But Bianca wasn't finished.
The gun barked again.
And again. And again.
She turned, firing wildly into the room—the door, the wall, the decorative shelf near the television. Bullets ripped through wood and plaster, splintering furniture and sending fragments scattering across the floor.
The noise was deafening in the enclosed space.
Smoke filled the air, the sharp scent of gunpowder burning in Veronica's lungs.
Bianca kept pulling the trigger like she was emptying every ounce of fury she had carried for months.
By the time the chamber finally clicked empty, the room looked like a war zone.
Her breathing came in angry bursts, chest rising and falling as she stared at the destruction around her.
Somewhere behind her, Veronica's scream had dissolved into shocked silence.
Then footsteps thundered toward the annex.
The door flew open.
Luca's guards flooded into the apartment, weapons drawn, eyes scanning the chaos in front of them.
