Chapter 2
1136 Words
Summer’s POV
“My name is Luca Deluca. But just call me Luca.”
He sounded calm. Too calm.
I just nodded and stepped back a little.
“I’m here to give you a job offer,” he said.
I blinked. “A what?”
He looked around my room like it belonged to him. That annoyed me instantly.
“So you just walk into a random girl’s room, someone you don’t even know… and offer her a
job?” I snapped.
My chest felt hot. I was done being polite.
“Is that how you people do things here in Sicily? Did I tell you I was looking for a job?”
He didn’t argue. He just watched me like I was being dramatic.
“Please get out,” I said, trying to breathe slower. “I just got here. I’m not looking for work.”
“When you realize,” he said quietly, “you’ll find me.”He dropped a small card on my table, gently moved past me, and left like nothing strange just
happened.
I locked the door fast.
“What is wrong with this guy?” I muttered.
I picked up the card.
Business card. Plain. Nothing special.
I rolled my eyes and tossed it into the trash.
I had bigger problems.
I opened my bag to get the paper, the one with Sicily and my father’s name.
It wasn’t there.
My heart skipped.
I checked again. Then again. Emptied everything onto the bed.
“No. No. No. Don’t do this to me.”
I grabbed my phone. At least I had the picture I took.
Gallery. Scroll. Scroll.
Gone.
Not deleted. Not hidden.
Just… gone.
My stomach twisted.
“That’s impossible,” I whispered.
I sat down at the desk, opened my laptop, and started digging.
Old emails. Deleted files. Cloud backups.
Nothing.
“Okay. Fine. We do this the hard way.”
I opened some sites, tools, databases and other stuff normal people don’t touch.I typed fast. My fingers flew like they had a mind of their own.
Blocked.
Another route.
Firewall.
Retry.
Blocked again.
A red warning flashed.
I leaned closer. “Who even puts security like this on random records?”
I tried one more trick. Then another.
Everything slammed shut in my face.
Access denied.
Access denied.
Access denied.
My jaw tightened.
“Let me in!” I whispered like the computer could hear me.
I searched my dad’s name.
Blank.
Sicily.
Too many results. None of them are useful.
My eyes burned. My brain felt like it was pushing against a wall that wouldn’t move.
I tried again anyway.
The screen froze for a second then booted me out completely.
Thrown to the login page like I was nobody.
I hit the desk with my fist.
“Why is everything fighting me?” I said, my voice shaking. “Why hide him this badly?”Silence.
Just me. The glow of the laptop. The sound of my own breathing getting faster.
It felt like the whole world was saying:
Stop digging.
But something inside me said the opposite.
No.
Keep going.
Even if it hurts.
Even if someone out there clearly doesn’t want me to know the truth.
I laid on my bed and stared at the ceiling.
Paris was still waiting. My life was supposed to be there.
Two weeks in Sicily that was the plan.
But I had enough money for a month… just in case.
I hated that “just in case” already felt real.
I must have dozed off, because when I woke up, sunlight was sliding across the room.
The next morning felt normal. Kind of.
I ordered room service, then went into the bathroom to shower. The water was hot enough to
calm my raging nerves.
When I stepped out and walked back to the bed…
My heart stopped.
The tray was gone, plates cleared and the room was neat. But something new was sitting on
my pillow.
A folded note.
Someone had been in my room and it wasn’t just housekeeping.
My fingers shook as I opened it, I tried stabling them.
A cafe address.In neat writing.
Caffè del Teatro, Palermo.
And under it, one name:
Marco.
No explanation. No “please come.” No time.
Just that.
I stared at it for a long second. My brain screamed DON’T GO. My curiosity said GO
FASTER.
So I went.
The cafe looked old and pretty, the kind of place where I’d love to sit and read a book when
I’m not near mad. Bells on the door jingled as I entered.
I scanned the room. Couples. Old men. Tourists.
Then I saw him.
A boy around my age. Thin. Shirt wrinkled. Sneakers beat up. He looked like life had been
kicking him for fun.
He stood when I walked closer.
“You’re Summer?” he asked softly.
“Yeah.”
He swallowed. “I’m Marco.”
We sat.
He didn’t waste time.
“You’re looking for someone,” he said quietly. “A man. And people are watching you.”
My chest tightened. “Who told you that?”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is this…”
He slid a tiny folded paper across the table.
I opened it.A hospital name.
And a date from years ago.
The same day my mother once said I was “very sick as a baby.”
My fingers went cold.
“That’s where to start,” Marco whispered. “Everything begins there.”
“Why are you helping me?” I asked.
He gave a small, sad smile. “Because someone helped me once. And I didn’t listen.”
That scared me more than anything he’d said.
I thanked him. Wrote my number on a napkin. Handed it over.
He nodded, shoved it in his pocket, and left like he couldn’t stay another second.
Outside, walking back, I wanted to scream.
“What are you doing?” I muttered to myself. “Giving strangers your number? Running
around Sicily like some detective? You’re not special. Go home.”
I got back to the hotel and grabbed my laptop.
Paris. Book flight. Leave. End of story.
I clicked the dates.
Seats available.
Perfect.
I clicked, book.
The screen loaded and loaded. And…
Error. Try again.
I frowned. I tried again.
Payment failed.
I checked my card. Fine. Money there. Nothing wrong.
I tried a different airline.Booking unavailable.
Another site.
Something went wrong.
It felt personal now.
“It’s not that deep,” I whispered. “I just want to leave.”
I refreshed the site.
Same thing.
Every airline to Paris: blocked.
I leaned back, staring at the screen.
It felt like the city was saying:
You’re not done here.
And suddenly, the room felt suffocating.
- Writer
