Too Late
1043 Words
Serena POV
The storm seemed to grow worse the closer we got to the hospital.
Rain hammered against the SUV windows, turning the city lights into streaks of gold and white. The roads were nearly empty, and the few cars we passed looked like ghosts disappearing into the darkness.
No one spoke.
Damien sat beside me, scrolling through messages on his phone while two SUVs full of armed guards followed behind us. The atmosphere inside the vehicle was tense enough to suffocate.
I should have been thinking about the witness.
Instead, I kept thinking about the letter.
You are not who you think you are.
The words refused to leave my head.
Every time I tried to focus on something else, they returned.
What had my father meant?
Was it some secret about the Rossi family? Something about the mafia business? Or had he been talking about me?
I glanced at Damien.
He was staring out the window now, his expression unreadable.
Part of me wanted to ask him about the letter.
A much larger part remembered my father's warning.
Especially not Damien.
That sentence alone had destroyed any chance of trust between us.
The vehicle finally pulled into the hospital parking lot.
Before the driver had fully stopped, Damien opened the door.
"Stay close."
I rolled my eyes.
"I know how walking works."
One of the guards actually choked back a laugh.
Damien shot him a look that immediately wiped the amusement from his face.
A minute later, we entered the hospital through a private entrance. The building was unusually quiet for a place filled with patients. The only sounds were distant footsteps and the hum of fluorescent lights overhead.
Something felt wrong.
I noticed it the same moment Damien did.
His posture changed instantly.
Every muscle in his body seemed to tighten.
"What is it?" I asked.
Instead of answering, he turned to one of his men.
"How many guards were assigned here?"
"Six."
"Where are they?"
The guard frowned.
Nobody answered.
My stomach dropped.
The silence felt unnatural.
Dangerous.
Then we rounded the corner.
And found the first body.
One of the guards lay sprawled against the wall, blood pooling beneath him.
I froze.
For a split second, my brain refused to process what I was seeing.
The guard's eyes were open.
Lifeless.
A dark bullet wound marked the center of his forehead.
The hallway erupted into motion.
Weapons appeared instantly.
Several men rushed ahead while others surrounded Damien and me.
"Move," Damien ordered.
His voice was cold enough to send a chill down my spine.
We hurried down the corridor.
The deeper we went, the worse it became.
Another body.
Then another.
Three guards.
Four.
Every single one dead.
My pulse pounded painfully in my ears.
Whoever had done this hadn't left witnesses.
They hadn't left mistakes.
They had come to finish a job.
And suddenly, I knew exactly what we were about to find.
"No," I whispered.
Nobody heard me.
Or maybe they did.
Nobody responded.
The hospital room stood at the end of the hallway.
The door was slightly open.
A nurse was crying nearby while two security officers tried to calm her down.
My heart sank.
We were too late.
Damien stepped into the room first.
I followed before anyone could stop me.
The sight inside nearly made me sick.
The witness was dead.
He lay motionless on the hospital bed, a single gunshot wound visible above his left eye.
The killer hadn't rushed.
Hadn't panicked.
One shot.
One kill.
Professional.
Damien stared at the body for several seconds.
His expression never changed.
But something dangerous settled into his eyes.
The room felt colder because of it.
One of the doctors approached nervously.
"We tried to stop him."
"Him?" Damien asked.
The doctor nodded.
"A man wearing a surgical mask."
My pulse quickened.
"You saw him?"
"Only briefly."
The doctor swallowed hard.
"He knew exactly where he was going."
The statement hit me harder than expected.
The killer hadn't searched.
He hadn't hesitated.
He'd known.
Someone had told him exactly where the witness was.
Which meant there was a leak.
Someone inside the Rossi family.
Or someone inside the Moretti family.
The realization made my skin crawl.
The killer wasn't just one step ahead.
He was already inside the game.
Damien seemed to reach the same conclusion.
"Clear the floor," he ordered.
The guards immediately began moving people out.
Within minutes, only Damien, his men, and I remained.
I crossed my arms.
"Now what?"
Damien didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he walked toward the bed.
Something caught his attention.
His eyes narrowed.
Slowly, he reached beneath the witness's hand.
My breath caught.
A folded piece of paper emerged.
The room went silent.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Damien unfolded it.
His expression darkened instantly.
"What is it?" I asked.
No answer.
"Damien."
He finally looked up.
For the first time since I'd met him, he looked genuinely unsettled.
He handed me the paper.
My fingers tightened around it.
There were only four words written across the page.
You're already too late.
A chill ran down my spine.
The message wasn't for the witness.
It wasn't for the guards.
It was for us.
For me.
The realization hit like a punch to the chest.
Someone knew we were coming.
Someone had expected us.
Someone wanted us to know they were always one step ahead.
Suddenly, every shadow in the room felt darker.
Every stranger felt suspicious.
I looked toward Damien.
"What if this isn't about my father?"
His gaze locked onto mine.
"It is."
The certainty in his voice surprised me.
"How can you be sure?"
For several seconds, he remained silent.
Then he said something that made my blood run cold.
"Because I've seen that handwriting before."
The room seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
"What?"
Damien's jaw tightened.
"I saw it three years ago."
My heart began pounding.
"Where?"
His gaze shifted to the note in my hands.
Then back to me.
"On a death threat sent to your father."
The silence that followed felt endless.
Outside, thunder shook the hospital windows.
Inside, every instinct I possessed screamed the same thing.
Whoever murdered my father hadn't just returned.
They had been planning this for years.
- Writer
