~ Niamh ~
The Ferrari's engine died with a final, mechanical rattle, leaving a silence so heavy it felt like it was pressing against my eardrums.
I stepped out of the car, my legs feeling like lead, and watched Cristiano do the same on the other side.
He looked remarkably unbothered, leaning against the bullet-riddled frame with a smirk that could start a war.
Then my eyes settled on the man standing a few yards away.
Massimo was a statue of pure fury. He didn't look at the shattered windshield or the scorch marks on the yellow paint.
His gaze was just fixed on me, dragging over me with an intensity that made the air feel thin.
He stood by the black SUV, his hand still white-knuckled around the grip of his gun, his chest heaving as if he had run all the way here.
