Chapter 3- The First Threat
1803 Words
The rain began as a whisper — soft, harmless, almost beautiful — before it turned into something darker. Clouds thickened above the Marino estate, swallowing the silver moonlight and wrapping the mansion in shadows.
Inside, the night was still.
Elara sat by the window, the glass fogging beneath her breath as she traced invisible shapes on it. The book on her lap had long been forgotten. Her mind wandered, unbidden, to the man who now guarded her life — Luca.
There was something about him that unnerved her. It wasn’t just the quiet strength, or the calm in his eyes even when others flinched around her father’s name. It was how he looked at her — like she wasn’t the daughter of a mafia boss, but a person.
That was dangerous.
She pressed her palm against the window. “You’re being stupid, Elara,” she whispered to herself. “He’s just a bodyguard.”
Yet her heart — that reckless, disobedient thing — disagreed.
---
Third Person POV
Downstairs, Luca was reviewing the perimeter cameras for the third time that hour. Something didn’t feel right. His instincts — sharpened by years under his father’s brutal training — were screaming.
He zoomed in on the north fence feed. For a split second, static cut across the screen. Then again. He frowned.
A shadow moved near the treeline. Too quick, too deliberate.
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“Sector B, report,” he ordered into the earpiece.
Silence.
He tried again. “Sector B, status check.”
Nothing.
Every muscle in his body went tense. “Shit.”
He grabbed his gun, holstered it, and sprinted down the corridor — quiet, focused. The rain outside began to fall harder, the distant rumble of thunder echoing like a countdown.
He rounded the corner and found the north exit door slightly open — swaying in the wind.
Someone was inside.
---
Elara’s POV
A soft thud echoed from somewhere down the hall. Then another.
I froze.
The lights flickered once, twice, and went out. Darkness swallowed my room, broken only by the dim, flashing light from the storm outside.
“Luca?” I called softly. No answer.
I stood, heart pounding. “Luca?”
The air felt heavier. Charged.
And then — a shadow moved outside my window.
I gasped, stumbling backward just as the door burst open.
Luca stepped in, soaked, eyes sharp and cold like steel.
“Don’t move,” he said. His voice — calm but edged — sent a chill down my spine.
“W-what’s happening—”
“Get away from the window.”
“Luca, I—”
He turned to me then — eyes fierce. “Now.”
Something in his tone made me obey. I backed away, trembling, just as the glass shattered.
Bullets tore through the room, shredding the curtains.
Luca grabbed me, pulling me down as shards rained around us. His body covered mine, his arm locking around my waist.
The smell of gunpowder filled the air. My ears rang from the shots.
He moved fast — rolled us behind the couch, returning fire without hesitation.
The sound was deafening.
“Stay down!” he shouted, firing again. The c***k of his gun drowned out the thunder.
---
Third Person POV
Luca counted the shots — two, three, four — the silenced clicks blending with the rain outside.
Whoever they were, they knew what they were doing. Infiltration, timing, precision. Not ordinary mercenaries — trained killers.
And they were after her.
He pushed Elara flat to the ground as another bullet tore through a lamp, sparks flying. He moved like a machine — focused, efficient.
He shot the lights, plunging the room into deeper darkness. Advantage: his.
He shifted closer to the window, glimpsed three silhouettes in the courtyard, advancing fast.
Three headshots. One after another. Clean.
Then silence.
He reloaded. “We’re moving,” he said.
She nodded shakily, eyes wide. “Where?”
“Panic room.”
He guided her through the hallway — gun in one hand, her wrist in the other. The mansion was pitch-black now, only lightning offering brief, ghostly flashes of the path ahead.
They passed two guards — both down. One was still breathing. Luca knelt, pressed his fingers to the man’s throat, then looked up.
“Alive,” he muttered. “Stay close.”
As they reached the main staircase, a bullet hit the railing beside Elara’s head.
She screamed. Luca spun, fired back, and a body dropped at the top of the stairs.
But there were more.
---
Elara’s POV
I could barely see — just flashes of light and the dark blur of Luca moving like he owned the shadows.
Every time thunder struck, I saw another glimpse — the gun in his hand, his eyes locked ahead, the way his muscles tensed with each shot.
He wasn’t just a guard. He was something else — something trained, dangerous, terrifyingly calm.
A bullet ricocheted near my foot. I flinched, losing my balance.
He caught me instantly, pulling me against his chest. “Focus on me,” he said.
“But—”
“On me.”
His eyes held mine — firm, grounding. I nodded.
He released me, fired again. The man at the end of the hall dropped.
We ran.
