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Chapter 5: Shadows in the Night
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2025-02-25 09:15:31Gunpowder remained in the air, the damaged door hung crooked on its hinges, and an eerie calm fell after Lorenzo and his men had left, Isla's heart slamming against her ribs as she stood still. She was arguing with a stubborn, half-conscious man one minute, and then armed men rushed her small flat. It had all occurred so quickly. Now, like a ravenous monster, the truth tore at her thoughts.
Lorenzo De Luca. The name carried weight. Power. Fear. Isla had heard it whispered in dark alleys, seen it printed in newspapers accompanied by bloodstained headlines. De Luca was not just a man—he was a ghost story wrapped in wealth and violence, a shadow stretching across Valmont City. He was untouchable. And she had not only saved him, but argued with him, accused him, and slapped him across the face. A cold shiver ran down her spine. She had saved a mafia boss. She staggered back, clutching the edge of her couch as her knees went weak. Had she just committed the greatest error of her life? She’d been raised to believe in second chances, in saving lives no matter who they belonged to. But what if some lives weren’t meant to be saved? Her fingers drifted to her wrist, where his iron grip had left faint red marks. The same man who had stared at her like she was a threat, like he could snap her neck in an instant. And yet… she had also seen something else in his eyes. Uncertainty. Regret. No. She shook her head. That was foolish. A man like Lorenzo De Luca did not regret. He took. He was destroyed. And now she was tangled in his world. - Three months had passed since the night Isla saved Lorenzo De Luca’s life. Three months of trying to forget the way his cold fingers had clutched her wrist. The way his penetrating, suspicious, and accusing eyes had cut through her. Like a ghost returning to his grave, he had vanished into the darkness after leaving without saying a word of gratitude or turning around. He was not, however, a ghost. He was a man made of nightmares, a man whose name carried weight in the darkest corners of Valmont City. A mafia boss. She had learned the truth only days after he disappeared from her life. It was impossible not to when his name was whispered in the news, in hushed conversations at the hospital, in the desperate warnings of people who feared him. Lorenzo De Luca. The king of the underworld. When so many had wished him dead, she had unintentionally pulled the man from the lake's depths, giving him another chance at life. The vision of Lorenzo De Luca, cold and lifeless in her arms, with his long lashes resting against his pale skin and the harsh angles of his face softened by oblivion, was something she had tried to forget.He looked almost peaceful then. Almost human. But she knew better now. She had saved a monster. If she had walked away that night, let the frozen water claim him, how many lives would have been spared? How many people had suffered because she had chosen to be kind? The weight of that thought sat heavy in her chest. She needed to leave. Valmont City wasn’t safe—not with men like him walking its streets. But leaving required money, and that was something she didn’t have. So she stayed. And every night, she wondered if she had made the biggest mistake of her life. She told herself it was over. That Lorenzo had forgotten her. That their paths would never cross again. Isla groaned and pushed open the refrigerator door, expecting to see nothing. There was a single bottle of water on the top shelf, beside a half-empty jar of peanut butter that she couldn't even remember buying.Hunger made her stomach turn, yet there was no easy solution. She had to go shopping. She stuffed her money in her pocket and pulled her coat from the back of the chair. Although she didn't have much money, she could buy certain necessities. Enough for the entire week. The refreshing air touched her skin as she went outside, evoking recollections of that evening—about him, akin to the soft noises of the city, the buzz of fluorescent lights in the supermarket, or the frigid air searing her lungs. The memory hovered on the fringes of her awareness, yet she disregarded it. This was just another errand. Just another day. A weird sensation, however, pricked at the back of her neck as she walked down the street. Like someone was watching her. Today, it screamed at her. She glanced at him nonchalantly as she pretended to grab for a can of soup. A man in a dark jacket. Tall, broad-shouldered, lingering near the entrance. Her heart pounded. Acting as though she hadn't noticed him, she picked up a few more things and headed for the checkout. But he was still there when she looked again. observing. As she paid for her groceries, the atmosphere felt suffocating. Her hands trembled as she placed the receipt into her bag, but she forced herself to remain calm and move smoothly. The frigid air pierced her skin as she went outside, but it did nothing to alleviate her anxiety. She accelerated. One block. Then two. Footsteps echoed behind her. Too close. Isla's heart rate soared. There was no coincidence here. He had been dispatched by someone. As the man eventually got closer and stepped right in front of Isla, her steps faltered. Her heart pounded and her breath caught. Although he talked softly, she could hear a faint suggestion of something in his voice. "You should be more careful walking alone at night," he continued. A cautionary tale? Laughter? Despite the mounting anguish in her gut, she kept a neutral expression and tightened her grip on the grocery bag. He bent his head slightly, as if unsure how to respond, and stated, "No one is important." Before she could press him any further, the man turned on his heel and vanished into the darkness, as if he had never existed.
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Gunshots pierced the silence. The flat door slammed wide, sending splinters flying across the room as heavy boots thudded on the floor. I stopped breathing because my heart was pounding so loudly that I could hear it in my ears. A powerful arm reached out before I could respond, pushing me back. Lorenzo said, "Stay down," in a clear, quiet voice. I instinctively pushed myself against the couch and fell to the ground behind it. My body was screaming for me to go, but my senses told me that any quick movement could kill me. Shadows streamed in through the broken door, hazy forms moving in the low light. Lorenzo stiffened and grabbed the nearest object from the end table, a heavy glass ashtray.It was not substantial, yet the manner in which he grasped it, as if he could take a life with it, convinced me it was equally lethal as a firearm in his grip. A towering person advanced, holding his firearm up. "Stand back!" The tone was strong. Known. I looked over the side of the couch,
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"Stop!" My voice broke the silence of the snow-blanketed park, yet the man did not stop. His dark figure remained at the lake's edge, staunch against the howling wind. Snow adhered to the thick wool of his coat, his shoulders somewhat slouched as if bearing an unseen burden. The ice under him creaked in objection, a haunting, cracking noise that sent a shiver down my back. He wasn’t merely standing there. He was anticipating. One cautious step ahead, measured and intentional. The noise of breaking ice reverberated across the night. “Hello! “Step away!” I called once more, my breath swirling in the icy atmosphere. My heart pounded in my chest, each instinct yelling that something was truly, genuinely amiss. However, he did not pivot. Didn’t recognize me. His stance—perfectly motionless, completely resolute—caused my stomach to churn. I was not familiar with him. I had no cause to be concerned. However, a profound, instinctive fear gripped my heart. "Please," I repeated, my voic
