Chapter 2: No room for weakness

The night was thick with tension, the sharp scent of gunpowder and blood hanging in the air like a cruel reminder of Isabella Rosetti's predicament. She crouched behind a stack of metal crates, her breathing shallow, her muscles aching from the relentless chase. Her body screamed in protest—her right arm was slick with blood, the wound stinging every time she moved.

The mission had gone horribly wrong.

Luca Moretti's men had the upper hand, pinning her down in a warehouse on the outskirts of the city. She had been reckless. Normally, Isabella was careful, methodical—but exhaustion had dulled her reflexes, and now, one misstep had her cornered.

The realization sent a wave of frustration crashing through her. This shouldn't be happening. She had been trained for moments like this. She was a Rosetti, for god's sake. But tonight, her body refused to keep up with her mind.

A scuffling sound made her tense. She gripped her knife tighter, pressing her back against the cold concrete.

The scent of gunpowder and blood clung to the night air, thick and suffocating. The Rossi family had walked straight into a trap—one Isabella should have seen coming.

Now, she was cornered.

Her breaths came in slow, measured gasps as she pressed her back against the cold steel of a cargo container. Her ribs ached from the last hit. A graze on her arm burned from where a bullet had barely missed.

Around her, Moretti men moved like sharks circling wounded prey.

"One mistake and I'm dead."

She wiped the sweat from her brow, forcing herself to remain calm. This wasn't the first time she'd been outnumbered.

But this time, something was different.

This time, she was running out of options.

Through the haze of the fight, she caught sight of a figure standing at the back, near the blacked-out SUVs that blocked their only exit.

He didn't fight.

He didn't give orders.

He simply watched.

And that told Isabella everything she needed to know.

"That's the leader."

The way his men moved with confidence, the way no one dared approach him—he was in charge.

If she could get past him, she might have a chance.

Ignoring the searing pain in her ribs, she prepared to move.

----------------------------------------------

One of the men moved forward, gun aimed. "Surrender, Roseii. There's nowhere left to run."

Isabella's lips curled into a bitter smirk. "Then shoot."

The second the man's finger twitched on the trigger, Isabella moved.

With the last of her strength, she lunged forward, twisting the gun out of his hands, slamming the butt of her knife against his temple. He crumpled instantly.

She didn't hesitate.

Ignoring the sharp pain that tore through her shoulder, she ran.

Bullets ricocheted off the metal beams around her, the deafening sound blending into the chaos of shouts and curses. Her vision blurred from blood loss, but she forced herself forward. She couldn't stop. Not now.

Then, she saw him as she was the near end of that battleground. The Moreitti heir who was standing near the warehouse exit, watching her like a predator assessing its prey.

But then, her gaze finally landed on his face.

Her heart stopped

Luca.

Her mind reeled, pieces snapping into place too fast, too brutally.

"Luca...

Moretti?"

"The son of the Moretti crime family. The man I once—"

The black-haired man standing before her wasn't just the leader of the men hunting her. He was him.

The boy she had once known. The boy who had once held her heart in the palm of his hands.

Their eyes met through for a brief moment.

Just for a second.

And Isabella saw the no emotion in his eyes.

He let his men try to kill her.

And that told her everything she needed to know.

The Luca she had known was gone.Whatever they had once been—it didn't matter anymore.

A sharp, agonizing pain shot through her chest—one that had nothing to do with her wound.

No.

She couldn't afford to think like that.

The past was dead.

And right now, he was just another enemy

Her fingers clenched around the hilt of her knife.

Because in this world, there was no room for hesitation. Hesitation meant death. And she would not be the one to die tonight.

Forcing down everything—the memories, the ache, the doubt—she focused only on her escape.

With a final burst of strength, she moved.

A quick step, a feint, a bullet to the knee of the closest Moretti soldier.

The man collapsed, screaming

A second shot to the above—shattering the bulb, plunging the area into the darkness.

She turned sharply, pushing through the doors and into the cold night air.

Her steps faltered—she was losing too much blood. The city lights blurred, her heart pounding erratically against her ribs. Her body ached, but her heart ached worse.

She hadn't just left behind a battlefield. She had left behind a part of herself.

------------------