The deafening crack echoes through the room. I flinch, stumbling back, my hands flying to my ears as the bullet slams into the doorframe just inches from Mancini’s shoulder.
He doesn’t stop running.
Marco curses under his breath, his body tensed like a predator who just lost his prey.
I can barely process what’s happening—the blood on the floor, the bodies groaning in pain, the violent, furious storm raging in Marco’s eyes.
This is chaos.This is hell.
Mancini is almost out the door, his breath ragged, his steps uneven as he barrels down the hall.
Marco doesn’t hesitate.
"After him!" he roars.
The command snaps his men into motion. Three of them bolt toward the exit, their footsteps thunderous as they chase down the traitor.
I just stand there, frozen, my pulse a wild, erratic beat in my ears.
This isn’t a game. This isn’t one of my investigations where the violence stays at a comfortable distance, where I write about bloodshed without being covered in it.
This is real.
This is Marco’s world.
And I don’t know if I can survive in it.
The door slams shut behind the last man to leave, leaving only the two of us in the wreckage. The silence that follows is suffocating, thick with tension and the scent of gunpowder.
I force myself to look at Marco.
His back rises and falls with his heavy breaths, his fingers still curled around the gun, his entire body rigid with fury. He looksuntouchable.
Like a god of war, untamed and unrepentant.
Then he turns to me.
AndI see it.
The fury, the raw power, the sharp, ice-cold edges of a man who has never been afraid to kill.
"I won’t let him get away," Marco growls, his voice dangerously low, sending a chill down my spine. "He betrayed the family. He’s as good as dead."
My heart is hammering against my ribs, my pulse a frantic, uneven rhythm that drowns out everything but the sound of my own ragged breathing. The acrid stench of gunpowder curls in my throat, turning my stomach.
Marco is still standing there, his gun loose in his hand, but his body is coiled tight, his muscles wound like he’s barely holding himself together. His eyes—dark, wild, merciless—pin me in place.
This is a version of him I want to run from.
"This…" My voice breaks, my throat tightening, but I force myself to push through it. "Thisisn’t right."
His gaze flickers, just for a second.
"You can’t just kill people like this, Marco." My voice trembles, thick with emotion, but I don’t back down. "You can’t let this darkness consume you."
He exhales sharply through his nose, like he’s barely restraining himself. "You don’t get it, Sofia."
"I do." I take a step forward, closing the space between us, my heart pounding so hard I swear he can hear it. "I know what this world is. I know what you’ve had to do to survive in it. But thatdoesn’t mean it has to own you. It doesn’t have to make you into this."
