NOT JUST COLLATERAL
661 Words
The chaos ended as abruptly as it began.
The gunshot faded into the night, replaced by sharp commands and the thunder of boots as DeLuca guards secured the perimeter. Somewhere outside, engines roared and radios crackled, but inside the mansion, time slowed to a painful crawl.
Sofia barely registered any of it.
Her hands were already on Alessio.
“Don’t move,” she said, her voice firm despite the blood soaking through his shirt. “You’re bleeding too much.”
Alessio leaned heavily against her, one arm draped over her shoulders as she struggled to support his weight. He was taller, broader, heavier than she expected—but adrenaline gave her strength she didn’t know she had.
“I told you to stay back,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
“You don’t get to give orders right now,” she shot back, tightening her grip. “Walk. Just walk.”
He let out a low breath, half pain, half reluctant compliance, and forced his legs forward. Every step left a faint smear of blood on the marble floor.
They reached the inner hall, away from the open entrance. The doors slammed shut behind them, sealing out the night and whatever enemies lurked beyond it.
Sofia guided him onto a leather couch. The moment he sat, his body sagged, jaw tightening as the pain caught up to him.
“Stay with me,” she said, already unbuttoning his shirt with shaking fingers. “Look at me, Alessio.”
His dark eyes lifted to hers. Still sharp. Still present.
“I’m not dying,” he said flatly.
“Good,” she replied. “Because I don’t have the patience for that.”
She pressed a folded cloth—someone must have handed it to her at some point—against the wound on his side. He hissed but didn’t pull away.
“You’ve done this before,” he observed.
Sofia didn’t answer immediately. Her focus was absolute, hands steady as she applied pressure.
“I grew up with a father who believed problems disappeared if you ignored them,” she said finally. “I learned early that bleeding doesn’t stop unless you deal with it.”
His lips twitched faintly. “Remind me never to underestimate you.”
“You should’ve already learned that,” she said.
A doctor rushed in moments later, followed by more guards, but Alessio’s hand closed around Sofia’s wrist before anyone could pull her away.
“She stays,” he ordered.
The room went silent.
The doctor hesitated, then nodded. “Fine. But she follows instructions.”
Sofia didn’t look away from Alessio as the bullet wound was assessed. It hadn’t hit anything vital, but it was deep enough to hurt like hell. Blood loss was the real danger.
As the doctor worked, Sofia stayed close, letting Alessio grip her hand when the pain spiked. He never cried out. Never begged.
But his fingers tightened when it hurt most.
And each time, she tightened back.
When it was over and the room cleared, Alessio leaned back against the couch, pale but conscious. His breathing had steadied, though exhaustion pulled at his features.
“You should rest,” Sofia said quietly.
“So should you.”
She shook her head. “Later.”
He studied her then—not like a don assessing a threat, but like a man seeing something he hadn’t expected.
“You didn’t run,” he said.
“I told you,” she replied. “I don’t abandon people.”
“Even after everything?”
“Especially after,” she said. “Fear doesn’t decide who I am.”
Something shifted in his expression—subtle, dangerous, irreversible.
“You’re not collateral,” he said slowly. “Not anymore.”
Sofia met his gaze, heart pounding. “Then what am I?”
Alessio didn’t answer right away.
Outside the room, his enemies were still breathing.
Inside, something far more threatening had begun to form.
- Writer
