A LOVE WRITTEN IN BLOOD

The rain had been falling for three hours when Joan Bellini realized she was being followed. She noticed it while walking home from Saint Aurelia Clinic. At first, she blamed the feeling on exhaustion. Ravenhurst was usually loud at night, filled with taxis, students, shopkeepers closing their doors, and people hurrying beneath umbrellas. Tonight, however, the streets felt strangely empty. Joan tightened her grip around her bag and kept walking. A black sedan turned the corner behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. The car slowed. Her heartbeat jumped. She crossed the street. The car crossed too. She stopped beneath a bookstore awning and pretended to check her phone. The sedan rolled past. Joan exhaled. Maybe she had imagined it. Then the rear window lowered. A man's face appeared. Joan's stomach dropped, and she ran. Her shoes slapped against wet pavement as she sprinted toward the clinic, but the sedan followed. She reached for her phone and called her older brother, Marco. No answer. She called again. Nothing. “Come on, Marco.” A horn sounded behind her. She looked back and saw the car approaching faster. A narrow alley appeared between two buildings. She knew it was a shortcut to the main road, so she turned into it without thinking. The alley was darker than expected. Footsteps echoed ahead. Joan stopped. She slowly backed away, but another set of footsteps sounded behind her. She was trapped. A figure stepped from the shadows. He wore a black coat, and rainwater dripped from his dark hair. His expression was calm, almost unnervingly calm. Joan froze. “Please. I don't want any trouble.” The man looked past her. “You're already in trouble.” The sedan stopped at the mouth of the alley. Three men stepped out. The stranger removed his coat and placed it over Joan's shoulders. “Stay behind me.” “Who are you?” He didn't answer. One of the men stared at him. “Victor.” Joan's eyes widened. Victor Valenti. She had heard that name before. Everyone in Ravenhurst had. The Valenti family controlled businesses across the city, but rumors claimed those businesses were only the surface of something much darker. Victor stepped forward. “You followed the wrong woman.” One man raised a weapon. Victor moved before Joan could react. The struggle was quick. Joan stumbled backward and covered her ears at the sound of a gunshot. When she looked again, the men were fleeing. Victor stood motionless. He turned toward her. “Are you hurt?” Joan shook her head. “Who were they?” “People you don't want to know.” “That's not an answer.” “It's the only one you're getting.” Joan stared at him. Even in the dim alley, she could see the coldness in his eyes. She pulled his coat tighter. “I can take care of myself.” Victor studied her. “Apparently not tonight.” Her anger flared. “I didn't ask you to save me.” “No. But someone has been trying to kill you.” The words erased her anger. “What?” Victor reached into his pocket and handed her a photograph. Joan stared at the image. It showed her father. Her breath caught. “Where did you get this?” “Your father gave it to my father.” “My father is dead.” “I know.” “Then how could he have given it to your father?” Victor's expression hardened. “Three days before he died.” Joan felt the ground shift beneath her. Her father had always been described as an honest businessman. After his death, her family received condolences, paperwork, and silence. Nobody mentioned the Valenti family. Nobody mentioned a secret meeting. Nobody mentioned that her father might have been involved with people powerful enough to make strangers chase her through the streets. “What was he involved in?” “That's what I'm trying to find out.” Joan turned the photograph over. Three words were written on the back: TRUST NO ONE. Her fingers went cold. “Why show me this?” Victor answered, “Because whoever killed your father thinks you have something he left behind.” “I don't.” Victor stepped closer. “Are you sure?” Joan wanted to answer immediately. Instead, she remembered the small wooden box her father had given her weeks before his death. She had kept it hidden in the back of her wardrobe because he told her never to open it unless she was in danger. She had forgotten about it until now. Victor noticed her silence. “You remembered something.” Joan said nothing. “Whatever it is, tell me.” She looked at him suspiciously. “Why should I trust you?” “You shouldn't.” His