What We Left in the Dark

Thirty Two

The tension between the Ricci brothers was forgotten in an instant. Luca's body tensed beside me, and Giancarlo's eyes widened as the gravity of the situation settled in. The atmosphere had shifted from heated emotions to pure survival. My breath caught in my throat, my instincts screaming at me to move, to run, but my feet felt rooted to the ground.

Giancarlo acted first, his instincts sharp as he threw his body in front of mine, shielding me from the chaos unfolding in the room. His arm wrapped tightly around my waist, pulling me into his chest as we crouched low behind a nearby table. The world around us was a blur of running bodies, shouts, and broken glass, but all I could focus on was the sound of my own heartbeat thudding in my ears.

"Stay down," he whispered harshly, his voice steady despite the panic engulfing the hall. His eyes were scanning the room with a dangerous intensity, looking for the source of the gunfire.

Another shot echoed through the room, louder this time, and I flinched instinctively, my body pressing closer to his. Giancarlo's grip tightened around me, his warmth offering a strange sense of safety amidst the chaos.

"Where's Luca?" I whispered, my voice trembling as fear gripped me.

"He'll be fine," Gian replied, his eyes still scanning the room. "But right now, I'm only worried about you."

His words should have comforted me, but all I could think about was Luca and whether he was safe. I peeked around the edge of the table, trying to spot him in the madness, but the crowd had grown frantic, and he was nowhere in sight.

"Stop. Don't look," Giancarlo hissed, pulling me back against him. His hand moved to the back of my neck, holding me in place, shielding me from the scene. "Stay still, Cat. Let me handle this."

I opened my mouth to protest, but another gunshot rang out, closer this time, and my breath hitched. Giancarlo's body tensed, his arm locking me in place as if he could physically protect me from whatever was happening.

The gunshot cracked through the air, freezing everyone in place for a split second. My body stiffened, every nerve on edge as fear coursed through me. And then, suddenly, I saw it—Giancarlo reaching behind his back, pulling out a gun from the waistband of his pants.

My breath caught in my throat as the cold metallic glint of the weapon reflected the ballroom lights. Tears welled in my eyes, streaming down my cheeks uncontrollably. This wasn't the Giancarlo I had known. My mind scrambled, struggling to reconcile the man I had once loved with the one now gripping a deadly weapon.

"G-Gian?" I stammered, my voice cracking with disbelief. "You—what are you doing?"

He didn't answer immediately, his eyes focused and sharp, scanning the chaos around us. He crouched lower, keeping the gun at the ready. His other hand reached out, brushing against my arm, a silent reassurance, but it only made me feel more unsettled.

I could barely breathe, my vision blurred by the tears streaming down my face. The sight of Giancarlo—armed and completely composed in the middle of this madness—was something I never thought I'd witness. This wasn't the man I fell for in college, the one who took me to botanical gardens and whispered about our future. This was a man who had seen things, done things. The weight of his life without me hit me in full force.

"I didn't want you to see me like this," Giancarlo said quietly, his voice tight with tension. His eyes flicked to mine, and for the briefest moment, I saw something vulnerable, something raw behind that hardened exterior. But it was fleeting.

I couldn't respond. My mind was spinning, and all I could do was watch him, this stranger I had once loved. His grip on the gun was steady, focused. The reality of the world Giancarlo had become part of hit me like a tidal wave.