POV: Damiano
Cold was easier than guilt.
It was cleaner. Quieter.
So I chose it.
I woke up the next morning and buried every trace of what happened between us, the touch, the heat, the sound of her breathing against my skin. I locked it all behind the same walls I’d built since I was a boy.
When I saw her later that day, I didn’t look twice.
Didn’t speak. Didn’t let the silence mean anything.
But she looked at me differently — not soft, not broken. Just... resolved. Like she’d finally stopped expecting anything human from me.
Good.
Because I could already feel the storm coming.
The first gunshots came three nights later.
We were at Luce, one of my clubs downtown — the one I usually avoided bringing her to, but I didn’t trust anyone else to keep an eye on her. The place was loud,