answer surprised her. “Then why are you helping me?” Joan asked. Victor's jaw tightened. “Because your father's death is connected to mine.” She stared at him. “My father died six months before yours.” “What happened?” “He was betrayed.” “By who?” “I don't know.” “Then we're in the same situation.” “No.” Victor looked toward the street. “You're in a worse one.” Sirens sounded in the distance. Joan's hands shook. Victor noticed. “Come with me.” “Where?” “Somewhere safe.” “I don't know you.” “You know enough to know those men wanted you dead.” Joan hated that he was right. She also hated the way his presence made her feel safer and more trapped at the same time. “I can go home.” Victor's expression became unreadable. “They know where you live.” Joan's face went pale. He continued, “Your brother isn't answering because his phone was found abandoned outside your apartment.” Her blood ran cold. “Marco?” “We haven't found him.” Joan's knees nearly gave way. Victor caught her arm before she fell. “Let go.” He released her immediately. That surprised her. “I'll find him,” Victor said. “Why?” “Because whoever took him is connected to the people after you.” “You can't promise that.” “I don't make promises.” His eyes met hers. “I make decisions.” Joan swallowed. “And what have you decided?” Victor looked at her for several seconds. “You're coming with me.” “I said no.” “And I heard you.” He stepped aside, giving her space. “But if you walk away, you'll walk straight into a trap.” Joan stared at the rain beyond the alley. She thought about Marco, her father, the photograph, and the wooden box hidden in her room. Finally, she looked at Victor. “Fine.” They walked toward the black car together. Joan stopped before getting inside. “Victor.” He turned. “What?” “Are you dangerous?” For the first time that night, something almost like amusement appeared in his eyes. “Very.” Joan stared at him. “At least you're honest.” “I always am.” She entered the car. Victor followed. As the vehicle pulled away, Joan watched Ravenhurst disappear behind the rain-streaked window. She didn't know where Victor was taking her. She didn't know who had taken Marco. She didn't know what her father had hidden. But she knew one thing. Her life would never be ordinary again. Across the city, inside a dark room illuminated by a single lamp, a man placed a photograph on a table. It was a picture of Joan. Beside it was another photograph: Victor. The man smiled. “Let them come together.” Inside the car, Victor received a message. He read it once. His expression changed. Joan noticed. “What is it?” Victor locked his phone. “Nothing.” She frowned. “You just said you always tell the truth.” “I do.” “Then tell me.” Victor looked at her. “Your brother has been found.” Joan's heart lifted. “He's alive?” Victor hesitated. “Yes.” Relief flooded her. Then she saw his expression. “What happened?” “They found him at your house.” Her relief disappeared. “What does that mean?” “It means whoever is behind this wanted us to find him.” Joan stared at him. “Why?” Victor looked back at her. “Because this isn't about your father anymore.” “Then what is it about?” Victor's eyes hardened. “You.” The car continued through the rain. Neither spoke again. Somewhere beneath the fear, Joan understood something she couldn't explain. Meeting Victor Valenti had not been an accident. It was the beginning of a war. The house was enormous and silent. Victor showed Joan a bedroom and told her to rest while he investigated the threat. Before leaving, he received message from Bellini Tower Office: COME ALONE, OR THE BELLINI FAMILY DIES. Joan's fear turned into anger. “Then we find out what my father was hiding.” Later, alone, she remembered the wooden box hidden in her bag. Her father had warned her never to open it unless she was in danger. Tonight, she was. Inside were a key, a letter, and a photograph of her father standing beside Victor's father, with a younger Victor between them. The letter contained one sentence: If Victor Valenti ever finds you, trust him. Joan turned the photograph over. The war began before you were born. The door opened. Victor stared at the box. “What did you find?” She handed him the letter. “My father trusted you.” Victor's face went still. “He knew this day would come.” “What day?” “The day they came for you.” Joan looked at him. For the first time, she saw fear in Victor's eyes. Not for himself. For her. The war had already begun.