The Fire between
641 Words
The moon hung low over Telegraph Hill, casting silver over the wet cobblestones. Dominic waited in the shadows near the edge of Washington Square Park, collar turned up against the chill, heart pounding like war drums.
She was late.
He told himself to leave. Told himself this was reckless, stupid, dangerous. But none of it mattered when he saw her.
Allegra stepped into the glow of the streetlamp, hair pinned up, eyes sharp. She wore a long coat over a dress the color of spilled wine. She moved with purpose, but when she saw him, her expression softened just enough to let him breathe.
“You came,” he said.
“I shouldn’t have,” she replied, voice barely above the breeze. “But I couldn’t stay away.”
Dominic led her to a bench just out of sight from the street, where the fog cloaked them like a secret. They sat in silence at first, two people from rival empires, pretending for a moment that none of it mattered.
Then she looked at him. “Does your family know?”
“No,” he said. “They think I’ve been working late. Keeping clean. But the truth is… I don’t think I’ve ever felt clean.”
She studied him. “You’re not like them.”
“You say that,” he said with a bitter smile, “but if your father saw us here right now, he wouldn’t think so.”
“My father would have me married off to some banker by now if I let him,” she said. “He doesn’t want me near power, only under it.”
They were quiet again, the silence not empty but full of every word they didn’t dare say.
She touched his hand. “There’s something happening. A shipment. A meeting. My brother—Antonio—he’s involved.”
Dominic’s spine straightened. “What kind of meeting?”
“I don’t know everything,” she whispered. “But something’s going down on Thursday near the docks. And I heard your family’s name. Luca’s name.”
Dominic’s blood ran cold.
He nodded slowly. “That’s our drop.”
She looked at him, suddenly afraid. “You can’t go. They’re setting you up. Someone’s going to die.”
Dominic stood, tension burning through him like wildfire. “Then I’ll be ready.”
She rose too, grabbing his sleeve. “Don’t go. Walk away. With me.”
He stared at her, heart breaking under the weight of everything he couldn’t say.
“If I walk away now,” he said, “they’ll never stop coming.”
“And if you stay,” she said, “you’ll become just like them.”
He kissed her then—desperate, hungry, full of all the things he couldn’t fix. The kiss tasted like goodbye.
He didn’t say it. But they both felt it.
---
Thursday came fast.
The docks were cold and quiet, too quiet. Fog curled around the crates like smoke, and Luca was already pacing when Dominic arrived.
“You’re late,” Luca growled.
Dominic scanned the shadows. “We shouldn’t be here.”
“We’ve done this a dozen times—”
“No. This is different.”
Luca’s hand drifted toward his holster. “What do you know?”
But before Dominic could answer, headlights cut through the mist.
Then came the shouts. The gunfire.
Dominic shoved Luca behind a crate just as bullets tore through the wood. Men were yelling, steel on steel as crates crashed to the ground. Dominic returned fire, but they were surrounded.
Luca rose to fire—but not fast enough.
A shot rang out.
Dominic turned, too slow.
Luca collapsed, clutching his side, eyes wide in shock.
“Dom…” he gasped.
And just like that, Dominic’s world shattered.
Blood. Smoke. Betrayal.
The war had begun.
- Writer
