ONE
875 Words
Luciana Romano knew better than to get involved with the Costa family’s business.
She had spent years keeping her head down, playing the role of Adrian Costa’s sharp-tongued, street-smart best friend—the one person in his world who didn’t bow to power or bloodlines. But tonight, as she stood in the grand marble foyer of the Costa estate, something told her she had finally crossed a line she couldn’t step back from.
Her ribs ached. Blood trickled from a cut above her eyebrow, warm against her temple. Her shirt was torn, a reminder of how close she had come to worse. Adrian stood beside her, his knuckles split, his jaw clenched in silent fury. The ambush had been fast, brutal—too calculated to be random.
They had been on their way back from college, Adrian driving his sleek black car down the dimly lit highway. The music was low, the air thick with exhaustion from a long day of lectures and exams. Then, without warning, a pair of black SUVs appeared in the rearview mirror, their headlights cutting through the darkness like blades.
The first hit came hard. A jolt from behind sent their car skidding forward. Adrian swore, gripping the wheel as he tried to regain control, but the second SUV veered in from the side, slamming into them and forcing them off the road.
The world blurred as metal crunched, tyres screeched, and their car spun out of control, crashing into a ditch. The moment they came to a stop, Luciana barely had time to breathe before masked men emerged from the vehicles, guns drawn.
“Get out,” one of them barked.
Adrian moved first, shielding Luciana as he pushed open the door. But she wasn’t about to let him fight alone. Heart pounding, she grabbed a broken piece of glass from the wreckage and stumbled out after him.
The fight was ugly. Adrian took down one man with a swift punch, but another struck him across the face with the butt of a gun. Luciana fought dirty—aiming for soft spots, clawing, biting, anything to keep them from dragging her away.
Then came the gunshot.
It wasn’t aimed at her. It wasn’t aimed at Adrian.
It was a warning. A sharp, deafening crack that sent silence rolling over the scene.
The attackers froze, stepping back right into the waiting arms of the new group of masked men that had arrived as suddenly they had come, leaving Luciana and Adrian gasping in the dirt, battered and shaken but alive.
The air smelled of expensive whiskey and cigars, the signature scent of Dante Costa—the man who ruled this empire of shadows. Luciana had seen him before, at a distance, always a formidable presence in his tailored suits and cold, calculating eyes. But standing here, under the weight of his gaze, was something else entirely.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Adrian’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
Luciana turned to face him, his dark brows drawn together in frustration. He was angry, but beneath it, she saw something else—fear. And that terrified her more than anything. Adrian Costa didn’t get scared.
“I handled it,” she said, crossing her arms, ignoring the sharp pull of pain in her shoulder.
“You handled it?” He let out a harsh laugh. “Luciana, we could’ve been killed. Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you?”
She did. She just didn’t care.
Before Adrian could argue further, another voice cut through the tension—low, commanding, and laced with quiet menace.
“Leave us.”
Dante Costa.
The room stilled. Even Adrian hesitated before nodding once and stepping back, his gaze flicking between his father and Luciana before he disappeared down the hall.
Luciana swallowed hard as Dante took a slow step forward, his presence suffocating in its intensity. Up close, he was even more striking—grey-streaked dark hair, a sharp jawline, and eyes like a predator’s, assessing her every move.
His gaze flickered over the bruises beginning to form on her skin, the dried blood on her temple, and the slight tremble in her fingers before she curled them into fists.
“I don’t like loose ends, Miss Romano,” he said, his voice smooth but edged with steel. “And I don’t appreciate reckless little girls making a mess in my city.”
She bristled at his condescension but held her ground. “I wasn’t trying to make a mess. I was trying to fix one.”
His lips twitched, not in amusement, but something darker. “And yet, here you are. In my house. Under my protection. That makes you my problem.”
Luciana met his gaze, unflinching. But she had no intention of being anyone’s problem "I'm not your problem anymore"
That said, she turned on her heel and walked toward the door. Her body ached with every step, but she refused to let it show. She would go home, clean herself up, and forget this night ever happened.
At least, she would try.
As she stepped out into the cool night air, she knew one thing for certain—Dante Costa wouldn’t let her forget.
- Writer
