Chapter 2 - The Shadow in the Courtyard
“How do you know what I searched?”
“Because, Emma—or should I call you Emily?—I knew who you were before I ever sat at your table.”
The voice through the phone was smooth, dark, and utterly unapologetic.
Emily’s hands shook so violently the cracked screen of her phone blurred. Down on the narrow, cobblestone street below her window, Dante Moretti remained motionless beside his black Mercedes. He didn't look like a customer anymore. He looked like a predator who had finally cornered his prey.
“What do you want from me?” she whispered.
“I want you to step away from the window, lock your bedroom door, and pack exactly one bag,” Dante commanded.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Emily.” He said her real name like it was a warning. “The men coming up your stairs right now do not ask politely.”
The line went dead.
Emily froze.
Her apartment was usually noisy, filled with the laughter of her three seasonal roommates. But tonight, the suffocating Santorini heat was matched only by a terrifying, absolute silence.
Then she heard it.
The heavy, muffled groan of the front door being forced open.
A floorboard creaked in the hallway.
Emily didn't breathe. She backed away from the window, her pulse hammering in her ears. She reached her bedroom door and slid the deadbolt shut with a quiet, desperate click.
She didn't pack a bag. She dropped to her knees and crawled under her bed, reaching for the loose floorboard she had discovered her first week here. Her fingers scraped against the rough wood until she pulled out a small, velvet pouch.
Inside was a silver pocket watch.
It was heavy, tarnished, and stopped exactly at 11:14. It was the only thing she had left of her father, a man who had died in a suspicious car crash when she was six. Her mother had given it to her the day she left Ohio, pressing it into her palm with shaking hands. “Keep it hidden, Emily. Always.”
Heavy footsteps stopped directly outside her bedroom.
The doorknob twisted. Once. Twice.
Then, a massive force slammed against the wood. The doorframe splintered.
Emily scrambled backward, pressing herself against the plaster wall, clutching the silver watch to her chest.
Another violent crash, and the door burst open.
Two men stepped into her bedroom. They wore dark, tactical clothing, completely out of place on the idyllic Greek island. They weren't Dante’s men. They looked frantic, tearing through her closet, ripping her mattress off the frame.
“Check the floorboards,” one of them growled in Italian.
Emily squeezed her eyes shut. This was it. She was going to die in a tiny apartment thousands of miles from home.
Suddenly, a shadow filled the doorway.
Dante Moretti stepped into the room. He didn't yell. He didn't raise a weapon. He simply stood there, an immaculate figure in black, radiating a quiet, lethal authority.
The two intruders froze.
“You’re trespassing,” Dante said softly.
The closer man reached for a weapon inside his jacket.
Dante moved with terrifying speed. He closed the distance in two strides, catching the man’s wrist and twisting it with a sickening crack. The intruder dropped to his knees, screaming. The second man lunged, but Dante casually drove his elbow into the man’s throat, sending him collapsing to the floor, gasping for air.
It took less than five seconds.
Dante adjusted his cuffs, his breathing perfectly even. He turned his dark, penetrating gaze toward the corner where Emily cowered.
He walked over and offered her his hand.
“I told you to pack,” he said.
Emily stared at his outstretched hand, trembling uncontrollably. She looked down at her own hands, clutching her father’s heirloom.
Dante’s eyes fell to her hands.
May you like
His calm demeanor shattered. A flash of profound, undisguised shock crossed his face.
“The silver watch,” Dante whispered, his voice losing its smooth edge. “So he really did give it to you.”
