Chapter 4 Chapter 4 – Painted in Crimson

The gunshot’s echo hadn’t even died when Vincenzo Moretti hit the bunker floor. Not gracefully. Not dramatically. Just a heavy, graceless collapse—knees first, then torso folding forward, cream suit blooming dark red across the chest like spilled wine on silk. The pistol in Elena’s hand kicked again, involuntary, a second round punching into the concrete inches from his fallen shoulder before Alessandro’s fingers closed over hers and gently, firmly, eased the weapon down. “Enough,” he murmured against her temple. His voice was calm, almost soothing, but the arm wrapped around her waist was iron. “He’s already bleeding out. You don’t waste bullets on a corpse.” Elena’s ears rang. The smell of cordite burned her nostrils, sharp and metallic, mixing with