The fire crews had finally contained the blaze, but the ballroom and adjacent wings were a smoldering ruin. Smoke still curled into the night sky, carrying the acrid scent of burnt wood and fabric. Guests huddled on the lawns, coughing, shaken, and tear-streaked. The glittering Masquerade had been replaced by chaos and ruin.

Christiano Barasi stood among the crowd, rain dripping down his forehead, soaked from the storm that had followed the fire. His hands trembled slightly as he watched the ...