pleads, in a voice I barely recognize.

If I wait for someone to save us, Victor’s not going to make it. You have to do something!

I place my phone on the ground and pull out the small pistol with trembling fingers. Quiet. Quiet.Don’t spook him,I admonish myself,all the while, praying for help to arrive before I have to use the gun.

What if I miss?

I hear Santi’s reassuring voice in my head: You won’t, senhora.

As soon as the gunman turns his back, I stand, cock the pistol, and aim.

POP! POP! POP!