The Things We Carry

Chapter One: The Thing about Trouble

The heavy, cold weight of the black ledger was the first sign that her mother had left behind a terrifying secret.

It had been stashed right beneath a loose floorboard in the bedroom closet, buried under old shoe boxes and layers of dust.

Her mom had always assumed the hiding spot was a complete secret, but Luna had been a nosy, curious kid with a relentless habit of poking her nose where it didn't belong.

Her mother’s sudden death had left her seventeen, alone in a hollow house, and desperately grateful for Aunt Bianca’s offer of a spare bedroom. But sorting through a life in boxes was an exercise in ruthless verdicts: keep, toss, donate.

Driven by a quiet desperation to feel close to her mother one last time while packing up her childhood home, Luna had gone straight to the closet, pried up the familiar wooden board, and pulled out the old box, half-expecting to find some forgotten trinket or lingering memory.

When her fingertips brushed against the smooth, unpolished edges of the hidden wooden box, she found only a dusty collection of financial papers, faded photographs, some old recipes, and at the bottom, the heavy black ledger bound by a fraying elastic band.

The ledger clearly didn't belong to her mothe

The handwriting inside was harsh, jagged, and full of names, addresses, exact sums, and dates. It was a record of a violent, underground business.

But her mom hadn't just found it. She had methodically transformed it into her own private investigative file.

Bright neon sticky notes were jammed between the pages, covered in frantic, tight script. Margin notes in aggressive red ink translated jargon into names. And running down the right-hand side of every page were chilling annotations: paid in blood, closed account, target erased, balance cleared.

One name was underlined repeatedly: Dante.

Luna's breath hitched. She remembered hearing her mom whisper that exact name on hushed, anxious phone calls behind closed doors months before she died, calls that had given her an eerie feeling even back then.

For years, Luna’s maternal grandparents had claimed her father had abandoned them when she was four, leaving behind a bitter resentment that she had always accepted.

Her mother had never validated that version, offering only the same frustrating answer whenever Luna asked: he made choices he couldn't undo.

For thirteen years, Luna had believed he was simply a deadbeat who walked away. But holding this stolen ledger, a heavy, cold realization settled into her bones: what if he hadn't just left? What if he was running for his life from the men connected to this ledger?

Her eyes dropped to a neon yellow sticky note plastered across the very last page:

The truth is buried here, but answers are dangerous. If you follow this thread, don't let it pull you under.

Luna’s first instinct had been to run to the police. But her mother had anticipated that too, scribbling a second, urgent warning right beneath it:

Do not go to the authorities. The mafia’s payroll reaches deep into the local precinct. You won't know which cop is dirty until it’s too late.

Realizing she was entirely on her own, Luna clutched the ledger like a ticking time bomb. She kept it hidden, refusing to burden Aunt Bianca, who already had an overwhelming mountain of responsibilities.

Bianca was a clinical trial coordinator at the local hospital, working endless hours while drowning in the massive financial debt left behind by her husband, who had disappeared a couple of years prior after accumulating liabilities in both their names. Despite the immense strain, Bianca never complained in front of Luna or made her feel like a burden.

Seeing the exhaustion in her aunt's eyes and the stack of final-notice bills on the entryway table was the exact reason Luna had taken a part-time job at a cozy local café downtown, wanting to cover her own expenses and contribute where she could.

Taking orders and wiping down tables allowed her to help her aunt, and the café owner, Caterina, made the shifts genuinely enjoyable

Bianca had fiercely objected to her working during exam season, insisting her top priority should be her studies. Reluctantly, Luna had agreed to pause her shifts, knowing she would return to Caterina's café as soon as the exams were over.

What her mother had left behind wasn’t just a box of tender memories.

Finding the ledger was the moment Luna learned the thing about trouble: it had a way of finding you when you least expected it. Sometimes, it was waiting right beneath your feet.

***

Studying, working, grieving, learning responsibility, and playing amateur detective didn't turn Luna into a brooding martyr.

