Snapping Point||Book 1

48.

Xenia Butler

From the moment you enter this world, you must be prepared for its end. Problem was, I'd never been.

Whenever Ivan threatened me with punishment for being different, I'd hide behind my sister, relying on her to come to my defense. Without fail, her assertiveness had a calming effect on Ivan's aggression.

Similarly, when Greg attempted to manipulate me with suggestive remarks, Joanna would interject with her own words, diffusing the tension. Even when men cornered me with less than good intentions, Joanna fearlessly confronted the perpetrators, showing no tolerance for their cowardice

Joanna was my divine consolation for the loss of my parents, and perhaps Ivan served as hers. The crucial thing is, Joanna had been present for every close encounter with death I faced, yet she was never there when Romano was involved. Romano represented my latest brush with mortality, along with everyone connected to him.

The fear of dying had never gripped me as intensely as it did when Ottavio pulled the trigger. The absence of Joanna in that moment caused my heart to seize before the bullet could end my life. Dread drowned me before awareness took its place.

I was dead.

No?

As I pressed my hands against my stomach, expecting to feel the searing pain of a bullet wound, I was met with dried blood—Romano's. The fabric had no sign of fresh injury. A loud ringing filled my ears, forcing me to pry my eyes open.

Tension pervaded the air, thick and suffocating, making it hard to breathe. Without moving a muscle, Ottavio quickly stowed the gun in his waistband with a dangerous swiftness that raised red flags in my mind. I saw the rage burning in his eyes, the determination etched into his features. His fists clenched tightly, struggling to contain his urge to lash out. Refraining from punching someone's face in was an exercise in restraint for him.

Fear had momentarily clouded my vision, but with a few rapid blinks, I managed to clear it. Before me stood Romano in the doorway, his injury tended to with care, a bandage covering the wound along with a black splint supporting his injured arm against his chest. His bare torso revealed a cleanliness from blood, though subtle crimson streaks still marked his skin.

Those lines of red seemed to strengthen his burgeoning aura, as if surviving death had only emboldened him to flirt with danger once more.

In a panic, I thought I'd been shot dead, once again realizing it was the familiar feeling of being in over my head washing over me. I was only just realizing that it had been the sound of the door knob swinging open, not the gun pointed at me going off.

I let out a loud, audible sigh, releasing all the trapped air from my lungs in one go. My eyes darted around frantically, feeling utterly pathetic.

Romano seemed oblivious to the fact that a gun had just been aimed at my head because he held no kind of anger, worry or confusion. Just a blank stare at me. While it might have been a relief for Ottavio, it certainly wasn't for me.

As I realized that Romano had arrived just in time to prevent a bullet from piercing my skull, I lowered my gaze, feeling a mix of gratitude and shame. It was then that I noticed the metallic taste of blood on my tongue. I had bitten down hard on the inside of my lip in anticipation of death.

Romano's gruff, throaty voice with a touch of slur dissected the situation, asking, "What's the reason for your kneeling?"

Taking another glimpse at him, I realized he had used his unaffected hand to effectively push Ottavio aside, ensuring a clear path. Unaware that I was still kneeling, I gathered my resolve and rose to my feet.  My teeth gnashed against my lips, unintentionally spreading the blood further within my mouth.