---
Third Person POV
They turned the corner toward the east wing — almost there.
Then Luca heard it — the faint click of metal.
“Down!” he shouted, yanking Elara backward just as a grenade rolled into view.
He tackled her to the floor. The explosion ripped through the hallway, heat and debris slamming into them.
Dust filled the air.
Luca’s ears rang. He blinked through the smoke, coughing. His arm burned — shrapnel. He ignored it.
“Elara!”
“I’m okay,” she coughed back, voice trembling.
He helped her up, his hand steady despite the pain. Blood ran down his sleeve, but he didn’t stop moving.
They stumbled into the east study — the entrance to the panic room hidden behind a sliding panel.
“Stay here,” he said, keying in the code.
“What about you?”
“I’ll secure the hall first.”
“No—Luca, don’t—”
He glanced back — rainwater dripping from his hair, gun steady in his hand, eyes burning with something that looked dangerously close to care.
“I’ll come back,” he promised.
---
Luca’s POV
I shouldn’t have said that. Promises get people killed.
But when she looked at me — eyes wide, scared, trusting — I couldn’t stop myself.
The hall was chaos — broken furniture, dead men, smoke and thunder. I moved low, silent, reloading.
Two intruders remained — voices near the corner. Russian accents. Professional.
“…target should be upstairs. Confirm visual.”
He waited, controlled his breathing.
One stepped into view — gun raised. Luca fired first.
The second one lunged from the side, knife in hand. They clashed, steel against steel, the sound sharp and desperate.
The man was strong, but Luca was faster. A spin, a shove, a gun pressed under the attacker’s jaw.
Bang.
Blood hit the marble floor.
Luca wiped his sleeve, breathing hard. His arm throbbed, blood seeping through the wound, but he didn’t stop.
He went back to her.
---
Elara’s POV
I waited. Seconds stretched into minutes. The silence was worse than the noise.
Then — footsteps.
I turned toward the door, fear clawing up my throat.
“Luca?”
The panel opened — and he stood there.
Soaked. Bleeding. Alive.
“It’s over,” he said quietly.
I ran to him before I could think, clutching his shirt, trembling. “You’re hurt—”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing!” I snapped, pulling his arm to see. The wound wasn’t deep, but it was raw, ugly. “You could’ve died!”
He smiled faintly. “You’re shaking.”
“I thought—” My voice broke. “I thought they—”
He caught my hand, steadying it against his chest. His heartbeat thudded beneath my palm — fast but steady.
“I told you,” he said softly, “I’d come back.”
I met his eyes, and the world stopped moving.
For a moment, there was no rain, no danger — just the space between us, heavy and fragile.
He looked at me like he’d already made his choice.
And that terrified me more than the bullets ever could.
---
Third Person POV
He guided her inside the panic room, checking corners. The emergency lights cast a faint golden glow over their faces.
Elara sat on the couch, still shaking, while Luca tore his sleeve to wrap his arm.
“You should let the medic—”
“No time,” he muttered. “There might be more.”
She watched him — every controlled movement, every drop of blood that hit the floor.
Finally, she whispered, “You’ve done this before.”
He looked up sharply. “What?”
“This.” Her gaze hardened slightly. “Killing. Fighting. Protecting people like me.”
He said nothing.
“I saw how you moved. You’re not just a guard.”
He met her eyes, voice low. “Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
They stared at each other, silence thick with unspoken truths.
Finally, he exhaled. “Not tonight.”
Before she could respond, he knelt before her — not in submission, but in something that looked like regret.
“You’re safe now,” he said.
Her voice softened. “Because of you.”
He didn’t answer.
---
Luca’s POV
She shouldn’t thank me. She shouldn’t look at me like that.
If she knew what I’ve done — what I’m still doing — she’d never forgive me.
But when she smiled, even just a little, something inside me broke anyway.
The mission was simple: infiltrate, observe, report.
Not fall for the enemy’s daughter.
Yet here I was, bleeding on her floor, wishing I could be anyone else.
---
Third Person POV
The storm outside began to fade. The gunfire stopped. The mansion fell eerily quiet.
Elara leaned back, exhaustion pulling at her. Luca stood by the door, watching the cameras, jaw set.
She closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured.
He didn’t turn. “Don’t thank me yet.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why?”
He hesitated — just for a heartbeat — then whispered, too low for her to hear:
“Because this is only the beginning.”
Thunder rolled again, distant but heavy.
Luca glanced at the blood on his hands, then at her — peaceful, trusting, beautiful.
He wanted to tell her everything. But the truth would destroy her.
So he said nothing.
For now.
- Writer
