SIMONE'S POV
The gun trembled in my hands as I stared into Nicholas's golden eyes. Those eyes...the same ones that had haunted my dreams for five years, the same ones that had looked at me with such tenderness at the masquerade ball.
"Go ahead," he said softly, not moving away from the barrel pressed against his chest. "If you believe I'm your father's killer, pull the trigger."
My finger hovered over the trigger, but I couldn't make myself squeeze it.
Images flashed through my mind....Papa bleeding in my arms, Nicholas storming into the cathedral, and the sound of gunshots echoing through the church.
But other images came too. Nicholas at fourteen, standing beside Papa in that photograph. The gentle way he had adjusted my stance just moments ago.
The pain in his voice
