The First Shot
1012 Words
The next morning broke in soft shades of gold across the skyline—but Tricia couldn’t feel its warmth.
She lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, fingers curled loosely around the pendant resting on her chest. The flame-shaped diamond caught the sunlight and threw fractured rainbows on the walls.
She hadn't worn it because she trusted him.
She wore it because it felt like a choice.
A fragile one. But hers.
When she finally rose, the penthouse was empty—again—but not cold. A tray had been placed on the glass coffee table: croissants, berries, and a small note scribbled in black ink.
> You asked me who I am.
Let me show you tonight.
—C
She wasn’t sure if it made her more nervous or more curious.
Either way… she would be there.
---
Later That Day – Midtown Manhattan
Christopher stood with Alex inside the Knight Tower underground command room—a secure, untraceable level that didn’t officially exist. The walls were lined with digital screens showing satellite feeds, encrypted messages, and security footage.
“Castelli has gone quiet,” Alex said, arms crossed. “Too quiet.”
“He’s watching us. Watching her,” Christopher said.
Alex hesitated. “You sure this girl’s worth the risk? You’re showing her everything now. She’s seen the files. She’s getting close.”
“I don’t want her close,” Christopher muttered. “I need her close.”
Alex raised a brow. “That sounds a lot like weakness.”
“No,” Christopher said coldly. “It’s war. And she’s the only thing in my life that doesn’t feel like a weapon.”
A beat of silence.
Then Alex said carefully, “We got a tip. One of Julian’s men has been spotted near Chelsea Pier. Same guy who trailed you during the Rotterdam deal. We think they’re planning a hit.”
Christopher’s jaw tightened. “When?”
“Tonight. Between 10 and midnight.”
Christopher checked his watch. “Then we strike first.”
Knight Private Estate, Long Island
Tricia stared at the estate gates from the backseat of a black Bentley, heart beating out of rhythm.
Tonight wasn’t public. It wasn’t for the press or show.
Christopher had sent for her with no driver but Alex himself—and that said more than words.
The estate itself was a haunting beauty—stone walls, sprawling lawns, trees trimmed like chess pieces, with towering statues of angels and lions flanking the front stairs.
He was waiting for her on the marble steps.
No tie. No suit. Just black slacks and an open white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows.
When their eyes met, something inside her shifted.
Not melted. Not broke.
Shifted.
Like gravity had pulled her axis closer to his.
“You came,” he said.
“I said I would.”
He offered his hand.
And she took it.
---
Inside the Estate
Dinner was candlelit, tucked inside a room filled with rare art and thick silence.
No staff. No guards. Just the two of them.
Christopher poured her wine himself.
“I know you don’t trust me,” he said after a long moment.
She didn’t answer.
“I wouldn’t either.”
That got her attention.
“You’re not what I expected,” she said softly.
“And what did you expect?”
She looked up. “Someone heartless.”
He leaned back, watching her. “I was. Before you.”
Her heart thudded.
“That night in the hotel,” she said slowly. “Was that really the first time?”
“Yes,” he said. “But I already knew who you were. I was planning to approach you. Just not like that.”
“Why me?”
He was silent for a long time.
Then he said, “Because I saw you once. And you looked at the world like it hadn’t broken you yet. I wanted to see what that felt like.”
She swallowed.
“And now?”
Christopher stood slowly, rounding the table. He didn’t touch her—but his presence, towering and still, blanketed her.
“Now I want to know what it feels like to deserve someone like you.”
Then he touched her chin, tilting her face to meet his.
His lips met hers in a kiss that burned slow—no anger, no war—just the raw ache of a man who'd spent his life alone… and wanted.
Her fingers curled into his shirt as he deepened the kiss.
It was a promise.
Not of peace.
But of permanence.
Meanwhile, in the shadows of the docks, gunfire ripped through the air.
Three men—Knight’s soldiers—were already down. Alex ducked behind a shipping crate, returning fire as two black SUVs peeled away from the pier.
“Get license plates!” he barked into his comms. “They’re running!”
One of the men on the ground groaned in pain.
It wasn’t just a shootout.
It was a message.
A warning.
And the bloodied card left beside the wounded man spelled it out in five simple words:
> She’s not safe with him.
---
Back at the Estate
Tricia stood on the second-floor balcony, staring at the moonlit gardens below.
Christopher wrapped his arms around her from behind, warm, silent, breath grazing her neck.
“I still don’t know if I can forgive you,” she whispered.
“I don’t need forgiveness,” he murmured. “I just need time.”
Then—his phone buzzed once.
He stiffened.
She felt it instantly.
“What is it?”
He stepped away and answered.
His face changed.
Cold.
Controlled.
Deadly.
“We have a problem,” he said into the phone. “Call in every asset we have. Julian made his first move.”
Tricia’s heart slammed against her ribs.
He turned back to her, eyes harder than she'd ever seen.
“Get inside. Lock the doors. Don’t open for anyone but me.”
“Christopher—”
“Now, Tricia.”
- Writer
