I wear his name like a scar.
Alessandro Rossi stole everything from me; my freedom, my future, the lie I told my father to keep him alive. He thinks I'm a tool to be used, a bride to be displayed, a Fraga to be broken. He thinks the ring on my finge...
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I shot him.
Alessandro staggered back, his white shirt blooming red across the shoulder, and for a fleeting moment I felt equal parts horror and satisfaction.
"You just couldn't stop, could you?" I snapped, the gun still hot in my hand. "You had to keep pushing, you had to keep taunting me. What did you think was going to happen?"
He let out a low groan, his jaw clenching against the pain. When I stepped toward him, to do what I didn't even know, he thrust out his good arm and shoved me back.
"Don't touch me."
My eyes flicked to the spreading blood, dark and wet against the white fabric. "Fine. Bleed out then. See if I care."
His glare sharpened, more cutting than his pain. "Give me the gun."
"Why?" I shot back. "Planning to shoot me with it? You'll have to use your other arm, because that one looks useless now."
He lunged for it.
Even bleeding and half-hunched from the pain, he was fast. His good hand closed over the barrel and wrenched the gun from my grip before I could even react.
The door slammed open.
Giada rushed in, her voice high and frantic, a flood of panicked Italian spilling from her lips. Her face went white when she saw the blood. Her hand flew to her mouth.
Diego followed a half-step behind. His stare found me instantly, pinning me in place like I was already a corpse waiting for a grave.
"What happened?" Diego's voice shook the very air in the room.
Alessandro answered before I could. "Accident. The gun went off."
His father scoffed, stepping forward with a menacing posture. "An accident? That's what you're going with?" He pointed at the blood-soaked shirt. "Doesn't look like an accident to me, Alessandro. This." Then he gestured at me with a sharp flick of his hand. "This is what happens when you bring trouble into our home."
"Home?" Alessandro let out a hollow, humorless laugh. "Interesting choice of words, wouldn't you say?"
The air between them crackled with tension. Giada's voice cut through, shaky and desperate. "For God's sake, someone call a doctor! He's bleeding!"
"No one's calling anyone," Alessandro snapped. "This stays in this room."
He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the hall. His grip wasn't brutal, but it was somehow heavy with warning. I caught another glimpse of the blood seeping through his shirt, staining his hands, my hands.
It hit me again. I'd really shot him.
He tugged me forward, but his face wasn't the same. There was something in his eyes, a spark of adrenaline, almost excitement, and it made my skin crawl.
