After the shot, the gun trembled in Alessia's hand, her knuckles white as she struggled against the storm in her chest.
The sharp crack of the gunshot echoed into the night, but she hadn't aimed at Luca—she had fired into the empty air.
Smoke curled upward like the ghost of her rage, her fear, her heartbreak.
Luca didn't even flinch.
His dark eyes, steady as iron, bored into hers.
"Shoot me," he had said, voice low and steady, daring her. "If you don't love me, Alessia… if you think that cursed magpie is more important than me, then pull the trigger."
Her hands quivered. Her heart screamed that she loved him, yet her mind was shackled by betrayal, by doubt, by pain. Tears streamed down her cheeks like rivers unleashed. With a broken sob, Alessia dropped the gun. It clattered against the stone, the metallic sound slicing through the silence of the courtyard.
Her knees nearly gave out beneath her.
