Snapping Point||Book 1

40.

Xenia Butler

From a purely objective viewpoint, Romano embodied a devilish persona. However, from my subjective standpoint, I found myself oddly drawn to him, willing to accompany him into the depths of hell itself. He effortlessly overshadowed my rationality with thoughts of him, leaving me unable to resist his influence, regardless of the consequences.

He had cunningly coerced me into firing a gun, and despite my anticipated fury, I felt strangely detached, as if my longstanding fear of firearms had suddenly dissipated. Now it felt more of a physical constraint than a mental one. And for years, that hadn't been the case.

Not only had I accidentally discharged a firearm previously, but now I found myself unloading countless rounds into a target, my actions rewarded with a tender kiss on the temple as Romano took the gun and concealed it away.

"Empty mag," he chuckled, the edge in his voice unmistakable. "If I encounter anything strange on my way back, I'll be toast before I can even draw."

"Do you just go around shooting people randomly?" I asked lamely, prompting him to laugh and gently turn my face towards him.

"No, only sickos shoot at random people."

"Right." I had assumed his circle were trigger-happy enough to shoot at the slightest provocation. Step on their shoe, shoot! Fail to address them with the proper title, shoot! Even make eye contact, shoot. I must have misunderstood all along.

I blinked rapidly as he gently caressed my face. "Do you have other enemies besides IP?"

"Of course. We have a laundry list of enemies. From turf wars to extortion, kidnappings, ransom demands, internal betrayals—you name it. From groups to individuals. It's like walking through a minefield."

His comment had rendered me speechless. How could he admit to all that without a hint of fear in his face or tone? Like the constant threat couldn't bother him a darn. He was probably used to it, or had grown too skilled to fear being taken out.

"Do you not fear death?" I managed to choke out the word haunting me alongside the constant presence of guns in my mind.

Romano seemed to ponder for a moment. He likely contemplated everything before responding, even when he was lying. The only difference was, when he chose to be sincere, his expression became more solid.

"Not exactly, no. Or I'd say it depends on the circumstances," he replied, his jaw tightening. "Dying a hero might stroke my ego. But dying a traitor is a different story altogether. It's not about glory; it's about the legacy you leave behind. And trust me, leaving the wrong legacy in this line of work can be worse than death itself."

Understandably, I felt content with his response. "Thank you..."

"For what?" He frowned. "Don't even think about saying teaching you to handle a firearm, because that wouldn't even boost my ego. You should have learned this lesson years ago."

I had to smile, wondering how many people he'd had to teach this lesson.

We walked back to the patio from the field and paused. There were a few seats out there with glass tables. I couldn't help but wonder if Joe had ever had the chance, during her difficult time here, to admire the beautiful setup and appreciate the view of the sun from that angle. That was one thing about nature she seemed to value—the sun. And she'd never reveal why it meant so much to her.

A gust of wind suddenly swept a stray lock of my hair into my face, and, without permission, Romano gently tucked it behind my ear, grazing my skin by mistake—I could tell. I stopped looking at the view and chose to make him my view.