Artful Deception || A Romance Thriller

Chapter 1: Lila

The darkest paths often lead to the brightest destinations

New York City, December 5th, 1977

I crouch behind the dumpster, my heart pounding like a drum. The smell of rotting garbage mixing with a sharp tang of fear fills my nose. The sound of gunfire echoing through the alley, each shot jolts a reminder of the immense danger I'm a few feet away from. The acrid smell of the gunshot powder arises, filling the alley with a sharp, pungent odor. Should I make a run for it? My mind races, weighing all the possible options. What if they saw me? How will I find my way back? My mind refocuses when I hear the shouting of the cops and the screeching breaking of glass increase, as more sirens blare down the road.

I want to see my father in action. I want to understand what he loves about putting his life in danger for others. How can he do it so easily? Each thought brings me closer to my father, understanding his point of view, understanding him. My thoughts were interrupted once more when I realized the silence that covered the once-warful scene. Everything is quiet, almost like the bullets had frozen in mid-air.

The second of peace is ruined when a distant shout slices the stillness, followed by a burst of movement—BANG—a gunshot splits the air, sharp and final. My thoughts from before are quiet as my head snaps to the direction of the sound, in time to see my father.

The next moment feels like it stretches forever. It has to be a mistake. He'll get back up, I know he will. But then his eyes go wide, his mouth opens in a silent scream, and his body crumples, hitting the ground with a thud as his gun clatters beside him. My chest tightens, unable to breathe. My limbs turn to stone, but I can't seem to tear my eyes away. Everything slows, repeating like a broken record. My father. Shot. No, no, no. This can't be happening. My stomach churned as I watched the life drain from my father's eyes. The world tilts and everything I thought I knew about it shifts. My vision blurs, the coldness of the snow wrapping around me.

The yelling and gunfire return as I lay there, the shots echoing in my mind. The sound slips further away, back into a past I can't undo. That was the moment everything changed, and I never could go back.

New York City, August 12th, 1993

I'm frozen, caught in the web of my past. My head is full of echoes—my father's voice, the gunshots, his fall. And then—

"Lila, did you hear me?" Damion's stern voice pierces through the haunting memory, his head turning to me.

"Sorry, I spaced," I reply.

Damion sighs before repeating, "We're going in and out, make it quick." the tangled vines creep up the sides of the abandoned warehouse as he grips the door handle.

"Easier said than done," I sigh, before the door opens, the creaking of the rustic hinges echoing through the facility—Damion steps in front of me staying on high alert. The sound of Damion's footsteps rolled throughout the warehouse, silence wasn't an option here.

We lug the black bags past the run-down crates to the dimly lit table awaiting us in the center. The smell of rust and mildew clinging to the wall is almost thick enough to taste. Critters hiding in the shadows scurry softly with every step we take. The lighting feels stale as if it's scared to shine too brightly in the dark space.

Three men approach us at the scuffed-up table, their steps are heavy as the dust begins to stir beneath each one they take. The two on either side stand straight, dressed identically, in black hoodies with loose-fitted jeans. Their guns are shoved carelessly into their waistbands, while the man in the middle stands out with a suit and tie, his authority showing through his cold expression.