Alessandro looks controlled, focused, like someone who’s used to adapting when operations go sideways.
I feel like I want to crawl into a hole and die from shame.
“That was…” I start then stop, not sure how to finish the sentence without admitting how badly I fucked up.
“A clusterfuck,” Alessandro says bluntly, yanking off his blood-stained jacket with more force than necessary and throwing it onto the ground. “Your gas canisters failed, you broke cover when I explicitly told you not to, and you nearly got us both killed chasing targets like some amateur.”
The words hit like slaps, each one deserved but still stinging.
I want to defend myself; I want to argue that it worked out in the end, but I can’t lie.
“The scene will still read as gang warfare,” I say defensively. “The objective was achieved.”
“The objective was achieved because I salvagedyourmistakes,” he shoots back, his hazel eyes blazing with anger I’ve never seen before. “You think this is a game, Bianca? You think because you can pull a trigger without flinching that makes you ready for complex operations?”
Okay, I know I fucked up but this is getting too much. I’m not going to stand for this. “I adapted under pressure,” I start but he cuts me off.
“Youpanickedunder pressure.” His voice cuts through my excuse, anger radiating from him. “The moment your plan started falling apart, you abandoned everything you were taught about tactical thinking and went in guns blazing like some fucking cowboy.”
The criticism burns because it’s true, but I’m too proud to admit it.
Too stubborn to give him the satisfaction of being right about everything.
“I got the job done,” I snap, crossing my arms defensively.
“You got lucky,” he corrects, stepping closer. “There’s a difference between competence and luck, and tonight you learned what happens when you confuse the two.”
“So what? You want me to grovel? Admit I’m not ready?” My voice is getting louder, anger masking the shame that’s eating me alive.
God, give it a fucking rest. I get it. I fucked up. “Fine. You were right. Happy now?”
“No, I’m not fucking happy!” he explodes, his hazel eyes flashing as his face turns red. “I’m pissed off that someone I care about nearly died because she was too stubborn to listen to basic advice!”
It takes everything in me not to gape at his confession.
He cares about me.
I mean, I kind of knew that considering we had sex but it’s nice to get confirmation.
I open my mouth to say something, but he cuts me off again.
“Do you have any idea what it was like watching you break cover and run straight into enemy fire? Knowing that if something happened to you, it would be because I failed to make you understand how dangerous this world really is?” He runs a hand through his hair, making it stick straight up.
My fingers itch to smooth the strands down, but I jam my hands into my pockets to quell the urge.
There’s raw pain in his voice now, underneath the anger.
Not just frustration, but personal terror at the thought of losing me.
Shame fills me, hot and cloying, and tears burn my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, the words feeling inadequate but necessary. “You’re right. I fucked up. I let my ego override my judgment, and you had to clean up my mess.”
Some of the tension leaves his shoulders, but his jaw is still tight with residual fury.
“You have potential,” he says finally, his voice a bit gentler. “Real potential. But potential means nothing if you’re too dead to develop it.”
“I know.” I sink into one of the chairs, suddenly exhausted. “I thought I was ready for this. I thought understanding what I was capable of meant I could handle anything.”
