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The weight of responsibility, the cold edge of necessity. I used to see it as control, a way to keep me under his thumb, but now I see it for what it truly is: an act of love, fierce and unrelenting.
As I wait, the gun no longer foreign but a part of my resolve, I understand that to love Alessandro is to accept all of his world, not just the parts that are easy to bear.
It’s a vow to stand with him, to face the darkness together, not as a victim, but as his equal, his partner.
I will do what must be done, with a heart full of love and hands ready to protect it. This is my new reality, and I embrace it, not because I have no other choice, but because I choose it, with every beat of my heart, with every breath in my body.
The door swings open with a jarring creak, and a figure steps into the dimly lit room, his presence casting an imposing shadow. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with a cruel twist to his mouth and eyes that gleam with malice.
A scar runs down his left cheek, giving him a menacing appearance that chills me to the core. He fires a shot at where I was been hiding before, the sound echoing off the walls.
His laugh is low and menacing as he stalks closer, his steps measured and confident. “Clever girl,” he mocks, his voice dripping with contempt. “But you’re just like all women. Frozen by fear. You won’t shoot me. You’d have done it by now.”
I clutch the gun tighter, trying to control the tremor in my hands. His taunts are meant to unnerve me, and I hate that it’s working.
“You think you’re different?” he sneers, coming to a stop a few feet away, peering around the corner straight into my hiding place. “You’re not. I’ve seen that look in the eyes of every woman I’ve killed. Paralyzed, waiting for someone to save them. But no one’s coming for you.”
Anger flares within me, burning through the fear. “I’m not like the others,” I retort, my voice steadier than I feel.
He laughs, a sound devoid of any warmth. “Sure, you are. You’re scared, aren’t you? Afraid to pull the trigger. Because deep down, you know you can’t do it. You’re not a killer. Me, I’ve taken the lives of more men than I can count. You, you’re no killer.”
I remember Alessandro’s instructions, his belief in my strength. “Maybe I am scared,” I admit, letting his words fuel my resolve rather than diminish it. “But being scared doesn’t mean I won’t fight back.”
He takes a step closer, his smile twisted. “Put the gun down, little girl. Come with me to your father. He’s waiting for his little girl.”
The mention of my father, the realization of his betrayal, it ignites something within me. “Why did you kill Lucas and Matteo? Why are you doing this?”
“They got in my way. Would have lived if they’d stepped aside.” His grin widens as he lunges for me, his hands reaching for my gun. “And because I enjoy killing people.”
I pull the trigger just as he reaches me. I keep pulling the trigger until all I can hear is clicking. I look down. My attacker is on the floor, looking shocked, red blooming across his chest.
“You shot me,” he says. “No one ever shoots me.” His eyes glaze over a moment later.
The realization of what I’ve just done — defended my life in the most final way possible — begins to sink in, and with it, a tumult of emotions: fear, relief, but also a profound isolation.
My hands, still trembling, lower the gun. I drop it, and it lands with a soft thud on the carpet, its presence suddenly abhorrent to me.
In desperate need of connection, of reassurance, I reach for Matteo’s phone, the lifeline to Alessandro, only to find the screen shattered, a casualty of the gunfire.
Panic clenches my heart — the phone was my only means of contacting Alessandro, of letting him know I’m still here, still alive. I’m suddenly acutely aware of my isolation, cut off not just from Alessandro, but from any immediate help.
The silence of the villa is suffocating, and without the phone, it feels even more tomb-like. I’m alone, truly alone, with the weight of what’s happened pressing down on me.
The fear that had been a sharp, hot presence during the confrontation morphs into something colder, a dread of what comes next.
How long before the killer’s associates come looking for him? How long until Alessandro realizes something is wrong? Do I go try to find a phone or stay here?
Time stretches out, elastic and unending. I move away from the scene, unable to bear the sight of the man’s lifeless body any longer, my mind racing with what to do next.
I find myself pacing, a futile attempt to burn off the adrenaline and fear still coursing through my veins.
Eventually, I settle in a corner far from the windows, the most defensible position I can find, and wait. I force myself to pick the gun back up, just in case. I watch the driveway, waiting to see if a car approaches.
Twilight approaches, enveloping the villa in a shroud of uncertainty and fear. Each shadow feels like an intruder, each silence a threat lying in wait.
My heart races with a mixture of dread and anticipation, longing for Alessandro’s return yet fearing he might not make it back.
And then, finally, when the tension has wound me tight as a spring, when the silence has become a presence in its own right, there’s the sound of a car engine, a noise so desperately hoped for yet feared, it sends my heart into overdrive.