She was still, undeniably, Luna.

Sweet and empathetic one second, she could pivot into a stubborn, bratty force of nature the next. She could be extremely intuitive and perceptive at times, yet incredibly distracted and clumsy in others.

Bianca had learned this firsthand, frequently laughing as Luna cycled through four distinct mood swings in a ten-minute interval.

Transferring to the local high school halfway through the term made Luna instant headline news in a town where privacy did not exist. In a small, close-knit community, everyone knew everyone's business, and the arrival of the new girl was dissectible entertainment.

This was a major phenomenon of the hallways: relentless, microscopic small-town gossip.

Standing in the sunlit hallway, Luna was remarkably easy to spot with her petite, bottom-curvy frame, chocolate-brown hair, and wide turquoise-green eyes.

She paired her pristine, immaculate model-student uniform with a messy lower bun and wispy bangs, a physical contradiction that showcased her internal duality: an outward appearance of flawless perfection masking her restless spirit and fierce temper.

To her, high school social hierarchies felt absurdly shallow now.

While her classmates panicked over seating charts, Luna's mind was consumed by grief, her mother's estate paperwork, her aunt's mounting debt, a mafia ledger, and a vanished father.

That shift in perspective was how she ended up sitting next to Sofia.

Sofia was tall, with dark hair and striking gray eyes, wrapped in an aura of untouchable, razor-sharp composure. She was also smart as a whip, with a dry, witty sense of humor.

After returning to school following her pregnancy, the social backlash had been swift and merciless, making Sofia the prime target for local gossip. She didn't seem to give a single damn about defending her reputation, navigating the corridors looking entirely unbothered, a fact that Luna deeply admired.

One day at lunchtime, when Luna slid onto the cafeteria bench beside her with a canned juice, Sofia slowly looked up from her tray, raising a dark eyebrow in dry amusement.

"You realize sitting here is social suicide, right? Your reputation won't survive the afternoon."

"They're already gossiping about my tragic backstory anyway," Luna popped her drink open with an indifferent click. "I might as well get a front-row seat to the show."

Sofia stared at her for two solid seconds before a dry, genuine smile tugged at her lips. "You're weird, you know that?"

"Says the girl eating sardines straight from a can in a high school cafeteria," Luna pointed out smoothly.

"Hey," Sofia defended herself, holding up the small tin with absolute composure. "I developed a craving for them during my second trimester. Apparently, my palate never recovered. It's a culinary masterpiece."

Luna giggled, her bright eyes crinkling. "Hey, if you like it, you like it. No judgment here. I'm Luna, by the way."

Sofia blinked, caught momentarily off guard by the total absence of pity. "Sofia."

She lowered her fork, glancing down at her tray before speaking quietly. "So... you really don't care about the gossip?"

"I really don't. How's your baby doing, Sofia?" Luna asked gently, leaning her chin on her hand.

Sofia froze entirely, her fork hovering halfway to her mouth.

"Oh gosh, did I cross a boundary? Sometimes I talked too much without thinking..." Luna panicked instantly, her hands flying up in flustered apology. "I am so sorry!"

"No, it's not that," Sofia interrupted quietly, looking back up with a softened gaze. "It's just... literally nobody in this building has asked me that."

Luna blinked, her flustered state giving way to genuine confusion. "Wait, seriously?"

Sofia shook her head. "Everyone knows, obviously. But to my face, they act like she doesn't exist."

Luna’s expression hardened into a look of fierce, dead-serious sincerity. "Well, that's completely ridiculous. What's her name? And how is she doing?"

Finding no trace of performative sympathy in Luna's eyes, a real, radiant smile broke through Sofia's stoic facade. "Her name is Maya. And she's doing amazing, actually. She finally slept through the night without waking up at three in the morning."

"That's awesome!" Luna beamed. "I'd love to meet her sometime. If you're comfortable with that, of course."

