Alessio stood on the shooting range, the barrel of the pistol aimed with precision. He squeezed the trigger, and the sharp crack of the shot echoed across the field. The bullet struck dead center on the target, but the satisfaction he usually felt was absent.
Enzo leaned against a nearby table, arms crossed, watching with his usual calm demeanor. His dark hair was pulled back, and his casual stance contrasted Alessio’s rigid form.
“Alright,” Enzo said, breaking the silence. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been shooting like a madman for an hour, and that scowl isn’t going anywhere.”
Alessio reloaded the gun, ignoring him. He raised the weapon again, taking another shot. This one hit slightly off-center. He cursed under his breath.
“Alessio,” Enzo pressed, stepping closer. “You’re off
