Chapter 1 Whispers In The Shadow

• The rain hammered against the windows of Victoria Serria Villa penthouse apartment, mirroring the storm brewing inside her. Below, the city lights of Chicago twinkled like fallen stars, a stark contrast to the darkness that clung to her soul. She stood at the panoramic window, a glass of amber liquid swirling in her hand, the ice clinking softly – a small, fragile sound against the tempestuous backdrop. They called her the Mafia’s Daughter, a title she wore like a shroud. It was a legacy inherited, not chosen, a birthright steeped in blood and whispered secrets. She knew the stories, the hushed conversations that ceased abruptly when she entered a room, the way men looked at her – a mixture of fear and something else, something that made her skin crawl. Tonight, the whispers were louder than usual. Her father, Valvatore “Val” Villa, was hosting a meeting, a gathering of the Family’s inner circle. Serria could hear the muffled rumble of voices from the floor below, the clinking of glasses, the sharp, staccato bursts of laughter that never quite reached her. She wasn’t invited. She never was. The business of the Family was men’s work, she’d been told countless times. Her role was different, more… delicate. She took a slow sip of her drink, the burn of the whiskey a welcome distraction. Her gaze drifted to the framed photograph on the nearby table. A younger Serria, maybe ten years old, stood between her parents, a forced smile plastered on her face. Her mother, beautiful and ethereal, looked like she belonged in a different world, a world far removed from the grime and violence of the Villa empire. Serria’s father, a man of imposing stature and steely eyes, held her shoulder possessively. The image was a carefully constructed facade, a snapshot of a life that never truly existed. A sudden knock on the door startled her. She turned to see Mark leaning against the frame, a wry smile playing on his lips. He hadn’t changed much in the years since she’d last seen him. The same dark hair, the same piercing blue eyes, the same air of quiet confidence that had always both attracted and intimidated her. “The storm’s getting worse,” he said, his voice low and smooth. He stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind him. “Just like the one downstairs.” Serria’s breath hitched Mark. He was a ghost from her past, a reminder of a life she’d tried to bury deep. “What do you want, Mark?” she asked, her voice cool, betraying none of the turmoil his presence ignited within her. He pushed himself off the doorframe and walked towards her, his gaze unwavering. “We need to talk, Serria.” “About?” she asked, already knowing the answer. “About the past,” he said, his eyes locking with hers. “About what happened.” The whispers in the shadows grew louder, swirling around them like a gathering storm. Serria knew, with a chilling certainty, that her carefully constructed world was about to crumble. The past had come knocking, and it wouldn’t be denied. “About what happened,” Marck repeated, his voice echoing in the sudden silence of the penthouse. The rain outside intensified, lashing against the glass, as if the heavens themselves were trying to drown out the secrets they were about to unearth. Serria turned away, unable to meet his gaze. She walked to the bar, her hand shaking slightly as she poured herself another drink. “There’s nothing to talk about, Marck,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s over. It’s in the past.” He followed her, his footsteps silent on the plush carpet. “Is it, Serria?” he asked, his voice soft but insistent. “Or has it just been waiting, lurking in the shadows, ready to resurface?” She took a deep breath, trying to regain control. “You left, Marck,” she said, finally turning to face him. “You walked away. You have no right to come back here after all this time and… and…” The words caught in her throat. “And what, Serria?” he prompted, his eyes searching hers. “After all this time, what?” She looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the same intensity, the same fire, that had drawn her to him years ago. A fire she had tried desperately to extinguish in her own heart. “After all this time,” she finished, her voice barely audible, “you have no right to bring it all
• back.” He stepped closer, closing the distance between them. “I know I hurt you, Serria,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “I know I made a mistake. But I had to go. I had no choice.” “Choice?” she scoffed. “You call that a choice? Leaving me, leaving everything, without a word?” “I did it to protect you,” he said, his hand reaching out to touch her arm, then hesitating. “They were watching us, Serria. They knew. I had to get you out of it.” “‘They’?” she echoed, pulling her arm away. “You mean my father?” Mark’s jaw tightened. “He’s a dangerous man, Serria. You know that.” “And you thought running away was going to protect me?” she asked, her voice rising.
• “You think I’m safe now, living in this gilded cage, surrounded by his… his people?” “It’s not the same,” he said. “What happened back then… it was different. It was… darker.” A chill ran down her spine. “What are you talking about, Marck?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. He hesitated, his gaze shifting away for a moment. “The night… the night it happened,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t just a robbery gone wrong, Serria. It was… planned. It was a message.” “A message?” she repeated, her heart pounding in her chest. “A message to whom?” Marck looked back at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and resolve. “To you, Izzy,” he said. “It was a message to you.”