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Chapter 14 — Velvet Shadows and Shattered Lights
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— Morning Frost, Cold Coffee
The penthouse was silent. Uncharacteristically silent.
Luca DeLuca stared out at the sprawling city of Rome from behind the floor-to-ceiling windows. The skyline wore a delicate blush of early dawn, yet his thoughts churned like a storm cloud trapped inside a crystal dome. His jaw was clenched, muscles tight, a faint trace of yesterday's scotch still bitter on his breath.
Behind him, silence reigned where warmth once flickered.
The infamous actress — his girlfriend of three years, Lavinia Moretti — was gone. Gone before he could confront her about the surveillance footage. Gone without apology. Without a trace of guilt.
A steaming cup of untouched espresso sat on the marble counter. Cold now. Just like the space she left in his bed.
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— The Message Hidden in Ink
At precisely 9:00 a.m., Luca walked into his studio — but his steps slowed as his assistant, Claudio, handed him a small envelope.
No stamps. No name. Just a black wax seal: the Marranzano crest, ancient and cracked.
Luca's fingertips hesitated on the envelope, the skin at the back of his neck tightening. He hadn't heard that name in five years.
Inside: a single sheet of parchment. Handwritten. In the dead man's ink.
> "Blood must answer where silence once bled. The girl is not who she seems. The betrayal has only begun."
There was no signature. Just a faint fingerprint smudge at the bottom.
Luca folded the letter neatly, slid it into his inner coat pocket, and looked up with glacier-cold eyes.
> "Claudio. Double the guards. No one enters the set today except cast. No excuses."
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— The First Spark in Her Eyes
Sophia Arden was already on set, running lines with an acting coach when Luca walked in.
She was barefoot. Hair tied in a messy bun. Face bare. Laughing.
The sight disarmed him more than it should have.
So young. So raw. So… unmanufactured.
When their eyes met, the moment stretched like a taut violin string.
> "Mr. DeLuca," she greeted, voice soft yet careful.
"Miss Arden." He nodded, folding his arms, watching her like a riddle in motion.
"You're early," she smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"So are you."
Their eyes held longer than the script required.
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— Tension on Set
The scene being filmed that day required a kiss.
Not with Luca. With the second lead actor.
But Luca stood by the camera, arms folded, eyes a little too focused. Every angle. Every motion. Every touch.
Sophia could feel the weight of his attention like a second spotlight.
> "Reset. Cut," the director shouted. "Sophia, you're stiff. Feel it!"
She nodded, blushing. They went again.
When the scene ended and Sophia stepped off, Luca approached. Quiet. Calm. Controlled.
> "Was that your first on-screen kiss?" he asked.
"Second."
"It looked like your first."
"That obvious?" she laughed nervously.
He leaned closer, voice low. "You were hesitant. Not with him — with the camera. That's rare. It's not bad."
> "What is it, then?"
"Real."
His words lingered longer than they should have.
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— A Subtle Invitation
Later that afternoon, a subtle message was slipped under her dressing room door:
> "Dinner. 8 PM. Same terrace. No velvet. Just you." — L.D.
Sophia's fingers trembled slightly as she read it.
Why did it matter? Why did it thrill her?
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— Candlelight and Unspoken Questions
The terrace was dressed simply tonight. No violins. No pressed tuxedo. Just Luca, black shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, leaning on the balustrade overlooking the moon-washed vineyard.
Sophia walked up slowly, her pale blue dress fluttering like whispered promises.
> "You came," he said without turning.
"You asked," she answered, voice barely audible.
They sat. Ate. Talked about books. About Italy. About silence.
Then, quietly, she asked, "Why me?"
> "What do you mean?"
"Out of all the actresses, all the women… why me?"
He looked at her, eyes darker than storm clouds.
> "Because you're the only one who doesn't try to belong in my world."
Silence fell like snow.
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— Gunfire in the Vineyard
The first bullet shattered the wine glass.
Sophia screamed, instinctively ducking as Luca grabbed her wrist and pulled her down behind the stone table.
More shots. Shouting. Boots on gravel.
> "Stay down," he ordered, pulling a gun from beneath the table — a Glock, custom-polished.
Sophia stared, heart hammering, as the man who was supposed to be a producer turned into something far deadlier.
His motions were precise. Military. Mafia.
In under two minutes, the attackers were either down or fleeing.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Guards came running.
Sophia, still crouched, stared at Luca with wide, horrified eyes.
> "What… who are you?" she whispered.
His jaw tightened. "Someone who just saved your life."
> "Why do you even have a gun?"
"Because not everything I produce is for the screen, Sophia."
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— Aftermath and Realizations
They sat in the villa's lounge. Her hands wrapped around a cup of chamomile tea. Still shaking.
Luca's knuckles were bruised. His shirt blood-splattered. Silent.
> "You're mafia, aren't you?" she finally whispered.
He looked at her. Cold. But no denial.
> "Yes. And the woman you replaced in this film… she knew. She also betrayed me."
Sophia's voice cracked. "Why did you bring me into this?"
Luca's gaze softened for a fleeting second.
> "Because I wanted something… untouched. Unburned. Before the world took it."
Sophia's breath hitched.
> "And now?"
"Now it's too late."
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Chapter Ends