Chapter Three: Shadows from the Past

Chapter Three: Shadows from the Past

Sofia stood frozen behind the bar, her phone still glowing in her hand.

The message stared back at her like a ghost.

We know where you are.

Time’s up, princesa.

“¿Sofia?” Marta’s voice cut through the haze, low and wary. “You okay?”

Sofia blinked once, then shoved the phone into her back pocket. “Yeah. Just a spam text.”

But Luca was already moving toward her, sensing the shift.

“That didn’t look like spam,” he said quietly, too close for comfort.

Sofia stepped back. “Don’t start.”

“What did it say?”

“I said don’t start, Luca.”

His jaw clenched. “You’re not just a bartender, and we both know it.”

Before she could answer, La Sombra’s lights flickered—just once. Then again.

Marta looked up. “Power surge?”

Sofia’s gut twisted. “No. That’s not—”

The front door burst open. Two men in leather coats stormed in, one of them pulling a gun from under his jacket. The music cut. Screams echoed. Glass shattered.

“DOWN!” Luca shouted, tackling Sofia behind the bar just as bullets flew overhead.

Bottles exploded around them, liquor splashing over broken glass and gunpowder.

Luca shoved her flat on the floor, shielding her with his body. “Stay down, damn it!”

She kicked him off. “I don’t need protection!”

He stared at her like she’d lost her mind. “They’re here for you, aren’t they?!”

She didn’t answer—because she didn’t have to.

Luca drew his sidearm from an ankle holster and peeked above the bar. “Two men. One’s reloading. I can get the one by the exit.”

Sofia pulled a Glock from under the counter.

Luca blinked. “You’re armed?”

She smirked. “What part of I’m not just a bartender didn’t you get?”

They moved in sync.

Sofia popped up first, taking out the man by the left booth with a single shot to the shoulder. Luca disarmed the second with a brutal takedown and had him pinned against the wall in seconds.

“Who sent you?” Luca growled.

The man spat blood. “You think she can run forever? Her father wants her alive. For now.”

Sofia’s blood ran cold.

Luca turned to her, eyes wide. “Raúl Delgado. He’s alive.”

Sofia nodded, slowly, chest rising and falling fast. “He never died. I just wanted to believe he did.”

The sirens wailed in the distance. Police.

Luca let the man fall and turned to Sofia. “We need to go. Now.”

Marta ran over, breathless. “I’ll handle the cops. Go through the back—Rafa owes me.”

Sofia grabbed her by the arm. “Thank you.”

Marta smirked. “You can thank me later. If you live.”

***

Outside – 3:12 A.M.

Rain pounded as they sped through the alleys on Luca’s stolen motorcycle, Sofia clinging to him tightly. Her dress was torn. Blood smeared down her thigh—someone else’s, not hers.

“You knew this would happen,” she shouted over the wind.

“I suspected,” he shouted back. “I didn’t expect them to hit tonight.”

“So what now?” she yelled.

“We disappear. Regroup. And you tell me everything.”

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t know if she could.

***

Safehouse – An Hour Later

The room smelled of damp stone and gun oil. Luca had taken them to a forgotten Interpol stash-house in the hills. Small. Cold. Secure.

Sofia sat on the bed, still in the red dress, trembling slightly.

Luca stood by the table, cleaning his pistol. He didn’t look at her when he spoke.

“Is it true?”

“…What?”

“Raúl Delgado is your father?”

She sighed. “He was. Until the day he tried to kill me.”

Luca turned. “Why?”

“Because I refused to be what he wanted. A daughter. A weapon. His legacy.”

Luca stepped closer. “You could’ve told me.”

“And you would’ve what? Still kissed me? Still wanted me?”

He dropped his gaze. “I still do.”

She rose from the bed, walked slowly to him. Their faces were inches apart again.

“This changes everything,” she whispered.

“Not for me,” he said, voice rough.

Their lips collided—hungry, desperate, and messy with blood and rain and fear. Her hands tore at his shirt. He gripped her hips like he was afraid she’d vanish.

But even as they gave in to the heat between them, Sofia knew:

This was just the calm before the real war.

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