Chapter 2
1000 Words
The rain blurred everything outside the window, turning the world into streaks of silver and shadow.
But I knew what I saw.
Massimo De Luca stood motionless in the driveway, his suit darkened by rain, hair damp, jaw set. Stillness wrapped around him like armor. He didn’t reach for a weapon. Didn’t move. Didn’t react.
The man stepping out behind him raised the gun with a familiarity that meant this wasn’t a warning.
This was an execution.
My breath caught — but not from fear alone.
From recognition.
The shooter wasn’t a stranger.
He wore the Hale campaign security badge. My father’s crest. My father’s protection.
One of our men.
“Massimo—” The name left me before I could think.
Not loud.
Not panicked.
Just real.
The man with the gun fired.
I slammed my hands against the glass — useless, desperate — a sound swallowed by thunder.
But Massimo had already moved.
Not a flinch.
Not a stumble.
A controlled shift of two inches to the left — like he knew the bullet before it existed — and it shattered the brick pillar behind him.
Before the shooter could fire again, Massimo’s hand was at his coat.
Not rushed.
Not frantic.
Just inevitable.
Another shot rang out.
Not Massimo’s.
A second shooter — unseen — fired from the shadows near the gate.
The first gunman dropped.
Blood spread across the driveway, mixing with rainwater, turning the ground a soft, terrible red.
Silence followed.
Not peaceful.
Not empty.
Held.
Massimo didn’t turn to look at the corpse.
He turned to look at me.
Our eyes met through the windowpane.
Rain ran down the glass like tears that didn’t belong to either of us.
I was shaking.
Not from fear of him.
But from the sharp, impossible reality that my father’s world was not the safe, polished thing it pretended to be.
The De Luca car door opened again.
An older man stepped out — tall, elegant, gray at the temples, authority worn like a well-tailored suit.
I recognized him instantly.
Alessandro De Luca.
The new head of the De Luca family.
The kind of man my father pretended didn’t exist.
He spoke — his voice too muffled through the glass to hear — but Massimo didn’t look away from me to respond.
He held my gaze.
Steady.
Unbothered by guns or bodies or rain.
Like the only thing in his world right now—
was me.
I stepped back from the window.
Not to hide.
To breathe.
To understand.
The door to my bedroom burst open.
My father’s chief of security rushed in, panic poorly disguised: “Miss Hale, step away from the window. Now.”
I didn’t move.
My voice came out softer than I expected, but clear:
“That wasn’t an attack on him.”
The guard froze. “Excuse me?”
My heartbeat was in my throat.
“That was a warning.”
A message.
A line drawn.
“Someone wanted him to know he isn’t safe here,” I whispered.
“Someone who had access. Someone inside.”
The guard’s expression cracked.
My chest tightened.
If there was one thing my father valued more than power — it was control.
Someone had just acted without his permission.
Which meant everything was shifting.
Thunder rolled across the sky like an answer.
The guard spoke carefully, slowly:
“You’re going to come with us, Miss Hale. Away from the windows.”
But before he could take a step, the house alarm chimed — a low, sharp tone I had never heard before.
Perimeter breach.
Someone had opened the main gate.
Footsteps echoed up the hallway — fast, deliberate, approaching.
My pulse spiked — but I wasn’t frozen.
I moved toward the door.
“No,” the guard said, stepping to block me. “Stay back.”
I didn’t.
I pushed past him and pulled the bedroom door open.
The hallway stretched ahead — dim, marble floors reflecting the flicker of the security lights.
And standing at the far end—
Rain-soaked.
Silent.
Uninvited.
Unapologetic.
Massimo De Luca.
He was inside my house.
Inside the place my father swore was untouchable.
The guard reached for his gun.
Massimo didn’t even glance at him.
His eyes were on me.
Only me.
He spoke for the first time — his voice quiet, low, steady.
The kind of voice that did not ask.
It decided.
“Ophelia,” he said.
And hearing my name in his mouth felt like a choice I hadn’t made.
My breath trembled.
“Yes?”
His jaw flexed once — the only sign of tension — before he spoke again.
“Your father and I need to talk.”
My guard stepped forward.
“No. You need to leave—”
Massimo looked at him.
Just looked.
And the guard’s voice died in his throat.
I should have been terrified.
But I wasn’t.
Because somewhere deep and unexplainable —
I already knew this moment had been waiting for me.
I lifted my chin, though I was shaking.
“You killed someone tonight,” I whispered.
His eyes didn’t soften.
Didn’t flicker.
“If I hadn’t,” he said quietly, “you would be dead.”
The hallway felt too small.
The air too thin.
My heart too loud.
And then—
From downstairs—
A door slammed.
My father’s voice rose in fury.
Massimo didn’t turn.
“Ophelia,” he said again, slower this time.
Not a threat.
Not a plea.
A beginning.
The guard grabbed my arm, trying to pull me back — but I didn’t move.
Because something inside me already knew:
Whatever happened next—
my life was no longer mine alone.
And then—
A gun c****d.
Close.
Too close.
Right behind me.
“Nobody moves.”
I froze.
Massimo’s eyes sharpened, not with fear — but with recognition.
Someone was in the house.
Someone who wasn’t supposed to be.
Someone who wasn’t here for him.
They were here for me.
- Writer
