Chapter 11: A Finger on the Trigger
506 Words
Lucien woke before the sun.
Zarek’s arms were still around him—firm, protective, possessive—but Lucien could feel it. That shift. That something had changed in the air. The kind of silence that comes right before something terrible happens.
He untangled himself gently, careful not to wake Zarek, and padded toward the window. The garden was cloaked in thick fog, but he knew what he saw last night wasn’t a dream.
A figure.
Watching.
Waiting.
> Was it real, or had the shadows finally gotten into his head?
He didn’t have time to think. There was a knock at the door.
A soft one.
Lucien turned. Zarek stirred behind him, eyes still closed.
He opened the door slowly.
It was Renzo, Zarek’s right-hand man. Always calm, always calculated. But this time, something in his face was off.
“Lucien, you need to get dressed. Now.”
No explanation.
Just that.
Zarek rose, instantly awake. “What happened?”
Renzo hesitated. “There was a breach at the south fence. We think someone got close to the west wing.”
Zarek’s jaw clenched. “Who?”
“We’re not sure yet. But it wasn’t one of ours.”
Lucien felt cold. “I saw someone. Last night. Watching.”
Zarek turned to him fast. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You were busy not speaking to me,” Lucien shot back, instantly regretting it.
Zarek didn’t reply. He just reached into the drawer and pulled out a gun.
Not for show.
For war.
> “Stay inside,” Zarek ordered. “Lock the doors. Don’t open it for anyone.”
> “I’m not hiding.”
> “Lucien, please—just this once, listen.”
It was the first time Zarek had ever said please.
That scared Lucien more than the gun.
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Downstairs, the mansion transformed. Armed men moved like ghosts across marble floors. Every entrance was secured. Cameras buzzed.
But someone had still gotten in.
In the surveillance room, Renzo pulled up the grainy footage. A hooded figure moved across the garden, fast, precise.
Zarek stared at the screen. Then stilled.
“Pause. Zoom in.”
Renzo obeyed.
The screen flickered and sharpened—just enough to catch the side of the intruder’s face.
A scar. One Zarek recognized.
Zarek’s voice dropped into a growl. “Ciro.”
Renzo’s face paled. “He’s back?”
“Looks like it.”
Lucien, listening from the hallway despite being told not to, felt ice fill his veins.
> Ciro.
The name felt like poison.
Later that night, when Zarek returned to the room, he didn’t say a word. Just sat at the edge of the bed and lit a cigarette with trembling fingers.
Lucien sat beside him, silent.
After a long pause, Zarek finally whispered:
“The man who tried to kill me three years ago… is back.”
Lucien turned slowly. “And what does he want?”
Zarek looked at him then—tired, broken, terrified.
> “You.”
- Writer