"Yeah," Sofia said softly, her posture relaxing completely. "Maya and I would really like that."

From that day forward, sharing a lunch table became their daily ritual.

Sofia deeply appreciated that Luna treated her like an actual human being rather than a cautionary tale, while Luna loved having a loyal, grounded friend who couldn't care less about superficial high school politics.

Naturally, when Luna finally plucked up the courage to confide in her about the stolen ledger, Sofia didn't dismiss her or call her paranoid, instead listening with analytical focus.

"Which means you're planning to play amateur detective in a ring of organized crime," Sofia noted dryly over lunch one afternoon.

"You know me way too well," Luna sighed, slumping against the table.

"We've been eating lunch together for less than a month, Luna," Sofia noted. "The thing is, you're not exactly subtle."

But despite the dry warning, Sofia listened, anchoring her when the secrets felt too heavy.

***

Aside from the relentless gossip mill, there was a second, entirely different phenomenon in the hallways that Luna tried very hard to ignore: Malik.

Malik possessed a strange, magnetic gravitational pull. He didn't ask for attention, yet the second he entered a room, the air shifted, and every eye involuntarily tracked his movement

He looked like pure, unadulterated trouble.

There was something restless about him, something almost exhausted beneath the hard expression and impudent manner, as though he had been fighting with the world for so long that even he was bored of winning.

He was eighteen, a class ahead of her, and had transferred so late in the year that the school had already built a cinematic lore around him, though he didn't give a single damn about introducing himself or correcting the narrative.

Teachers described him as a walking menace.

Malik moved with an unpredictable, dangerous gait, looking less like a student and more like an untamed predator trapped in a classroom. They often complained about his unkempt uniform, and for good reason. He treated the mandatory dress code as a comedic suggestion, strolling through the halls with his white uniform shirt hanging unbuttoned to his mid-chest, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, no necktie, his dark uniform trousers rolled up high, and beat-up sneakers.

His dark, thick hair was a wild, messy mane, tumbling across his forehead as if he were entirely above possessing, let alone using, an item as ordinary as a comb.

The school faculty also objected to his obvious contempt for school rules and authority in general. He broke rules simply because they existed, treating authority figures with an open, mocking contempt that drove the teachers insane.

Yet Luna had caught him doing small, quiet things that contradicted the tough exterior. Despite the fearsome rumors, he harbored a protective streak for people who couldn't fight back.

Once, she saw him pick up a fallen set of loose papers a terrified freshman had dropped after Malik had frightened off a couple of older guys, slapping the sheets back into the student's chest without a word. He walked away before hearing the stuttered "T-Thank you."

Another time, she watched him deliberately step in to help the elderly school janitor haul a heavy trash bin up an incline without a drop of his signature scowl disappearing.

He was capable of being a decent human being. Just on his own terms.

He was captivating, annoyingly attractive, and entirely off-limits, Luna decided.

He was tall, lanky but muscular, with the lean, wiry build of someone who had spent years fighting. His body language suggested explosive physical power, and he radiated a dangerous confidence. His chiseled features, sharp bone structure, dark bronzed skin, and piercing dark green eyes would have made him unfairly handsome if not for the random scars crossing his face and arms, the perpetual scowl, and the insolence that seemed permanently fixed to his expression.

As if ticking off every box on the bad-boy cliché list, he had a bold tribal tattoo wrapped around his forearm, and dangling silver hoops set with tiny obsidian stones that ought to have looked absurd on anyone else, yet oddly fit him.

He was entirely aware of his striking looks and the blatant effect he had on people, carrying himself with a conceited, arrogant air that Luna found grating.

Luna heard his name drifting over from a group of popular girls at the end of their table whispering about his background, from group home, to street fights to mafia enforcers, alongside his well-known reputation as a serial womanizer.

The label triggered an immediate, defensive recoil deep in Luna's chest.

