Chapter Seven: The Shot That Changed Everything
678 Words
The rain fell hard.
The kind that erased footsteps and silenced screams.
Luca Moretti stood under the café awning, watching the place where Elena had disappeared into the night. Her presence still lingered in the air—like smoke, like regret.
He didn’t see the red dot.
He didn’t hear the click.
He only felt the impact.
A sharp punch to his chest. Heat. Pain. The world tilting.
He hit the ground.
⸻
Elena froze mid-step.
The sound of the shot echoed down the street.
She turned.
And saw Luca collapse.
Her heart stopped.
“No,” she whispered.
She ran back, kneeling beside him as blood soaked his shirt. Her hands shook as she pressed them against the wound.
“Luca. Luca, stay with me.”
His eyes fluttered open.
“You came back,” he murmured.
“Don’t talk,” she said, her voice breaking. “You’re going to be fine.”
She looked around, scanning rooftops, shadows, alleys.
A sniper.
Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind.
Would you kill him if I ordered it?
Her stomach twisted.
She grabbed her phone with shaking fingers.
Elena: Call off your people. Now.
Mamá: Why?
Elena: Because he’s bleeding in front of me.
Mamá: Then finish it. Or I will.
She stared at the message.
Then she looked at Luca.
His hand weakly reached for her wrist.
“Elena,” he whispered. “Don’t let them turn you into them.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I won’t,” she said.
But she didn’t know if that was true.
⸻
Luca’s men arrived within minutes, guns raised, surrounding the street.
Marco jumped out of the car, his face pale.
“Get him to the hospital. Now.”
They lifted Luca, rushing him into the vehicle.
Elena stepped back as they drove away, rain washing blood from her hands.
She felt empty.
⸻
Hours later, Luca lay in a private hospital room, machines beeping softly.
Marco sat beside him, jaw clenched.
The doctor whispered, “He was lucky. The bullet missed his heart by centimeters.”
Lucky.
Marco didn’t believe in luck.
He believed in enemies.
And tonight, Elena Vargas had become the most dangerous one.
⸻
Elena sat in her mother’s office, her clothes still wet, her hands still stained.
Her mother poured a glass of wine, unbothered.
“You hesitated,” she said calmly.
“He wasn’t supposed to be there,” Elena snapped.
“He was always going to be there,” her mother replied. “You made him weak. That makes him a target.”
Elena’s eyes burned. “You ordered the shot.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Her mother met her gaze. “To see which side you’re on.”
Silence filled the room.
“And?” Elena asked.
Her mother smiled slightly. “You didn’t pull the trigger. Interesting.”
Elena clenched her fists.
“I’m not your weapon,” she said.
Her mother tilted her head. “Not yet.”
⸻
Three days later, Luca woke up.
The first thing he saw was Elena.
She sat beside his bed, her expression guarded.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered.
“I know.”
He studied her. “Did you do it?”
She shook her head. “No.”
He believed her.
“That makes this worse,” he said quietly.
“Why?”
“Because now we’re both targets.”
She looked away.
“Your mother is playing chess,” he continued. “And we’re her pieces.”
She met his eyes. “Then we stop being pieces.”
“How?”
She leaned closer. “We make our own board.”
He stared at her, something dangerous and hopeful in his eyes.
“You’re declaring war on your mother?”
“I’m declaring independence.”
He smiled faintly. “That’s more dangerous.”
⸻
Outside the hospital, Marco watched from the hallway.
He knew one thing for sure:
If Luca chose Elena Vargas,
he would be choosing war against both families.
And war was coming.
- Writer
