Chapter Nine – Blood on the Marble
553 Words
The silence before the storm came wrapped in velvet. Alessia stood in the hallway, breath held hostage by the sound of voices leaking beneath Lorenzo’s office door. She shouldn’t be here. Not now. Not with the air thick with the scent of gunpowder and tension.
But she stepped closer anyway.
Her bare feet brushed the cold marble as if it could read her pulse. The floor, gleaming like a blade, carried the weight of a hundred secrets—too polished, too clean for a house built on blood.
A sudden crash from inside the room made her flinch.
“You gave the order without my word?” Lorenzo's voice—razor-sharp and deadly calm—pierced the silence. “You had one job, Nicolai.”
Alessia’s breath hitched. She didn’t know who Nicolai was. But from the way Lorenzo said his name, she was sure Nicolai wished he didn’t exist.
“I thought—”
“No,” Lorenzo said. “That’s your problem. You thought.”
A gun c****d.
Alessia’s knees buckled, and she pressed her back against the wall, heart thudding like a war drum. Was he really about to—
“Please—” the voice pleaded.
Bang.
The sound split the air. A body hit the floor with a sickening thud.
Alessia covered her mouth, bile rising in her throat.
Moments later, the door creaked open.
She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. But he knew. She could feel it in her bones—his presence, his awareness of her fear.
“Come out,” Lorenzo said coldly, eyes already locked on the exact spot where she hid.
She stepped out slowly, trembling.
His shirt was splattered—red blooming like a twisted rose across white linen.
Her eyes widened. “You—he’s dead.”
Lorenzo didn’t blink. “He made a mistake. Mistakes in my world come with a price.”
Alessia stared at him, her voice shaking. “You didn’t even flinch.”
“That’s because I’ve seen worse,” he replied. “And so will you—if you keep opening doors meant to stay shut.”
She backed away, but his next words pinned her in place.
“You’re not a guest here, Alessia. You’re a debt being collected.”
“I’m not your prisoner,” she snapped.
“No?” He stepped closer, slow and dangerous. “Then why do you sleep in my house? Eat at my table? Why haven’t you tried to leave?”
She glared at him. “Because the last girl who did ended up in a cage.”
His lips twitched—not a smile, something darker. “You’ve been snooping.”
“You left the door unlocked.”
“That door was a test.”
She froze.
“I wanted to see what you’d do when faced with my truth. You passed.”
“I don’t feel like I passed.”
“That’s because you haven’t realized what the prize is yet.”
Her breath caught in her throat as he brushed past her. Cold. Merciless.
But she noticed the tremor in his hand as he wiped the blood off his knuckles.
Lorenzo De Luca wasn’t just a monster. He was a monster with ghosts.
And now, one of them had bled out on the marble between them.
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- Writer
