đ Nicole
"You have got the gun on the wrong sister."
The words hit me, what does he mean wrong sister?
My body was frozen in the gunman's grasp, but my mind was an absolute riot. What the actual fuck was he doing? He just stood there, tall and terrifying, the smoke of gunfire hanging around his shoulder, and denied my existence in front of two entire mafia families.
He's playing a game. He's trying to save Grace. He's trying to save the alliance. He's sacrificing me. He doesn't care if I died? He doesn't care about me, he shouldn't care anyways, I shouldn't care either, I was already avoiding him and it didn't matter but the logic didn't stop the pain of his casual denial, especially after what had just happened between us.
He didn't even look at me. He just shifted his gaze and gave a dismissive flick of his head toward the back of the room. "I'm getting married to the one over there. The one near Marco."
Grace. My sweet, oblivious Grace, who was now huddled in terror behind Marco, hands clasped over her mouth.
I saw everyone else's reaction exactly as I felt mine: total, bewildered shock. Papa's face, a mask of cold fury and confusion, and Mama's eyes, wide with sheer, maternal terror. What was he doing? One minute he was trying to get me killed, the next he is trying to get grace killed instead? I thought he was protecting her.
"Grace isâ" Mama tried to say, scrambling her feet near Papa, clearly trying to redirect the murderous attention away from her daughter.
"She's not the one I'm marrying," Leonardo cut her off, his voice flat and brutal, like tossing out trash. "So killing her is wasting your bullets. You'll need them for the relevant shooting when we decide to end you."
The air felt thin. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him what an heartless, cold bastard he was, but also to tell him to shut up before he sealed Grace's fate. He was supposed to be protecting her. She's the one he's getting married to. Even I would rather it be me that is killed instead of my younger sister.
"She's myâŠ" I started to cry out, trying to distract the gunman attention from Grace.
"Shut up!" Leonardo roared, silencing me instantly.
"Shut up, all of you!" the gunman screamed, echoing Leonardo's rage, and tightening his grip on my neck, pressing the cold barrel harder against my skin.
The chaos continued, not from me, but from the every other person.
"How come? Dimitri has just one daughter!" the gunman asked, clearly confused by the family hierarchy.
"You got your facts wrongly," Leonardo said, bored, as if discussing the wine list.
"She's adopted," Mama blurted out, her voice shaky but clear, trying to make the difference stark.
"Shut the fuck up, Katya!" Papa finally exploded, his face white with rage.
They're arguing about my parentage! I have a gun to my head! Who cares if I'm adopted right now? The sheer absurdity of the situation almost made me laugh hysterically.
Then the gunman said something that made my blood run cold for a whole new, terrible reason.
"Wait, you all are trying to play smart. She's the one I saw you with at the bathroom corridor."
My heart didn't just backflip; it stopped. The bathroom! He saw us! God, he said it in front of everyone, Papa, Mama, Leonardo's family and most importantly Grace.
God, just kill me already.
I squeezed my eyes shut, mortified, but Leonardo didn't even flinch. He looked utterly unbothered, as if the statement was a boring rumor.
"I said I don't care about her," Leonardo repeated, his voice dangerously low. "Perhaps I could kill her myself so you would understand."
My eyes snapped open. W-what? Kill me himself?
He lifted his gun, slowly, deliberately, and pointed it directly at my chest. I felt my blood pressure skyrocket, my vision narrowing to the black circle of his barrel.
The gunman, bewildered, turned his head slightly, perhaps looking toward Grace to see if she was a more credible threat. I could feel his breath on my ear, smell the metallic scent of his fear, but all my focus was on Leonardo.
He looked absolutely lethal. Cold. And I realized, for the first time, that he was capable of killing me. Not even his company incident had given me that realization or fear.
The gunman was about to say something, I heard the first words from him but then Leonardo's gun clipped.
He fired.
And I didn't hear the gunman's words anymore, I didn't even hear the shot, I didn't hear anything after that. I only saw it and felt my soul lift, detached from my body, believing with absolute certainty that the bullet had found its home.