A sharp, explosive pain erupts at the base of my skull. Stars burst behind my eyes as I stumble forward.Fuck. There's a second intruder. I didn't clear the room properly. Rookie mistake.
I fight to stay conscious, my vision blurring as I struggle to keep the Beretta aimed at the man holding Bianca. My finger twitches on the trigger. I need to take the shot. I need to?—
A deafening crack echoes through the room.
Then another.
A third gunshot thunders in my ears.
Three shots. Why three?
The world tilts sideways. Darkness rushes in from the edges of my vision like black ink spilling across paper. Bianca's scream pierces through everything, but it sounds distant, as if she's calling to me from the end of a long tunnel.
"DAMIANO!"
Her voice fades as consciousness slips away.
Blackness. Complete and absolute.
I jolt upright, a roar tearing from my throat. Sweat soaks the sheets beneath me. My hand flies to my nightstand, fingers closing around my Beretta before I'm even fully awake.
Three seconds. That's how long it takes me to register I'm in my bedroom in the New York. Not the countryside villa. Not twelve years ago.
"Fuck," I mutter, running my free hand over my face.
The same nightmare. Again.
The clock on my nightstand reads 3:17 a.m. The red numbers glow in the darkness, accusatory. Another night of broken sleep.
I set the gun down and swing my legs over the side of the bed. The cool air hits my sweat-slicked skin, raisinggoosebumps along my arms and back. My breathing gradually slows, but the images remain burned into my mind.
Bianca. The intruders. The gun at her temple.
And those three gunshots.
Always three. Why the fuck were there three?
A soft knock at the door breaks through my thoughts.
"What?" I growl, not bothering to soften my voice. Anyone disturbing me at this hour knows what they're walking into.
The door opens, and Enzo's silhouette appears in the doorway. He's fully dressed despite the hour, which means he was either working late or just got in.
"Thought I heard something," he says, stepping into the room. The dim light from the hallway casts long shadows across his face. "You good?"
I reach for the lamp and switch it on, flooding the room with harsh light. "I'm fine."
"Bullshit," he says simply.
I stand up and walk to the window, pulling back the curtain to look at the city below. Manhattan never sleeps, lights twinkling like stars fallen to earth. Neither do I, it seems.
"It's nothing," I mutter.
"The nightmares again?" Enzo asks, not letting it go. Stubborn fuck.
I don't answer, which is answer enough.
"They're coming more often lately," he says, moving further into the room. "Third time this week."
