Chapter Two
1277 Words
The morning after the explosion, the French Riviera glittered like nothing had burned.
Yachts floated lazily on the turquoise water, tourists filled the cafés, and the tabloids whispered about “the heiress who vanished in fire and smoke.” Her photo — elegant, tragic — appeared on every news screen. Missing, presumed dead.
But Isabella Marcelli wasn’t dead. She was hiding.
She crouched inside a forgotten fisherman’s boathouse on the far edge of Port Hercule, wrapped in an old coat that smelled of salt and oil. Her phone was gone, her dress was torn, and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Every sound outside made her flinch. Every flash of light became gunfire in her mind.
Her father had built an empire from steel and silence. She’d grown up in glass towers and marble halls — but never like that. Never hunted.
She reached into her pocket, pulling out the only clue she had: the cufflink. M. Angelus.
Whoever that was, he knew why her father was killed.
And why would someone want her next?
She stared at the name, whispering, “Who are you?”
Behind her, a voice answered, “A man who’s very bad at staying dead.”
She spun around, heart hammering. Luca stood in the doorway, soot-streaked, blood dried on his sleeve, but unmistakably alive.
“You—” she gasped. “I thought—”
“You weren’t supposed to think anything,” he said, stepping inside. “You were supposed to be halfway to Italy by now.”
Her fear broke into anger. “You left me! You let me think you died!”
“Better that than you following me,” he said evenly. “You’re safer believing I’m gone.”
“Safe?” She laughed — brittle, disbelieving. “Look around you. Do I look safe?”
He met her eyes then — dark, steady, haunted. “No. You look like someone who still doesn’t understand why she’s being hunted.”
She froze. “You said they were after me. Why?”
He hesitated. The pause was heavy enough to cut. “Because you’re your father’s daughter. And because your father wasn’t who you thought he was.”
The words hit her harder than the explosion.
“What are you talking about?” she demanded.
Luca stepped closer. “Your father wasn’t just a shipping magnate. He was laundering money for the syndicate that raised me. He made promises to people you don’t cross — and when he tried to walk away, they made an example of him.”
Her knees nearly buckled. “No. He—he couldn’t—”
“I saw the evidence,” Luca said quietly. “Your family’s ships were moving more than cargo. Arms, cash, people. Your father tried to buy his way out. Someone killed him to send a message.”
“And me?” she whispered. “What message am I?”
“The final payment,” he said. “They were cleaning up his legacy.”
For a moment, the only sound was the sea — gentle, indifferent.
Then she said, “You were one of them.”
“I was,” he admitted. “Until they sent me to kill you.”
She stared at him, the realization cutting through the haze of grief and fear. “You’re the hitman.”
He didn’t flinch. “I was the hitman. Until someone paid me not to pull the trigger.”
Her voice shook. “Who?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” he said. “Who would spend a fortune to save you?”
Her mind reeled. “Someone from my father’s old circle? A rival? A friend?”
“Or someone who wants something from you,” Luca said. “Your father’s files, maybe. His offshore accounts. Whatever secrets he died protecting.”
She turned away, gripping the railing of the boathouse. The sea glittered mockingly under the morning sun.
“If what you’re saying is true,” she murmured, “then everyone I’ve ever known has been lying to me.”
Luca’s gaze softened, just slightly. “Welcome to my world.”
Silence fell between them — heavy, almost fragile.
Then Isabella took a breath and said, “If you’re really trying to protect me, you’ll take me to the person who paid you.”
Luca shook his head. “That’s suicide.”
“I don’t care,” she said, turning to face him. “If I’m going to die, I want to know why.”
For the first time, he smiled — faint, grim, almost admiring. “You’ve got more steel in you than he did.”
He moved toward the door. “There’s a contact I can reach in Nice. But once we leave this dock, we don’t stop. Understand?”
She nodded. “Then let’s go.”
---
They left at dusk, under a sky streaked with amber and roses. Luca’s motorcycle was sleek and black, the kind of machine that purred like a predator. He handed her a helmet without a word.
She slid it on, heart pounding. When he revved the engine, the vibration ran through her like adrenaline. The city fell away behind them — lights fading into night, sea wind in her hair, a freedom she hadn’t felt since childhood.
They rode along the coast until the highway curved inland toward the mountains. The air turned cold, pine-scented.
Finally, Luca pulled off into a narrow side road that led to an abandoned villa overlooking the sea. “We’ll stop here,” he said. “Just for an hour.”
Inside, dust floated through shafts of moonlight. The place smelled of old perfume and salt. Isabella wrapped her arms around herself, watching him check his gun with mechanical precision.
“Do you ever sleep?” she asked softly.
He didn’t look up. “Only when I forget who I am.”
She hesitated. “And who are you now?”
He paused, then met her gaze. “The man keeping you alive.”
Something in his tone — low, quiet, almost human — made her chest tighten.
For the first time, she didn’t see the killer. She saw the man behind the weapon.
“I don’t know if I can trust you,” she whispered.
“You shouldn’t,” he said. “But you will.”
A storm brewed on the horizon, lightning flashing over the sea. The electricity in the air mirrored the pull between them — magnetic, dangerous, inevitable.
And then — the sound of engines outside.
Luca’s hand went instantly to his gun. “They found us,” he hissed.
“Who?”
“Not the syndicate. Worse.”
The front door exploded inward before he could answer. Men in tactical black flooded the villa, shouting in Italian. Isabella ducked behind the staircase as bullets ripped through the air. Luca returned fire, but they were outnumbered — five, maybe six men.
He pulled her toward the back exit, firing one last shot. They burst into the night rain, sprinting toward the cliffs.
“Jump!” he shouted.
“What?!”
“Do it!”
She hesitated only a second — then jumped, the sea swallowing her scream.
When she surfaced, coughing, Luca was beside her, dragging her toward a hidden cove where a small speedboat waited.
“Who were they?” she gasped, shivering.
He started the engine. “Private security. The Marcelli security division.”
She blinked at him in sho
ck. “My family’s company? Why would they—”
Luca’s expression darkened. “Because whoever’s running your father’s empire now wants you dead too.”
- Writer
