Chapter Four: Roses and Guns

Rosie had never heard gunshots in real life before. Not until that night.

The sound cracked through the air like thunder, sharp and sudden, shattering the calm of the estate.

She dropped the laundry she was folding and ran to the window. Outside, near the back gates, headlights flashed. Men in black suits moved swiftly, weapons drawn. Shouting followed. More shots. Then silence.

Her breath caught. Her mother rushed into the hallway moments later, panic etched into her face. “Get into your room. Lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone.”

“But—”

“Now, Rosie!”

Rosie obeyed, though her heart hammered in protest. She sat on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the door, ears straining for sound. Fear curled in her chest like smoke.

It wasn’t just a gunfight.

It was a message.

The next morning, everything was eerily calm. The staff said nothing. The bodies—if there were any—were gone. No blood. No sirens. Just silence and the scent of bleach.

Rosie didn’t see Luca until evening.

She had been asked to bring fresh tea to the west lounge. When she entered, he was alone—no guards, no shadows. Just him, sitting on the couch, hands clasped, a glass of something dark beside him.

He didn’t look at her. “Put it on the table.”

She did, placing the tray carefully down, hands still slightly trembling.

“Do you know what happened last night?” he asked suddenly.

Rosie paused. “I heard… gunfire.”

“A warning,” he said simply. “From someone who forgot who runs this city.”

Rosie looked at him. He didn’t look shaken or angry. Just… tired. Beneath the tailored suit and cool expression, there was a shadow in his eyes. Not fear. Something else. Something human.

“Why do they hate you so much?” she asked before she could stop herself.

He finally turned to her, one brow raised. “Bold question.”

She swallowed. “Sorry.”

“No,” he said. “Don’t be. People don’t ask me real questions anymore.”

He stood, walking to the window. The light from the chandelier caught the scar at his jaw—a faint, pale mark that looked like it had stories to tell.

“My father ran this city before me. My grandfather before him. We don’t just deal in money or guns. We deal in fear. Loyalty. Silence.” He turned to face her. “People hate me because I remind them of what they can’t be. Because I make choices they’re too soft to make.”

Rosie met his eyes. “And what do you hate?”

Luca didn’t answer right away. Then, softly, “Weakness.”

She nodded slowly. “But weakness isn’t always bad. Sometimes… it’s the first step to change.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then Luca did something she hadn’t expected.

He smiled.

Not a full smile. Just the corner of his lips, like a crack in armor.

“You’re not like the others,” he said.

“I’m not trying to be,” she replied.

He stepped closer. Not threatening. Just… present. Intense. “If you want to survive here, Rosie, you’ll need to learn the rules.”

“Maybe,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Or maybe I’ll change them.”

He blinked at that. Then turned away, his smile fading. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“So are you.”