The Price of Mercy and the Shadow of the Moretti Family
“We both know it.”
He took another step, his face coming into the faint light reflected off the walls.
He looked thin, his cheeks sunken and his eyes bloodshot.
There was a dark bruise along his jawline, likely from one of Corrado’s debt collectors.
His jacket was torn at the shoulder, covered in coal dust and sewer grime.
He looked desperate, like a wild animal cornered in a cage.
But to me, he was still the monster who had kept me locked in a dark room for three days.
“I will shoot you,” I whispered.
The gun trembled in my hands.
I tried to use both hands to steady it, but my fingers were too cold to grip it properly.
“Go ahead,” Paul said, his voice dropping to a low hiss.
“Do it.”
“Prove to me you’re not just a weak, pathetic little girl.”
“Show me what the great Moretti taught you.”
He took another step.
He was only three feet away now.
I could see the yellow tint of his teeth.
I could hear the wet, heavy rattle in his chest as he breathed.