004
1122 Words
ROSA
As the two factions engaged in a fierce firefight, bullets rained all over, tearing into walls, shattering glass, and sparking against the metal frames of abandoned cars. The night filled with chaos, the air thick with smoke and the acrid smell of gunpowder.
I ducked low, my ears ringing from the constant barrage. Inside the battered car, chaos pressed in from every side. Irina’s hands trembled, her lips whispering prayers she didn’t even realize she was saying.
I could barely hear her over the roar of gunfire. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat screaming that this was the end.
Rocco’s eyes, however, were cold and unyielding.
“Stay down!” he barked at Irina, his voice cutting through the loud noise.
She froze, staring at him, her face pale. “Rocco…”But he didn’t let her finish. With a sudden, brutal motion, he threw himself across her, his broad frame shielding her from the storm outside. At the same time, his boot slammed into my chest, kicking me out of the car.
I hit the ground hard, the gravel biting into my skin. For a moment, I couldn’t move. My mind reeled, caught between disbelief and betrayal.
“Rocco!” I shouted, my voice breaking.
He didn’t look at me. His focus was locked on Irina, his arms wrapped around her like a shield.
Suddenly, a shrill sound followed, an explosion ripped through the night, a blinding flash followed by a wave of fire and steel. The blast lifted me off my feet, hurling me into the dirt. My ears rang, the world spinning, and my body became numb.
Through the haze, I caught a glimpse of Rocco. His silhouette was leaving the car with Irina, holding her tight as he protected her.
He left successfully, and did not even look back to confirm whether I was dead or alive.
I gasped, choking on smoke, my voice hoarse. “Why… why would you do that?” The answer came not in words, but by the brutal, truthful choice he had made. He had decided who lived, and I wasn’t a part of it.
I couldn’t bear the pain any longer as everywhere soon began blurring and I feel unconscious.
---
I opened my eyes slowly, the harsh white light of the hospital ceiling blurring into view. My body felt heavy, every muscle screaming with pain. I tried to move, but even the smallest shift sent waves of agony through me.
For a moment, I thought the worst was over, that survival itself was enough. But then, through the monitor beside my bed, I saw something that cut deeper than any wound.
On the screen, in another room, Rocco sat beside Irina. His hand brushed her hair back gently, his voice low and tender.
“Irina," he whispered, his eyes locked on hers, “I can’t hide it anymore. I love you. I’ve always loved you."
Irina’s lips trembled, her eyes wide with shock. Before she could speak, Rocco reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring. Not just any ring, it was the family’s symbol of power, the one that decided who held authority.
“With this," he said, sliding the ring onto her finger, “I choose you. Be mine, Irina. Stand with me."
I lay frozen, watching every second unfold. My chest tightened, but not from heartbreak. There was no sadness, no grief. Only a cold, burning hatred.
“Rocco," I muttered under my breath, my voice hoarse and broken, “After everything you did to me… I’ll never forgive you!”
The monitor flickered, showing Irina’s stunned face as she accepted his proposal. Rocco’s determined gaze, while my hands clenched weakly against the sheets.
Shortly after, the hospital room was heavy with silence when the door opened. Rocco stepped inside, his presence commanding as always, and Irina followed close behind. Her face wore a mask of concern, but her eyes gleamed with something sharper, mockery.
“You look so fragile," she said softly, leaning toward me. “I was terrified that night… but thank God Rocco was there. He saved me. He carried me out himself. I don’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t."
Her words were sweet on the surface, but every syllable was meant to sting. She wanted me to remember that he chose her, not me.
I stayed silent, my lips pressed together, my eyes fixed on them both. Rocco avoided my gaze, his hand resting lightly on Irina’s shoulder.
Then Irina’s eyes narrowed. She tilted her head, her gaze falling to the side of my neck.
“That tattoo…" she whispered, her voice suddenly sharp. “The phoenix. Why do you still have it? It’s ugly. It doesn’t belong to you anymore. That was between you and Rocco, wasn’t it? Your little symbol of secrets and battles." She lamented and Rocco stiffened. His jaw tightened, his eyes flickered toward me for the briefest moment. I could see the conflict in him, but it lasted only a second.
“She’s right," he said firmly. “The phoenix means nothing now. I’ll cover it."
“What!” I froze. Cover it? That tattoo wasn’t just ink, it was mine. I had designed it myself, carved from the memories of everything we had endured together. It carried our past, our victories, our scars. And now, in front of me, he threw it away as if it were nothing.
Irina smirked faintly, satisfied. Rocco stood tall, pretending it was the right decision.
“Replace it with the double-headed eagle," He ordered coldly. “The symbol of the Russian alliance. That is what matters now."
The tattooist was called in. I watched as the needle pierced his skin, dragging across the phoenix that once bound us. The process was brutal—blood welled up, his jaw clenched, with his body tensed with pain.
But Rocco never flinched. He kept his gaze fixed on Irina, enduring every second in silence. His loyalty was written not in words, but in the agony he bore without complaint.
“See?" Irina whispered, her voice dripping with triumph. “He belongs to me now."
Rocco’s eyes flickered toward me for the briefest moment. Then he turned back to Irina, his voice steady, almost cold.
“From this day forward," he said, each word deliberate, “My body and my soul belong only to you, Irina."
I said nothing. My hands clenched weakly against the sheets, my heart burning with hatred. The phoenix was gone, buried under the eagle. But I knew the truth, symbols could be erased, skin could be scarred, yet the past could never be destroyed.
Inside, I swore that this betrayal would not be forgotten.
- Writer
