Snapping Point||Book 1

48.

With my tears wiped away, I opted to watch the tension thickening around the men standing before me.

They exchanged glares like daggers, each emanating a different blend of emotion. On one side, anger and resentment simmered, while on the other, there was a mix of rage and confusion. It was as if an invisible barrier, thick with their deadly emotions, enveloped and trapped them in a suffocating space.

Ottavio's narrowed eyes betrayed his anger too readily, but Romano's gaze was a different story altogether. It was like staring into a bottomless pit, where light dared not approach. A darkness so profound, it seemed to tear through the very air around him, viscous and oppressive, invulnerable to any glitter of mercy.

"Why were you kneeling, Xenia? I won't ask again," The unsettling aspect of Romano's question wasn't just its suffocating tone, but the fact that he directed it at Ottavio, not me, but expected answers from the both of us.

If you were to take a knife and slice through the air, you could practically divide the suspense and lingering rage into two equal halves.

One part of me urged to respond hastily, even if it meant lying. I bit my lip, the words struggling to form. "I... Romano, we... The..." I exhaled sharply, releasing the tension suffocating me. "Ottavio was—"

"Shut up!" Ottavio hollered, his attention dead on Romano.

"And you'll never speak to her that way again. Not ever, Ottavio Morelli."

My eyes widened to saucers as I glanced between them. Ottavio stood mere inches from shoving Romano's chest, affirming his dominance.

"Oh, so now we're on last name basis?" Ottavio's tense laugh was smothered by Romano's unapologetic one.

"You're familiar with the saying about using last names - it's either a sign of respect or a warning that someone's in for trouble." Romano's jaw ticked. "In your case, I think you know which it is."

"Over a girl?" Shock entered Ottavio's expression and stayed there. "Over this girl?"

Romano's silence was a dead affirmation. No nod, no yes, no glint in his eyes, just dead silence that could not have possibly said yes any better.

I inhaled sharply, attempting to dispel the sinking sensation in my stomach. The direction this was heading felt dangerously destructive. Would they simply engage in a silent standoff, staring each other down until one relented and threw the first punch, or worse, drew a gun?

This was were I lost my bearings. No, no, no—my mind reeled with that warning. Gathering my courage to stop the madness I began, "It wasn't Ottavio's fault—"

"So it was yours, then?"

I waved my head in protest at Ottavio's accusation and closed the distance until I was standing just a foot away from Romano. Against my better judgment, I reached out and touched him, but he refused to cave.

"I thought you understood me..."

"No," Ottavio returned his gaze to his perceived threat. "I thought we understood this"—that was clearly me and Romano—"couldn't be an item. And yet, she's there when you're shot, she's your little spy, the center of your attention, the reason why you're hardly at the club or with your wife—"

"Jesus, Ottavio. You're talking too much," Romano's voice was a hiss of irritation. "You just open your mouth and let the nonsense flow, don't you?"

Just like that, the tension reached its peak and dissipated just as quickly. Romano turned, and I instinctively stepped aside. I battled the urge to believe he wanted me to remain hidden, yet perhaps secretly pleased by that possibility. If Ottavio was already angry with my minimal involvement in the situation, how much more would he react when he realized I wasn't going anywhere soon?