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I spin as a gunshot rips through the space.
Time slows to a crawl.
The gunman’s weapon skitters across the linoleum floor. My body moves before my mind can catch up, fingers wrappingaround the cold metal of the fallen gun. The weight of it shocks me—heavier than I imagined, solid and deadly in my inexperienced grip.
A flicker of movement catches my eye. Behind Alessio, emerging from the shadows of the storage room, a third man raises his weapon. Alessio doesn't see him. Can't see him.
My pulse rages in my ears. The man's finger tightens on the trigger. His eyes—cold, empty—lock with mine for a fraction of a second.
"Alessio!" My scream tears through the air, raw and desperate.
My hands rise, the gun trembling between my palms. I've never fired a weapon before. Never imagined I would. The barrel wavers as I squeeze the trigger.
The recoil slams through my wrists, up my arms, jolting me backward. The sound is deafening, echoing through the small store like a physical force.
The man jerks violently, a look of surprise crossing his face before he crumples to the ground.
The gun slips from my fingers, clattering to the floor. My hands shake uncontrollably as the reality of what I've just done crashes over me. I've taken a life. Ended someone's existence with the pull of a trigger.
Alessio spins around, his weapon raised, eyes wild as they dart between me and the fallen attacker. For a moment, we simply stare at each other across the wreckage of the convenience store.
"Melania." My name on his lips sounds like a question.
I try to speak but no words come. My breath catches in my throat, lungs refusing to function. The metallic scent of blood fills the air, making my stomach lurch.
Alessio moves toward me, stepping over debris, his eyes never leaving mine. Time still feels wrong—stretched anddistorted. Each step he takes seems to happen in slow motion, yet suddenly he's there, right in front of me.
"Breathe," he commands, his voice cutting through the fog in my brain.
I suck in a ragged breath, then another. My mother's ring digs into my finger as I twist it frantically.
"I killed him," I whisper, the words barely audible. "I killed someone."
I killed someone.
The thought circles in my mind, drowning everything else. My hands won't stop shaking. The echo of the gunshot still rings in my ears. The man's face as he fell—surprised, almost confused—burns behind my eyelids every time I blink.
Strong arms suddenly encircle me, lifting me off the ground. Alessio. He's saying something but his words sound distant, underwater. My body feels disconnected, floating.
"We need to go. Now." His voice finally breaks through as he carries me out of the store, past the bodies, through the door.
The night air soothes my face, cool against my hot skin. Alessio moves with purpose, cradling me against his chest like I weigh nothing. The car door opens and he places me in the passenger seat with surprising gentleness. He fastens the seat belt too.
In seconds he's behind the wheel, engine roaring to life. The tires squeal as we peel out of the gas station, the force pushing me back into the seat.
"Breathe, Melania." Alessio's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. "You need to breathe."
I realize I've been holding my breath, lungs burning for air. I gasp, the oxygen rushing in making me dizzy.
"That's it. Again. In through your nose, out through your mouth."
The speedometer climbs as Alessio pushes the car harder, putting distance between us and what just happened. My hands twist my mother's ring frantically, the metal band scraping my skin.
"Focus on me,piccola. Focus on my voice." Alessio reaches across the console, his hand finding mine, stilling the frantic movement. "It was self-defense. You understand? He would have killed me and then you too. You saved my life."
Tears stream down my face, hot and unstoppable. I can't form words, can't respond.
Alessio's hand leaves mine to punch buttons on the dashboard. Suddenly the car fills with the delicate notes of Debussy'sClair de Lune—from the classical station he remembered I liked.