Twisted Obsession

44 - Crossfire

Athena Luciana Bianchi

The first thing I felt was fire. It roared through my chest, searing and relentless, consuming every breath I tried to take. I crumpled to the ground, clutching at myself, the world around me a blur of sound and chaos.

Is this what dying feels like?

Each beat of my heart felt like a hammer against my ribs, and for a moment, I was sure my body had betrayed me. I clawed at my chest, desperate to stop the pain, my trembling fingers brushing over something solid beneath the layers of fabric.

And then it hit me.

The vest.

A laugh bubbled up, sharp and bitter, though it came out more like a rasping cough. The bulletproof vest. The afterthought. The thing I almost didn't bother with. It had saved me.

I pressed my palm flat against my chest, wincing at the deep ache spreading through my ribs. No blood. Just bruises, maybe cracked ribs, but I was alive. I forced a shallow breath, the sharp sting in my chest reminding me of just how close I'd been to not making it.

I turned my head, my cheek scraping against the gritty floor, and all I could hear was the chaos around me—distant shouts, skin tearing, blood gushing, the sharp crackle of gunfire. But none of it mattered.

I was still here.

I propped myself up, every movement a test of willpower against the pain. My fingers brushed over the fabric of my shirt, feeling the warped indents where bullets had struck the vest underneath. A reminder of how close I'd been to losing everything.

And then I remembered their faces. Lorentina's men.

The cold detachment in their eyes as they fired, following orders like machines. No hesitation, no mercy. They didn't care who I was or why I was there—just that I was a threat to be eliminated.

A new wave of anger surged through me, cutting through the ache. They thought they'd won. Thought they'd taken me out.

Not a chance.

I forced myself to my feet, gritting my teeth against the throbbing pain in my chest. Every breath hurt, but I welcomed it. Pain meant I was still alive, still in the game.

And I wasn't about to let Lorentina—or anyone else—think they had won.

I forced my feet to move, every step a defiance of the pain that radiates through my chest. The corridor was a narrow gauntlet of marble and shadows, with nowhere to hide and no room to falter.

The next wave of men appeared, their faces twisted in grim determination. They weren't just security—they were killers. Trained. Efficient. But so was I.

The first came at me, his knife flashing in the dim light. I sidestepped, catching his wrist with one hand and driving my elbow into his throat with the other. He stumbled back, choking, and I spun, yanking his arm and plunging his own blade into his chest.

The second lunged before I could recover, slamming me into the wall. My head cracked against the marble, stars bursting behind my eyes. His grip was like iron as he tried to pin me, but I brought my knee up hard, striking his groin. He grunted in pain, loosening his hold just enough for me to twist free.

I grabbed his head and slammed it into the wall with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed, and he dropped, lifeless, to the floor.

The third man hesitated, his resolve faltering as he took in the carnage. Big mistake.

I raised my gun and fired without hesitation. The bullet tore through his chest, and he crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut.

The corridor fell silent again, save for the rasp of my breathing. Federico had already gotten to the rest of them, their lifeless bodies sprawled across the wall. THeir insides decorate the wall. My hands were shaking, not from fear but from the adrenaline that surged through my veins like fire.