Chapter 2
853 Words
Unknown Time – Unknown Location
The sound of dripping water echoed in the darkness.
A slow, steady rhythm. Cold. Hollow. Menacing.
Somewhere underground, beneath layers of concrete and secrets, a single bulb flickered above a steel table. And on that table, a photograph sat under a blood-smeared thumb.
A little girl. Teddy bear in hand. Eyes too haunted for her age.
"She’s gone," the voice rasped.
A low chuckle answered from the shadows.
"No," came a colder voice. One that didn’t waver. "She was moved. And whoever has her… will bleed for interfering."
The photo was lifted, torn and burned at the edges.
"You know what happens if she speaks."
The light went out.
---
Dante's Pov
Present Day, Rome
I don’t fear death.
I fear failure.
There’s a difference. Death comes for all of us—quietly, eventually. Failure? That’s personal. That’s legacy. That’s blood staining your hands you can’t wash off.
I stood at the edge of my private balcony, the city spread beneath me like prey. Rome was a paradox—holy and wicked, beautiful and brutal. A thousand gods in the sky, and not one of them answered when I buried my men.
The girl had vanished.
Correction: she had been found.
By a nurse. A civilian. A liability.
Elena Carter. Age twenty-four. Lives alone. Quiet. Orphaned. Clean record. I read the summary in seconds, but the photograph slowed me. Big eyes. Dark hair. Kind face.
She looked... normal.
Normal was dangerous.
I turned as Luca entered the room. “Report,” I said without looking up.
“She’s still at the hospital,” he answered, stepping carefully around my silence. “Hasn’t left the girl’s side. Won’t let anyone near her. Pediatric staff says the girl spoke—but only to her.”
That made me pause.
“What did she say?”
Luca hesitated.
I faced him. Slowly. “Out with it.”
“She said… Don’t let him find me.”
My jaw locked.
“She meant you?” he asked, not quite hiding the edge of surprise.
“Not me,” I said quietly. “The man who wants what I’m protecting.”
Luca fell silent. He knew better than to pry. I didn’t give out truths freely, especially not about the girl.
She wasn’t mine—not biologically. But I had taken her from the hands of men who turned children into weapons. I had sworn to keep her hidden, safe. Forgotten. Until it was time.
Clearly… someone remembered.
I moved to the bar, pouring a glass of bourbon. I didn’t drink often, but today the burn reminded me I was still here. Still in control. Barely.
“She can’t stay in the open,” I muttered. “Not now. Not with whoever’s watching.”
“And the nurse?”
Elena Carter. I pictured her again. Soft-spoken. Likely too empathetic for her own good. But strong enough to keep a traumatized child calm. That meant something.
“We monitor her,” I said. “Track her. Protect her if needed. But if she runs—”
“You want her silenced?”
“No.” My voice was steel. “I want her protected. Until I say otherwise.”
Luca’s brow lifted. “You think she could be useful?”
“I think,” I said, downing the bourbon, “she’s already involved whether she wants to be or not.”
---
Later That Night
I drove myself to the edge of Trastevere, keeping the black car parked two blocks from the hospital’s staff entrance. From here, I could see the nurses rotating shifts. Watch the windows light up and dim. I didn’t need a sniper or surveillance drones tonight. I needed to see her with my own eyes.
Elena Carter exited the ER around 10:46 p.m.
Hair pulled back. Bag slung over one shoulder. Her steps were slow. Careful. Her face… tired. Guarded. But beneath the exhaustion, I saw it again: something stubborn. Unwilling to be broken.
She passed a homeless man on the corner and gave him her sandwich.
Compassion. Risky.
She didn’t notice me watching. That was good. For now.
I followed on foot. Quietly. Letting her stay one turn ahead.
She took the long route home. Smart girl. Instincts of someone who knew when they were being watched. She paused at a few intersections, eyes flicking toward shadows. She didn’t call anyone. Didn’t run. Just… moved.
At her apartment, she double-locked the door behind her. Lights on. Curtains drawn. Still no phone calls.
Then she did something unexpected.
She sat by the window and opened a small journal. I saw her hand move. Writing. Recording. Processing.
I moved back into the dark, out of sight.
She was smart. Resourceful. Dangerous, in her own way.
And she had no idea the kind of world she’d just stepped into.
---
Elsewhere — Unknown Caller
A secure
phone rang once. Twice.
“He’s seen her,” the voice whispered into the receiver.
A pause.
“And the girl?”
“Still with the nurse.”
Another silence.
Then: “Good. Let them bond
- Writer
