The gun’s heavy and solid. I hold it with both hands, my trembling fingers weak from dehydration, exhaustion, and the emotional whirlwind of this entire ordeal.
A knot forms in my mostly empty stomach. I don’t want to do what he has planned, but I know I have no choice. “Connor, please…”
“Shoot Verone, and we’re partners.” Connor burrows the barrel of his gun into Danny’s maple brown hair. “Refuse, and I shoot your buddy here.”
My hands shake. Connor’s well-aware I’ve never killed anyone. I stay behind on every mission, handling the numbers and paperwork and organizing meetings disguised as galas at the Cosmopolitan.
This is not who I am…theMona Lisain a prize box at the county fair.
I don’t belong here.
Except the venom—the hurt, the accusation, the determination—lacing Connor’s tone tells me he’s serious.
My gaze flicks to Danny’s, and my knees all but buckle.
One eye is swollen shut. Dried blood stains his white undershirt. His handsome nose is bent and bruised, most likely broken. I’ve never seen him look so defeated.
Even so, he gives me a smile, encouraging me even now.
Danny’s a good man, one of the few men aside from my father and boss who’s never treated me with anything but respect and kindness.
He’s my only real friend, and I may have condemned him to death with my shortsighted orders.
I tighten my hold on the gun. I won’t let him die for my mistake.
Despite the nausea roiling in my gut, I meet Connor’s cold eyes. “Fine. I’ll kill Verone if you let Danny go.”
“Deal.” The agreement should feel good, but the knot in my belly only twists.
For once, I trust his word. He won’t release Danny until Verone’s dead. That’s not the game.
My hand shakes, no matter how hard I try to steady it. The firearm practically vibrates in my wobbly grasp.
I really don’t want to kill this man. Doing so feels like permanently crossing a line.
If I murder him, I become one of them. I’ll be just the same as Connor.
If I issue the order without pulling the trigger, though, am I somehow magically cleansed of all wrongdoing?
My thoughts are a battlefield of good versus evil, angels and demons scrabbling over the remaining scraps of morality in my soul.
I face Verone. I once heard my father tell Nino,“Look a man in the eye if you’re going to take his life. It’s the least you can do.”
I breathe through the agony of this impossible situation and meet Domenico Verone’s gaze.
He stares at me, wild-eyed and red-faced, hyperventilating in his bonds. Like Danny, he’s covered in bruises and cuts, and he’s straining against whatever ties him to the chair. Sweat covers his neck and stains his shirt.
My gun hand fell while I dithered, so I straighten the weapon, aim at his chest, and place my finger on the trigger.
“I can save your father!” Verone gasps.
Ice floods my veins. “What?”
Connor grunts. “He poisoned him, Cat. One of my many discoveries since we’ve been here.”
“No, no, that’s not possible.” I lower the gun again, striving to chase the fog from my brain. My teeth chatter. “My father’s been sick for three months, and you’ve been holed up awaiting trial for…” Oh my god.
The ice melts, replaced with fury that boils through every limb like lava. My eyes burn, and I blink the tears away while focusing on Verone’s panicked thrashing.
