POV: Luca
I was sitting in Dad's car because he'd told me to come "as backup," using a tone he'd never used before.
Not his work voice. Not his dad voice. Something else that made my stomach tight.
"Why am I here?" I asked as he pulled out.
"Because I need someone I trust watching my back." His hands were steady on the wheel. Too steady. "And because if something goes wrong, you need to see it happen."
"Dad—"
"Not up for debate, Luca." He checked the rearview. Then reached over and manually locked all the doors.
He never did that. The car did it automatically. But here he was, pressing the button like sealing us in.
"That's unnecessary," I said.
"Not tonight." He adjusted the rearview mirror—not to see the road, but angled so he could see me clearly. Our eyes met in the reflection. "Tonight, everything is necessary."
We drove in silence. The sun was setting. Traffic was light. Nothing felt normal.
"Where are we going?"
"To meet someone who thinks they can dictate terms." His jaw tightened. "I'm going to correct that assumption."
"Alone?"
"With you. As backup. As witness." He glanced at me. "As successor."
The word landed wrong.
"Don't talk about succession," I said.
"Some authority transfers are temporary," Dad said quietly. "Others are permanent. You need to understand which one this is before it happens."
"Dad, stop talking like this is a goodbye."
He didn't respond. Just checked the mirror again. Then reached across and gripped my wrist—hard, grounding.
"Listen more than you speak tonight," he said. "Watch more than you react. And if something happens to me, you don't try to fix it. You get yourself out and protect your mother. That's the only priority. Understand?"
"Yes."
He released my wrist. Turned back to the road.
We approached a red light. Stopped. Another car pulled alongside us instead of behind.
That registered wrong. You pull behind at a red light. Not alongside. Not unless—
"Get low," Dad said.
"What?"
"Now, Luca. Get down. Now."
His voice had gone sharp. Urgent. His hand pushed my head down, and then the light turned green and the car beside us didn't move and Dad hit the accelerator hard.
I looked back just in time to see the passenger window roll down. See the arm extend. See the gun raised.
"Dad—"
The shot was so loud inside the car that my ears immediately started ringing. A crack that split the air.
Dad jerked sideways. Hard. His body hit my shoulder with force. I felt warmth—wet, hot—spray across my face, my hands, the dashboard.
Blood.
"Dad!" I grabbed for the steering wheel as the car swerved. Dad's weight was against me, heavy, unresponsive. "Dad, no—"
The car was still moving. I reached across him, tried to grab the wheel with one hand while supporting him with the other. Headlights flashed. Someone honked.
"Dad, please—"
His head lolled against my shoulder. Eyes open. Not seeing. Blood soaking through everything.
Too much. Too fast.
I yanked the wheel right, aimed for the shoulder, hit the brake with my foot stretched across. The car lurched. Skidded. Stopped.
Silence. Except the ringing in my ears and my own breathing—too fast, unable to get enough air.
"Dad." I shook him. Gentle. Then harder. "Dad, no. Please—"
But he wasn't moving. Wasn't breathing. Wasn't anything except weight and blood and the terrible understanding that my father was gone and I'd watched it happen.
I fumbled for my phone. Dropped it. Picked it up with shaking, bloody hands.
The phone connected. I didn't know to who.
I just screamed for help.
***
POV: Rosalind
I was sitting on the living-room floor, phone in hand, counting seconds out loud because Theo had told me to.
"One. Two. Three."
My voice sounded strange. Mechanical.
"Four. Five. Six."
Theo had said wait. Count to sixty. So I counted.
"Seven. Eight—"
The phone rang before I reached ten.
I answered without saying hello.
Breathing. Hard. Panicked. Luca's breathing.
"Luca?"
"Mum—" His voice broke. Then shouting. Screaming.
"Luca, where are you?" Louder. "Luca!"
Wind. Traffic. Cars passing. Then nothing. The line went dead.
"WHERE ARE YOU?"
I tried to call back. It rang. And rang.
Then Theo's number flashed. I answered.
"Theo—"
"Get up." His voice was cold. "Get dressed. Put on shoes you can run in. Do not drive toward the sound of sirens."
"What happened? Where's Luca? Where's Daniel?"
"I know."
"You know what?"
"Daniel's gone, Rosalind."
The words didn't process.
"Gone where?"
"Gone." Firmer. "And Luca's in shock but alive. Police and ambulance are en route. You cannot go there. Do you understand? You cannot be there when they arrive."
"That's my son—"
"And he's safe. He called 911. He's surrounded by witnesses." Theo's voice softened. "But if you show up at a crime scene where your husband was just murdered, you become the first suspect."
Murdered.
"Daniel's dead," I said. Testing how it sounded.
"Yes."
My hands started shaking. The phone slipped from my fingers, clattered to the floor.
I needed to get up. To move. To go to Luca.
But my legs wouldn't work.
So I crawled. Across the floor. Toward the front door.
I reached it. Pulled myself up. Opened it.
Evening air hit my face. The street was empty. Somewhere distant, sirens.
Don't drive toward the sound of sirens.
I stood on the threshold. One foot inside. One foot outside. Unable to cross either direction.
I stared down the street. Watched headlights pass. Ordinary traffic. Ordinary evening.
"Please come home," I whispered.
To Daniel. To the universe.
"Please. Please come home."
But I already understood he wouldn't.
The sirens grew louder. Then faded. Moving toward wherever my son sat in a car with his father's blood on his hands.
I stood on the threshold.
And waited.