Page 33 of Made to Sin

“One chance is all I’m asking for.”

“No.”

He sneered and tightened his grip until it was physically painful. Fine, I was going to cause a—

Bang.

A bullet flew past the top of my left ear and straight into the man in front of me. I froze as the rest of the world muted into a muffled silence and watched as his lanky body slumped to the ground in slow motion.

His blood spluttered like a fountain with the source coming from the bullet hole in his head, covering me with the horrific evidence. The pool under my boots, the spots against my chest, the metallic taste on my lips. Realizing what just happened, I turned and vomited onto the ground next to the corpse.

A chorus of disgusted noises carried through the accumulating crowd, but it didn’t process. I was too busy trying to get as far from the bloodied body as possible. I stumbled over my own feet, slipping every so often. My ears only stopped ringing when I could no longer see the dead man’s opened eyes.

“What the fuck?” Marco’s voice boomed from across the field.

For once, I agreed with my husband,what the fuck? A human life was taken within a blink of an eye.

“I missed,” Luciano lazily responded from behind me.

I twisted back on my heels to see Luciano lighting yet another cigarette and lifting it to his lips. It was evident from the arrogant smirk that he was not sorry, and the boss definitely did not miss. I held in the urge to tremble but failed to hide the fear on my face. Just how many people had he killed? As much as Marco? More?

Marco glowered, steam puffing from his meaty ears, but he didn’t argue. My husband accepted the misfortune and angrily returned to shooting at dummies.

Everyone copied his cue and pretended to gloss over the incident, but it was obvious this was a personal vendetta. The closest target was to the far left, yet the bullet went toward us like an aimed shot. Aimed a couple of centimeters to the side of my head.

Although the guy was a sexist pig, I didn’t want him dead. If Luciano thought it was conventional to “accidentally” shoot someone, he seriously needed a mental check-up. Who was I kidding? This murder was probably nothing more than another notch under his belt of crime.

I looked over to the culprit. The smoke he blew covered most of his face, but there was an inarguably dark look in his eyes that stared back. My chest heaved rapidly from both fear… and an odd excitement. I couldn’t help the warm sensation that crawled into my chest at the possibility that he did this for me.

God, I needed a mental check-up as much as he did because I kind of found it attractive.

—

“Didn’t I tell you that you resemble a hooker,meu bem?”

Maria was currently rubbing different treatments into my hair as we reflected on the events that unfolded. According to her, blood and aggressive hair washing were not recommended if I wanted to keep my silky cascade.

I spent the past two hours scrubbing my scalp and body clean of any possible blood and gunpowder residue. In the process, I vomited my guts out for the second time.

I deeply sighed, tired of the disastrous day. “I wondered who chose my outfit.”

She dared to huff as if it was my fault. “It’s not my problem if you make an innocent outfit look sensual. It’s because of thosejugs you call boobs.”

I rolled my eyes at my nonsensical housekeeper. “Yes, I’ll go ahead and remove my so-called jugs next time.”

“Finally, you have a good idea.”

We continued bickering until she had to attend to other house chores, and I opted for a nap.

In my dreams, I saw a shadowy figure holding a gun aimed at me. I covered my face in fear, waiting for the fatal blow, but when the loudbangcrackled through the air, I didn’t die.

Another figure had fallen at my feet.

Marco.

Maybe I was as diabolical as my husband was cruel because when I jolted awake, I was disappointed it wasn’t real. Luciano had created a false illusion in my head, tricking my body into loyalty, but he didn’t kill the right person. He wasn’t my dark knight. If anything, he was the evil king who would trap me himself if given the chance.

I fell back asleep and urged for a more realistic dream. Yet no matter how many times I thrashed awake, the same visions flashed behind my eyes. At a point, I gave up, letting myself live in the fantasy until I believed it was true. I dreamt of living a life without Marco. A life where I wasn’t hurt, a life where I didn’t need to resort to drugs and alcohol, a life where I was happy.

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