“That is my husband, Luca!"
My voice trembles as I point at Luca. The man emerges from the darkness, his gaze fixed on Jamie's limp body. Luca's expression remains stoic, his eyes glinting with strange calmness. His calm demeanor contrasts completely with his brewing rage.
“I do not care," he drawls.
I watch in horror as Luca's finger swoops down, his nail tracing a deliberate path across Jamie's throat. The soft whisper of skin against skin makes my stomach churn.
“I... do not...", his voice drips with disdain.
His finger pauses, then swipes downward, the motion almost lazy. Above us, the wedding picture of Jamie and I, our serious expressions a stark contrast to the chaos below, teeters on the wall.
The frame creaks, then crashes down, landing with a dull thud on Jamie's chest.
