Chasing Shadows

Chasing Shadows

Killerpants

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One girls story of love, pain, revenge and the man who changes her life. Hannah was an ordinary little girl...until her father was brutally murdered. Now she vows to never let anyone close to her again...until fate stepped in!

Chapter 1 Prologue

Thunder rolled and lightning flashed over head. It had been a long day at work for John Parker.

He was a background investigator for the secret service although he was trained to be a field agent in the cases. But as age caught up with him and a growing family he decided to lower his position for his safety and the safety of his family. He missed the field work but with the longing came thoughts of a beautiful wife and 2 young daughters at home. He smiled. He was back early from a case that had taken him overseas he couldn't wait to surprise his family.

"Martha? Hannah? Katrina?" the house was dark and quiet.

"You picked the wrong time to come home!!!" a sinister voice whispered in the darkness.

John quickly turned on a light all he saw was the glint of a blade in a gloved hand. The man brought his arm around john turning him around catching him in a hold.

"You're treading on the wrong ground John!" the man whispered before john could free himself and his gun or yell for help in hopes of being heard by a neighbor his attacker had thrust the knife into john's side to stop him. John tried to scream but a hand clamped over his mouth and nose silencing him and at the same time strangling him so he couldn't breathe. John fought for consciousness but was slowly losing it for lack of oxygen.

John managed to free his mouth from the man's clamp and screamed. The attacker was startled for a second. John used this time to free himself from the hold and he caught hold of the man breaking his attacker's wrist. The attacker brought the knife up slicing john's throat in one quick motion. The attacker, to ensure the finality the fight, broke john's neck. He stood over his victim until the violent spasms subsided and john's chest heaved no longer before the attacker took what he had came for, sheathed his knife and left.

* *

*

"Oh my gosh!!! What's happened here?" Martha screamed when they had arrived home hour's later to see their house blocked off for a crime scene with the police all around and inside.

"Ma'am I'm sorry. Your husband. your husband was murdered earlier this evening. I'm sorry."

An officer informed her once they had entered the house. Martha was in shock not believing what she was hearing or seeing. She walked slowly around the house taking in the men in her house photographing and sketching and documenting all the evidence in her house. She rushed from the house and vomited when she saw her husbands' body, lifeless, lying in a pool of his blood.

"I'm sorry about what happened here tonight Mrs. Parker I promise we will do everything in our power to make sure this killer is put to justice." Hours later when the forensics team had left Martha walked over to her neighbors house where she had left her children she had no idea as to how to break

the news to them that their father wouldn't be coming home. Her neighbor was nice enough to put her family up for a few days while the house was cleaned up. He daughters were heartbroken. Katrina, 10 ½ sobbed on her mom's shoulder for a little while then not fully knowing what was wrong got up to go play with her friend.

Not understanding the entirety of hat had happened there that night. Hannah. Age 10, broke her mom's heart. She refused to cry right then. But late that night she could hear her daughter's muffled sobs against the pillow heard her angry cries into the darkness of the night. In the dawn's silence Hannah dried her eyes, sat up straight and whispered to herself and the darkness a silent plea and a tearful vow of silence, a child's idea of revenge that would stay with her for the rest of her life and change her life in a big way.

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Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

SHANA GRAY
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I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

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