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Chapter Three

Luca Romano

The stranger girl doesn't even give me her name. All I have is her beautiful smile, and somehow, it lingers in my mind for days. I don't know why I feel this pull towards her. It doesn't make sense. I mean, I'm an extrovert, but even I wouldn't just randomly connect with someone at a club like that.

There is something different about her, something meaningful. Even now, more than two weeks after the encounter, I keep getting flashbacks. Her skin, soft and delicate, contrasting with her pretty eyes that have a certain She’s stunning, even more so in ways I can’t explain. I’d been with plenty of women. That’s what my life is supposed to be—freedom, indulgence, the perks of a wealthy family. But this... it’s different with her.

I walk into the room from my office feeling drained. It's evening and 10 o'clock already. Not exactly the time I am supposed to be coming home from work, but it is what it is. I flop down and lounge on my bed, scrolling through my phone without a care in the world, completely oblivious to the danger that lurks nearby. Suddenly, I sense that something is wrong. I look up and notice a figure in a shadowy part of the room pointing a gun straight at me.

I recognize her instantly. After all, I've been thinking about her for a very long time now. I, however, don't know how to react to such a deadly situation on our second meeting. The first time, we'd been in a club, laughing and drinking together, and even had sex, but now she's before me, with a gun pointed at my head. Oh, the irony of it all.

Her hand stays steady, the gun never wavering. I wonder if she'll give me a chance to try to change her mind before blowing my head off, and when I see her hand trembling slightly, I know that all hope is not gone yet. My instincts should be screaming at me to back down, to show fear, but they’re not. Maybe it's because I’m not sure what’s scarier—the gun in her hand or the way she makes me feel. Not yet, anyway.

"So, this is how it ends?"

She takes a step closer, closing her eyes for a second before looking back at me. This time, they are filled with resolve to end it all and get her mission over with.

"Look here," I say, "I don't know what I've done, but if you could at least tell me of my crimes, I'd be grateful to know exactly why I'm about to die."

She frowns, cocking her head to one side as if thinking about it deeply. I raise an eyebrow, and just as I think I'm going to continue the one-sided conversation, she finally speaks.

"You are Luca Romano." She says my name like it's a question and looks at me with disbelief. There's one more thing though—the way she looks at me, the words tell me I've not committed any crime. She's not here on a personal grudge against me. Hell, she doesn't even expect this person to be me.

"What are you? Some kind of assassin?" I question.

Her eyes flash with emotion. I frown, wondering whether I have been too judgmental there. I notice her dead stare as she looks at me. Not shooting yet, but her finger hovers uncertainly over the trigger. I take in a deep breath, knowing fully well that my next words would determine my life or death. Yet when I speak, the words sound like the most foolish choice I could have come up with.

"Fine, do what you have to do," I say, trying to keep calm but sinking into the bed all the same.

I stand slowly, feeling the weight of her gaze, before making my way to grab a Coke from the fridge. I sit back down on the bed, still under the threat of her gun. The room is too quiet. My fingers feel numb as I twist off the cap."

"I’m not sure why you’re letting me enjoy this last moment, but I’m not going to complain," I tell her. "However, I'd rather it's unexpected. I don't think any amount of preparation is enough for that moment, for the moment of death."

She nods slowly, pointing the gun right at me. I let out a breath—any moment now, and my life, the one that has been stretching out before me with so much hope, would be extinguished. Why did I tell her to make it unexpected? Now I wouldn't know when. She doesn't shoot even after some seconds, and the suspense is killing me. I glance at her, unable to enjoy my drink anymore. She sighs and sits on the bed beside me, rubbing her fingers in her temples and looking very tired.

"You didn't shoot," I notice, and stop myself from saying anything before she decides to change her mind. I was really grateful. Inever thought I'd be here, still breathing. It’s not every day someone gets a second chance. But I’m not sure she’s done yet. After a couple of seconds spent in silence, I pour some of the drink in a cup for her. "Here," I offer, "you are a good person at heart, do you know that?"

Her eyes lock onto mine, but there's something unsettled in them—a question. For a moment, I see vulnerability, but it quickly vanishes as her expression hardens. She takes it from me and eats slowly, and I feel glad for her silent acceptance. Suddenly, I hear a couple of footsteps and the clear, harsh voices of guards.

"Someone's broken in!" one of them announces while a ruckus ensues.

She looks from the door to the window like a cornered animal before resting her gaze on me. Her hand goes to her gun somewhere in her trouser, but she stalls, changing her mind quickly.

Her voice is firm, but there's something else in it—a desperation, maybe? "You’ll help me get out of here. Otherwise, I’ll finish this. And either way, I’ll find a way out."