Rain fell hard against the cold stone of the cemetery. Shadows stretched across the graves, and the wind carried whispers that weren't really there. My hand tightened around the gun. Every sense screamed danger. I knew it. I had always known it.
The first shot came before I could even blink. A sniper perched on the hill, cloaked by darkness, aimed for the spot where I had just stood. Instinct took over. I dove behind a headstone, the bullet grazing my shoulder. Pain shot through me, but it wasn't enough to slow me down. Not tonight. Not when everything I had built, everything my father had fought for, was on the line.
"Adrian!" Isabella's voice trembled, piercing the chaos. She had moved too close to the open ground. Her red dress stuck to her like a warning. I grabbed her arm, yanking her down behind the stone.
"Stay down," I barked. My heart pounded, but not from fear. Rage burned through my veins. Someone wanted me dead. And I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction.
The sniper fired again. I rolled forward, taking aim at the glint of the scope. My finger tightened on the trigger, breath steady. One shot. Then silence. The sniper fell, collapsing into the mud. I didn't move. I couldn't afford to.
"You're insane," Isabella whispered, gripping my arm. Her eyes were wide, fear mingled with something else—uncertainty.
"I'm alive. You're alive. That's what matters," I growled. My voice was low, hard, warning her and anyone else who might be listening. "Get up. Move."
I led her through the shadows, checking every corner, every gravestone. The cemetery was a maze, but I knew the layout. I had grown up running through these hills at night, chasing shadows, learning every escape route, every hiding place. Tonight, that knowledge was the difference between life and death.
Somewhere behind us, a car engine roared. I stopped, pressed Isabella against the cold stone wall, and peeked around. Two men—clean, professional—were moving fast, weapons ready. My men weren't here. Only I could handle this. Only I could protect her.
I fired first. Every shot counted. Each bullet found a target. The men dropped. The echo of gunfire lingered in the damp night air. Isabella flinched, her hands shaking on mine.
"It's over," I said, though I knew it wasn't. The real threat wasn't these men. They were just the first wave, the surface. Someone close had set this up. Someone inside my world, my walls, my trust.
I led her into the alley behind the cemetery. Safe—or at least safer than out in the open. She looked up at me, her hair plastered to her face, her eyes bright with tears she tried to hide.
"Why are they after us?" she asked.
I didn't answer. The truth was worse than she could know. I didn't just suspect. I knew. Someone inside my own circle had orchestrated this. Someone I trusted. And until I found them, nothing would be safe.
We reached the safehouse. Only Marco and I knew its location. The door clicked shut behind us, and I immediately set to work checking security measures—locks, alarms, surveillance feeds. Every entry point had to be secure. Every weakness eliminated.
Marco was already pacing, his face tight with anger and suspicion. "Someone knew exactly where you'd be. This wasn't random. Who else could it be?"
"I don't know yet," I admitted. My eyes never left Isabella as she sat quietly, pretending to help, pretending to be innocent. My gut told me otherwise, but I had no proof. Not yet.
"Someone close," Marco spat. "I don't trust her. Not for a second."
I frowned. "She's with me. She stayed. That's loyalty."
Marco shook his head. "Sometimes staying is just part of the game. Watch her."
The words stung. But he was right. Someone had set us up, and the only way to survive was to see every move clearly, to read every expression, to anticipate betrayal before it happened.
I sat across from Isabella, watching her fingers trace the edge of the table. Her breathing was steady, too steady. I leaned forward. "Tell me everything. If there's something you're hiding, now is the time."
She blinked, hesitant. "I… I don't know what you mean."
I didn't let her answer more. My voice hardened. "Don't lie to me. If someone inside wants me dead, and you know, I will know. I always know."
She looked down, just for a second. A flicker. Too fast for anyone else to see. But I saw it. A tiny crack in her armor. Something hidden. Something dangerous.
Marco's voice interrupted the moment. "We need to make a list. Everyone in the house. Everyone who had access to him tonight. And then we isolate them. One by one."
I nodded. "Agreed. But we move carefully. One wrong step, one slip, and they'll know we're onto them."
Isabella moved closer to me, "I can help," she whispered.
I stared at her. The words were soft, tempting. But my gut told me to be cautious. Every move she made, every smile, every gesture, could be a trap.
I turned back to the screens, to the maps of the safehouse, to every shadow that could hide a killer. "You'll help by staying alive," I said. "That's your role. Not asking questions. Not moving alone. Not making mistakes."
Her lips parted, but she said nothing. I didn't need words. I didn't need trust. I needed survival. And that meant I had to assume the worst from everyone, even her.
Hours passed in silence, broken only by the occasional rustle or distant car. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't relax. The enemy had played their first card, and I had survived. But the real game had only begun.
Then my phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number:
"He trusts you. Play carefully. Your move comes next."
I clenched my jaw. My fingers tightened around the phone. Someone was inside my circle. Someone close. And they were watching, waiting, baiting me.
Isabella looked at me, her eyes soft, worried, innocent—or at least she made it look that way. But I knew better. I had learned to see the cracks, the lies. And one day soon, I would find the truth.
The storm outside the safehouse raged on, but inside, the real danger was silent, creeping, patient. Someone close had betrayed me. And when I discovered who… they would regret ever crossing Adrian Moretti.