Chapter 5: The First Casualty
1169 Words
"No."
My brother's voice barely sounded human.
The guard lowered his eyes.
Nobody spoke.
For a moment, the ballroom disappeared.
The flashing police lights outside.
The broken glass.
The blood on the marble floor.
All of it faded beneath the weight of a single name.
"Emma," my brother whispered.
My stomach dropped.
I'd known Emma for four years.
Long enough to know she laughed too loudly during movies and cried whenever she saw injured animals.
Long enough to know she loved my brother more than he deserved.
Long enough to know she wasn't supposed to die tonight.
My brother took a step forward.
Then another.
His face had gone completely pale.
"Where is she?"
The guard hesitated.
Bad sign.
Very bad sign.
"Where is she?" my brother repeated.
This time, louder.
The guard swallowed.
"They found her near the south entrance."
The room fell silent.
My brother stared at him.
Waiting.
Hoping.
Refusing.
Finally, he asked the question everyone was avoiding.
"How?"
Nobody answered immediately.
I already hated the answer.
Whatever it was.
The guard looked miserable.
"Single gunshot wound."
My brother closed his eyes.
The sight hurt more than I expected.
Because for the first time tonight, he looked broken.
Not scared.
Not worried.
Broken.
And suddenly none of our arguments mattered.
Not the marriage.
Not the deal.
Not even our father.
Because grief had walked into the room.
And grief never knocked first.
My brother laughed.
A short sound.
Empty.
Then he walked toward the exit.
Nobody stopped him.
Not even Luca.
The doors closed behind him.
Silence followed.
Heavy silence.
The kind people carried for years.
I stared at the floor.
At the shattered pieces of glass reflecting the ballroom lights.
Emma was dead.
My father was dead.
Someone had photographed me sleeping.
Someone was leaving messages.
And somehow I was supposed to get married tomorrow.
The absurdity of it almost made me laugh.
Almost.
A hand touched my shoulder.
I flinched immediately.
Luca removed it.
Not offended.
Just observant.
As if he were taking notes.
"You should sit down."
I looked at him.
"No."
"You're in shock."
"I'm angry."
His gaze remained steady.
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
I hated that answer.
Mostly because part of me suspected he was right.
One of the guards approached.
"Sir."
Luca turned.
"What?"
"We found something else."
Of course they did.
Tonight seemed determined to keep getting worse.
The guard handed over a small evidence bag.
Inside was a silver necklace.
My necklace.
My breath caught.
The same one that had disappeared from my apartment.
The same one my mother had given me.
My pulse immediately quickened.
"Where was it found?"
The guard glanced at me.
Then at Luca.
"On Emma."
Everything stopped.
"What?"
The word escaped before I could stop it.
The guard swallowed.
"It was in her coat pocket."
I stared at him.
Certain I'd misheard.
Emma had my necklace?
That wasn't possible.
She'd never even seen it.
Had she?
No.
No, she hadn't.
I was sure.
Yet there it was.
Inside an evidence bag.
Proof.
Cold.
Uncomfortable proof.
Someone had taken the necklace from my apartment.
Then planted it on Emma's body.
The realization made my stomach turn.
Luca seemed to reach the same conclusion.
His expression darkened.
"They want us connected."
The guard nodded.
"Looks that way."
I folded my arms.
Trying to steady myself.
Trying to think.
Someone was moving pieces across a board I couldn't even see.
Every answer created two more questions.
Every clue led somewhere darker.
And I was tired of being the only person who didn't understand the game.
"What was on the paper?" I asked suddenly.
The room stilled.
Again.
Everything always went quiet when I asked the right question.
Luca's eyes met mine.
"The same thing that's happening now."
"Which means?"
His jaw tightened.
For the first time, he looked genuinely uncertain.
The sight surprised me.
Men like Luca weren't supposed to look uncertain.
"They're sending a message."
I laughed bitterly.
"I figured that much out myself."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
The closest thing to irritation I'd seen from him.
"Someone wants a war."
"There it is again."
Because everyone kept saying it.
War.
War.
War.
As if repeating the word would somehow explain everything.
"Who?"
Nobody answered.
My patience snapped.
"WHO?"
The word echoed through the ballroom.
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
Then Luca did something unexpected.
He handed me his phone.
I frowned.
"What?"
"Look."
The screen displayed a photograph.
Another one.
At first, I didn't understand what I was seeing.
Then recognition hit.
My apartment building.
Specifically, the security footage from the entrance.
A timestamp blinked at the top.
Three nights ago.
The same night the bedroom photo had been taken.
I stared.
People entered.
People left.
Nothing unusual.
Then someone appeared.
A woman.
Baseball cap.
Dark jacket.
Face mostly hidden.
Yet something about her felt familiar.
Uncomfortably familiar.
The woman paused near the entrance camera.
Looked directly into it.
Then smiled.
My blood ran cold.
I knew that smile.
I'd seen it hundreds of times.
"No."
Luca didn't speak.
Didn't need to.
Because he already knew.
I zoomed in.
Hoping I was wrong.
Praying.
But the clearer the image became, the worse it got.
The woman wasn't a stranger.
Wasn't an enemy.
Wasn't some mysterious assassin.
She was Emma.
My brother's fiancée.
The dead woman.
The phone nearly slipped from my fingers.
"No."
The word came out weaker this time.
Impossible.
Emma couldn't have broken into my apartment.
She couldn't have taken my necklace.
She couldn't have photographed me sleeping.
She couldn't—
A terrible realization hit me.
Emma was dead.
Which meant she couldn't explain any of it.
Couldn't defend herself.
Couldn't answer questions.
Couldn't tell us why.
My stomach twisted.
Someone had made sure of that.
Luca slowly took the phone back.
The room felt colder now.
More dangerous.
Because the mystery had changed.
It wasn't just who was responsible anymore.
It was whether Emma had been involved at all.
Or whether someone wanted us to believe she was.
A phone rang.
Every head turned.
One of Luca's men answered.
Listened.
Then immediately looked at Luca.
The color drained from his face.
Not fear.
Shock.
Pure shock.
The sight alone sent alarm through the room.
"What is it?" Luca asked.
The guard swallowed.
Hard.
Then he handed over his phone.
"I think you need to hear this yourself."
Luca took the call.
The conversation lasted less than ten seconds.
Ten.
Seconds.
When it ended, something changed.
Not anger.
Not frustration.
Something far worse.
Disbelief.
The room went completely silent.
Because nobody expected disbelief from a man like Luca.
Slowly, he lowered the phone.
I looked at him.
Then at the guards.
Then back again.
"What happened?"
Nobody answered.
My pulse climbed higher.
"What happened?"
This time, Luca looked directly at me.
His expression unreadable.
And somehow that made everything worse.
Finally, he spoke.
Three words.
Three impossible words.
"Your father called."
The world stopped.
Because my father had supposedly been dead for hours.
- Writer
