Marcello's grin was the kind that made the night colder, his finger grazing the trigger of the gun like a lover's caress.
The barrel was trained on Alessia, gleaming beneath the moonlight, a cruel promise waiting to unfold.
"I don't care if she's your wife, or if she has borne your children," he sneered, his voice thick with madness. "For years, I could never fall in love with any woman. Yet here she stands, and for the first time in my life, I feel it burning, consuming, and I want her, Luca.
I want her even if it kills me. But since you won't let me have her, then neither of us will. If I can't claim her, you won't keep her. We'll both lose her."
His laughter was dry, hollow, a sound that clung to the night air like smoke.
