Catalina never expected this to become a regular part of her life. Affairs were supposed to be brief moments of passion, a quick spark that would fade. But Luca Deluca was different. He filled the empty spaces in her life like smoke seeping under a closed door, quiet yet impossible to ignore.
It started with excuses to leave: working late, urgent errands, the need for fresh air. These always seemed to lead her to that same fancy hotel with dark gold hallways, where the sheets were so soft they made her feel guilty.
After three weeks, she stopped lying to herself.
She wanted him. She liked how his voice softened when he said her name, how his cologne lingered on her clothes long after she snuck back home, and how he held her like she wasn't made of violence and secrets. With him, she wasn't Valerio's weapon or a quiet ghost leaving bodies on the streets. She was just a woman beside warm skin, breathing next to a man who made her forget she had ever learned to kill.
But doing the same thing repeatedly is risky. Addiction is even worse.
One Tuesday night, she stood in front of her bathroom mirror, fixing the top of a simple black dress. She shouldn't have cared about her outfit, but Luca made her notice things she never thought about, like how her hair looked down and how he smiled when she wore something with a zipper.
Her phone buzzed.
Luca: I'll be there in five. Unless you're not coming, sunshine.
She held back a smile. He was the only one who could call her that without making her angry. Anyone else would have received a knife to the neck. But Luca said it like he had tasted the word first, making sure it wouldn't hurt her.
Catalina: Bring wine. The cheap kind you pretend is expensive.
Luca: You hurt me.
Catalina: Not yet.
She tucked her phone into her bag and checked the gun in her oven, as she always did. It was still there, still loaded, a reminder of who she was when she wasn't wrapped in Luca's arms.
They met in another rented room that night, cheap enough not to show up on any bank records, clean enough to pretend there wasn't blood on their hands outside those walls.
Luca was always there first.
He leaned against the window, city lights glowing around him when she arrived. He wore a gray suit that likely cost more than all her apartment furniture combined. His tie was loose, and his shirt was slightly wrinkled.
He looked tired, the way men who control violence often do.
"Long day?" she asked, closing the door.
"Long week," he said quietly, but his face brightened when he saw her. "But it's getting better."
She rolled her eyes. "Cheesy."
"You love it."
She did, more than she should.
He quickly closed the space between them, took her waist, and tilted her face up to his. His kiss was slow, unhurried. It was as if he wanted to memorize her mouth, as if each moment counted.
She didn't want to think about how likely that was.
Later, when they snuggled under the sheets, Luca reached out and stroked her spine. "My men lost two more this week," he whispered.
She gasped softly.
She kept her face still, impassive. She was responsible for their deaths. She knew exactly how they had died.
"Deluca business?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
"Yeah." He sighed, frustration tightening his voice. "Someone is targeting my soldiers. Like an invisible figure. No evidence, no mistakes. I've never seen anything like it."
Her heart thudded loudly in her ears.
"You'll take care of it," she said, hoping her voice didn't betray her. "You always do."
He kissed her shoulder. "I don't want you involved in any of this, sunshine."
"I work with dead bodies, Luca. Not exactly fighting on the front lines."
He chuckled, unaware of the irony. "Still. I'll keep you safe."
She didn't ask who from. The truth would ruin them.
The air that night when she returned to Valerio's house was tense, like before a hurricane. Valerio paced in the living room, like a restless animal, his jaw stiff with tension.
"Cat," he said quickly, seeing her. "Where have you been?"
She took off her jacket. "Work. A body started to leak."
Valerio glared, irritated but not curious enough to ask more. "We lost three more men this week. That idiot Luca Deluca is losing people too. Someone is playing games."
That someone was her.
"What are my orders?" she asked.
Valerio rubbed his head. "Find the ghost killer. Whoever they are, they're hurting both sides."
She fought against swallowing hard.
He said, "Whoever finds their head gets double the money."
Her fingers trembled slightly. How much was her own head worth, she wondered?
But she remained silent. Catalina had learned long ago that silence was stronger than any weapon.
Her days became a routine she didn't want to think too much about: dead bodies in the morgue during the morning, Valerio's assignments at night, and Luca's arms during her free time.
Two lives, two identities, neither of which felt real but both were inescapable.
Luca took her to rooftops and quiet bars. Once, he took her to a late-night flower shop and bought her something silly and bright, a sunflower. She didn't know what to do with it, so she tucked it between the pages of an old book about the body.
His messages became sweeter. Her lies grew more convincing.
Every kiss brought them closer. Every kill pushed them further apart.
The routine was comforting. Sin, after all, when repeated enough, feels like salvation.
Neither was aware their love would end. Each though
t their true feelings were hidden. But one night, the conflict they had avoided emerged, suffocating them both.