OLIVIA
Bruno shook his head, a strained, disbelieving laugh scraping a rough path up his throat. He kept his hands raised, but his rigid posture loosened slightly, replaced by the arrogant, reckless entitlement of a spoiled heir who had never truly faced a consequence in his life.
"You're bluffing," Bruno spat, his eyes darting from the silver barrel of the gun to his father’s emotionless face. "You won't pull the trigger. You wouldn't kill your own blood. I'm your only son."
Antonio let out a dark, rumbling laugh. The low sound vibrated through the heavy dining room air, clinking subtly against the crystal wine glasses on the table. He did not lower the gun. He didn't even shift his weight. Instead, he reached out with his free left hand, picked up his silver fork, and casually speare