For as long as she could remember caring about such things, she had kept boys at arm's length. Her guarded detachment, rooted in the day her father walked out, left her entirely ill-equipped for Malik. To her, he represented everything dangerous: the effortless playboy leaving a trail of casual wreckage behind him. She wanted nothing to do with him or his chaos.

Yet, beneath the sharp irritation he provoked, a conflicting detail slipped through the cracks. A single piece of local gossip hit her with a sudden, painful pang: he had no family and lived entirely on his own. Knowing the agonizing weight of losing her mother, an unwanted wave of empathy washed over her for a guy who was navigating the world having never even known his.

She quickly checked herself, shaking her head. She didn’t care one bit. She told herself he had no time or energy for Malik's drama.

When she finally decided she was ready for a boyfriend, she knew she would want a clean-cut, safe, polite, and uncomplicated guy, not a scruffy, arrogant, womanizing delinquent who looked like he enjoyed breaking noses for entertainment.

No matter how striking his piercing dark green eyes, bronzed skin, and rippling forearm muscles might be.

She was absolutely not interested.

Oh no. Not even a little.

***

Unfortunately, the universe seemed determined to mock her, because over the next three days, Luna began spotting him literally everywhere.

In the main hallways. Leaning against the back wall of the gymnasium. Hanging around the outer school gates after the final bell. Sometimes he was surrounded by giggling girls, flirting with them with the same effortless confidence he used for everything else; other times he was entirely alone, looking as though the simple act of existing in civilized society offended him.

She found him rude and obnoxious, constantly smoking, skipping classes and breaking rules, but she still found herself watching him from afar as he talked to a girl from the year above who laughed at what he was saying. He was wearing that lazy, crooked smile on his face that made him look considerably less hostile than usual, and far more captivating than he had any right to be.

Then, without warning, his sharp dark green eyes flicked across the open yard and locked directly onto Luna.

Her breath hitched. Her pulse spiked against her ribs, panic flashing hot through her veins as she instantly looked away in a hurry, hating how his arrogant smirk made her heart execute an erratic, embarrassing flip in her chest.

Luna bit the inside of her cheek in absolute, searing embarrassment, a sudden, intense heat flooding her face while she aggressively rummaged through her backpack as if she had suddenly lost a vital personal document.

From across the courtyard, a low, smooth, agonizingly cocky laugh drifted through the air, vibrating right down to her skin.

She hated how effortlessly smug he was, and she hated, with every fiber of her being, that his stupid laugh had made her blush so violently. She hated even more that she couldn't help wondering what he had found so funny, since everything about him just rubbed her the wrong way.

What Luna did not know yet was that Malik had learned to fight before he had even learned to read, relying purely on raw instinct and violence to survive because no adult had ever stepped up to protect him.

She didn't know that he financed his solitary existence by participating in brutal, high-stakes illegal fights in the underbelly of the city, or that he deliberately cultivated an unapproachable persona to prevent anyone from getting close enough to hurt him.

And she most certainly did not know that the dangerous mafia syndicate bosses organizing those underground fight rings were the original, rightful owners of the very ledger her mother had stolen.

She would discover all of that soon enough.

***

What Luna also didn’t know was that Malik had noticed her, too.

To him, Luna was an utterly bizarre anomaly. Most of the girls at this school fell into three distinct, thoroughly irritating categories: those who stared at him like he was a dangerous criminal, those who feigned total indifference while frantically whispering about him behind their hands, or those who tried entirely too hard to flirt with him using obnoxious, see-through tactics.

Luna didn't fit into any of those boxes.

He remembered the exact moment she had barreled around a corner like a miniature tornado, carrying a stack of heavy textbooks, and slammed straight into his shoulder.

"Oh! I am so, so sorry!" she had gasped frantically, dropping to her knees to scramble for her scattered papers.

