Bound by Gun (Book 1)

A gunshot ripped into the dark silence, its sound so harsh and sudden it made the air quiver. Catalina De Luca stopped in the doorway, her throat seized. Her fingers clutched the wooden frame, keeping her upright while her big, scared eyes locked on her father.

He stood shaking, his lofty form silhouetted against the starless heavens. Smoke rose from the gun still grasped in his hands, the smell of gunpowder curling into the salty breeze.

Catalina didn’t recognize him. Once he held the world on his shoulders, but now he felt empty, his suffering leaking through gaps nobody could heal.

The bullet was merely a cry into the emptiness; it was not meant for anybody. At least, that’s what Catalina believed. She had to believe it.

“Dad,” she said, moving forward, her voice as delicate as the evening around them. Her arms hung in the air, unsure what to do, as if they might hold him together somehow. “Kindly put it down. Please..."

Her father didn’t move. His eyes, lined with unshed tears, peered out over the horizon where the sea faded into darkness.

“I can’t let her go, Cat,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “She is all I see, everywhere. She left, yet I still sense her.”

Catalina felt a familiar ache in her chest, the loss pressing so strongly it felt as though her ribs might break. Her mother’s death had split them both, leaving an emptiness too great to heal.

She knelt next to him and reached for his arm, her words calm despite her shaking hands. “Mom would not have wanted this. She wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself like this. Or me.”

Something flashed in his eyes for a moment—a little pause in the tempest roaring inside him. But just as quickly, it was carried away by the flow of his hopelessness.

His head lowered into his hands, and he slumped forward. The rifle dropped from his grasp and thumped dully on the porch.

With shaky breathing, Catalina reached for the gun. Her fingers trembled as she moved it beyond reach, her eyes fixed on the man before her—the man who used to be her father.

The seaside house was quiet, its warmth gone long ago. Broken picture frames scattered the floor, empty wine bottles lined the counters, and the air was dense with a stifling quiet.

Catalina stood, her tired legs weighing heavily. She had no idea how much longer she could keep pretending to hold everything together. But she had to. Not while her father was precariously clinging on.

She was unaware of what none could have predicted—that the gunshot her father fired had not disappeared into the darkness.

Miles away, it fell from the heavens and struck Luca Moretti, the ten-year-old son of Matteo Moretti, the most dreaded mafia boss in the nation.

The boy’s laughter echoed across the yard for a moment before his small frame collapsed to the ground in silence.

One bullet had sent the De Luca family on a path to devastation.

The next evening, Catalina swept bits of broken glass from the living room floor. Her movements were routine, her mind numb as she tried to tidy up the wreckage of another of her father’s drunken tantrums.

Broken picture frames were strewn across the room, spilled wine discolored the floorboards, and chairs were turned over. Cleaning provided a small escape from the monotony; every movement helped her suppress the turmoil swirling in her thoughts.

She didn’t hear the heavy footsteps on the porch until the front door crashed open with deafening force.

Her heart shot to her throat. Turning, the broom slid from her fingers as her horrified eyes locked on the two men walking inside.

Their faces were etched from stone, and they wore sharp, dark clothes. Everything about them—their stillness, their posture—demanded power.

The taller of the two—a man with a jagged scar cutting down his cheek—strode toward her father, slumped in his chair, oblivious.

“Dad!” Catalina exclaimed as the scarred man grabbed her father by the arm and yanked him to his feet.

Her father barely fought the man’s relentless hold, blinking in bewilderment, panic flitting across his face.

Catalina moved without thinking. The second man grasped her wrists in an iron grip, blocking her as she hurried forward.

“Stay back,” he said, his voice low and relentless as he forced her away.

She staggered, a gasp escaping her lips as her back struck the wall. Her voice quivering, she whispered, “Please. What’s happening? Why are you here?”

Turning to her, the scarred man wore a hard and objective look. “Catalina De Luca,” he said, his voice slow and threatening. “Matteo Moretti is looking for your father. And you’re joining us as well.”

Her stomach dropped at the name. Matteo Moretti. She had heard it before, murmured—words spoken with equal parts respect and fear.

“Wait!” she begged, flailing against the man holding her. “We have done nothing at all! Please just tell me what is happening.”

The man with the scar curled his lip into a scowl. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

With an unrelenting grip, he pulled her father toward the door. Catalina was desperate rather than afraid.

“Let him go!” she screamed, fighting her captor. Her voice cracked, but it was no use.

The man shoved her forward, forcing her outside and into the rear seat of a waiting car.

The door slammed shut behind her, plunging her into darkness.

As the car shot through the night, Catalina’s heart hammered in her chest. Her mind raced with unanswered questions.

What had they done? What did Matteo Moretti want with them?

She stared out the window, watching her house vanish into the distance. Shadows loomed ahead, mysteries shrouded in the kind of hush only danger could bring.

And Catalina knew they couldn’t escape the storm waiting for them. Not in the hand of MATTEO MORRET.