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A man comes towards me, and I raise the gun at him. My hands shake; he's too close. If I shoot, I could kill him. Philippe tries shooting him, but someone kicks his hand and the gun falls to the ground, the attacker kicks it away.
From behind, one of Philippe's men shoots the man who just kicked Philippe's gun. While the other thug is still coming right at me and I... I must shoot.
But I can't. If I shoot from here, he will die.
I freeze as the man edges closer, his eyes glinting with malice. My mind races, desperately searching for another solution. Then, Philippe leans over, holds his hand over mine, and whispered in my ear. "Shoot."
I follow his lead, a marionette on a string.
Relief floods me as the last attacker falls, but it's short-lived. My hands start shaking in the aftermath, the gun rattling in my grip. I just killed someone. How did I get here, to this dark place where taking a life means nothing?
I'm not a killer. I'm just a singer, an entertainer. But in this world Philippe inhabits, there are no innocents. Martin’s words suddenly ring true. We're all complicit in the violence that sustains us.
A sob rises in my throat as the enormity of it hits me. Philippe's arm encircles my waist, pulling me close against his side. I cling to him, tears spilling onto his shoulder.
"Shh, it's alright," he murmurs, kissing my temple. "You did what you had to do. It's over now."
Over? It will never be over. I've crossed a line tonight from which there's no coming back. But I feel no remorse, not when it meant saving Philippe. I would kill again to keep him safe. Is this what love does, turns you into a reckless fool?
I take a deep, shuddering breath and pull away, dashing the tears from my cheeks. Now is not the time to fall apart. There are more pressing concerns.
"We have to find Martin," I say, worry for my friend and manager eclipsing my distress. "He could need medical attention. He was drunk. He didn't know about the shooters. What if something happened to him?"
Philippe nods, already barking orders to his men. "Search the casino and find Martin Thorne.” His gaze softens as it returns to me. "We'll get him help, don't worry."
His reassurance calms my frayed nerves. Philippe will make this right, as he always does.
As his men disperse throughout the building, Philippe pulls me close again. "It's over now," he repeats, lips brushing my temple. "You're safe."
And here, in the circle of his arms, I can almost believe it.
They find Martin slumped against the back of a row of slot machines, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead. Thankfully he's conscious, eyes fluttering open when Philippe crouches beside him.
"Easy," Philippe says. "The threat has been neutralized."
Martin's gaze darts around the casino, taking in the aftermath of violence. Bodies litter the floor, Philippe's men standing guard over the few survivors. He winces, pressing a hand to his head.
"What happened?" His voice is rough, pained.
"The Bratva attacked," one of the men explains. I wonder who or what the Bratva is, but from how Philippe looks, it's not pleasant news.
Martin bows his head as Philippe insists he receives medical attention. His eyes find Philippe, resignation in their depths. "I was drunk and jealous. It won't happen again."
Philippe studies him for a long moment before nodding. "See that it doesn't. Next time, I won't be so lenient." But there's no real threat in his tone. However violent and controlling Philippe can be, he won't hurt Martin. Not when he knows how much my friend means to me.
Martin relaxes, some of the tension easing from his frame. "Thank you," he says so softly I almost miss it. But the words are there, an acknowledgment of the debt between them.
Martin clasps Philippe's shoulder. "Take care of her," is all he says.
It's enough. In this world of shifting alliances, there are few people I can truly rely on. But Philippe and Martin have proven themselves again and again. No matter what comes next, I know I'll always be able to depend on them. And that certainty is worth more than gold.
I pull Martin into a fierce hug, blinking back tears. "You'll always be my manager," I whisper. "No matter what."
He hugs me back just as tightly. "And you'll always be my star."
When we parted, some of the shadows have left his eyes. I know our relationship will endure whatever challenges and complications are yet to come. Martin has been by my side since the beginning of my career, one of the few remaining threads still connecting me to my parents.
Philippe takes my hand, his grip warm and sure. "Ready?"