Then, her gaze flicked upward, recognizing who she had run into. The second her turquoise-green eyes locked onto his, her breath hitched sharply in her throat, and he watched a sudden, hot flush race up her neck. Taking in the sight of the girl clinging familiarly to his arm, the flustered look vanished instantly, replaced by an unmistakable scowl. She let out a loud, dramatic scoff, snatched her remaining books off the floor, and brushed past his shoulder with a sharp, defiant toss of her head, showing zero fear.

Malik had almost burst out laughing. Most girls looked at him like he was a walking hazard or a thrilling bad boy; she had looked at him like he was an annoying obstacle, even while the sudden heat in her cheeks betrayed how rattled she'd been to find him standing there.

He had been casually tracking her movements ever since, letting his gaze linger whenever she crossed his path.

She could be remarkably sweet, polite, and bright one moment, and bratty, impatient, and stubborn the next. She could effortlessly charm teachers and classmates into handing over notes or favors with a radiant smile, without even realizing she was manipulating the room.

She was entirely oblivious to her own charm, marching around like a perfectly proper, well-behaved princess right up until someone pushed her specific buttons.

Just last week, Malik had watched from a second-story window as she straight-up delivered a hard, flying punch to a guy's arm behind the cafeteria building.

The guy had been idly spouting disrespectful gossip about the female owner of the café where Luna worked.

The altercation had landed Luna squarely in afternoon detention, after being unable to charm the teacher that had witnessed the scene, aggressively muttering under her breath about the systemic injustice of the school's disciplinary policies.

She was seated directly two desks away from Malik, who had also been sent to detention for smoking on school grounds.

She had spent the entire two hours doing her homework, writing neatly in her notebook and being a shining example of a model student. Even the detention teacher asked her what she was doing there, with Luna claiming it had all been a misunderstanding.

Malik had found the entire sequence hilarious, watching the way her jaw clenched whenever she thought no one was looking.

It was exceedingly rare for anyone to catch him off guard, but this tiny, pristine girl who transformed into a bossy, aggressive brat in two seconds flat was genuinely intriguing, cementing a quiet, reluctant fascination with her.

Even so, he told himself he didn't like her. Oh no, not even slightly. Cute, innocent girls were a massive headache who demanded constant explanations and attention he had no patience to give. He preferred to keep things simple: take what you want, and clear out before things got messy.

He thought she was just another annoying distraction whenever he caught his eyes scanning the crowds for that messy bun.

Neither of them knew just how close their worlds really were.

***

The chaos truly began on a morning when Luna's usual absent-mindedness got the better of her.

She had gone back to her mother’s house to search for additional clues, tossing the black ledger into her schoolbag alongside her textbooks. It wasn't until lunchtime, sitting at an outdoor table, that she unzipped her bag to grab a history worksheet, only for her fingers to hit the stiff, worn cover of the notebook.

A cold wave of panic hit her. She tried to shove it down, but her worksheet was pinned beneath its heavy weight. Cautiously, she slid the black ledger out just an inch, shielding it with her body to yank her paper free.

In her haste, a bright neon yellow Post-it flipped open, exposing a name before she frantically zipped the bag shut.

Breathing hard, she darted a quick look around the courtyard, letting out a silent sigh of relief when she saw everyone deep in their own conversations. She felt entirely safe.

She was definitely wrong.

Across the yard, dark green eyes had tracked her every movement. Malik hadn't been close enough to read the note, but he'd seen the black ledger before she shoved it out of sight.

Before she could even lock her bag, a long shadow fell over her table, blocking out the sun.

Luna’s breath hitched, her pulse hammering against her ribs. She looked up sharply, only to find Malik towering directly over her. His unbuttoned uniform shirt swayed slightly in the breeze, exposing the hard line of his collarbone, and his dark green eyes were pinned down on her with terrifying, razor-sharp focus, leaving her completely trapped in his orbit.

With a final, lingering glare that felt heavy with unspoken intent, he turned and walked away. Luna sat frozen, letting out a shaky breath and desperately hoping he hadn't seen the ledger's contents.

Little did she know, she would have to talk to him again very soon.