The Gun in the Dark
The gun clicks again.Not loud. Not dramatic.Just a small, metallic whisper that slices through the alley’s silence and straight down my fucking spine.
I don’t think.I move.
My arm shoots back, shoving Pia behind me so fast her breath catches against my shoulder. She grips the fabric of my shirt—instinct, fear, both. I step forward, angling my body between her and the threat, muscles pulled tight enough to snap.
The alley is narrow. Wet. Lit only by the flicker of a distant streetlamp. Every shadow looks like a weapon waiting to be drawn.
I hear Pia breathe my name.I don’t let her finish.
Because a figure finally steps into the thin strip of light.
And my breath—locks.
“Romeo,” I say, voice low.
He stands there as if the alley belongs to him—hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, head tilted. But his eyes ruin the act. They sweep the scene with slow calculation:
Rocco unconscious on the ground.Pia pressed against the wall, chest heaving.Me—close enough to her, it looks like something it shouldn’t.
Romeo’s jaw ticks.
But the gun… isn’t in his hand.
It’s on the ground near his boot, like he dropped it. Or kicked it away. Or took it from someone else. He nudges it with the side of his shoe and scoffs.
“Well,” he mutters, voice dripping with disdain, “that explains the fucking rumors.”
The words hit like a slap.
I don’t move.Don’t blink.Don’t breathe.
Pia stiffens behind me.
Romeo flicks his gaze between us—he sees me shielding her with my entire body, her gripping my shirt, and her pupils blown wide from more than fear. Something sharp cuts through his expression. Not a shock. Not anger.
Judgment.Jealousy.And something darker he can’t hide.
“Pick up the gun,” I tell him.
“No.” A smirk. “I don’t need it.”
He’s taunting me, testing how far he can push before I break. Any other night, I’d let him keep talking just so I could choke the next word out of him.
But right now — Pia matters more.
I take her wrist.Tight.Firm.Unmistakable.
“Inside,” I order.
Romeo lifts an eyebrow. “You’re dragging her through the rectory now? Bold.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
I barely recognize my voice—too raw, too close to violence.
Something flickers across Romeo’s face. A shadow of hurt? Anger? Something old and festering? It’s gone in an instant as he rolls his shoulders like none of this touches him.
