A Promise Sealed with a Bullet

I got back to the gallery after work to find a deep blue velvet box sitting on the doorstep. Inside lay a golden bullet and a wedding invitation.

I froze. Before I could even process what I was seeing, my encrypted phone rang.

I answered on instinct, and a voice I hadn't heard in three years whispered my name.

"Cindy... what if I told you I made a mistake?"

"Are you ready to come home and claim what’s yours?"

————————

1

"Cindy—"

The call was encrypted.

Alessio's voice was a careful probe, a cruel blade twisting in an old wound, tearing it open all over again. I listened to the frantic pounding of my own heart before cutting him off, my voice turning to ice.

"Alessio Moretti."

"Lose another bet with your boys, Alessio?"

I sank onto the leather sofa, my gaze fixed on the golden bullet on the coffee table. Its metallic gleam was as raw as the car crash three years ago, the crash where Alessio shattered my bones, leaving me in a pool of my own blood, begging him for just one glance.

But all he did was stare down at my pathetic state and tell me…

"Cindy."

"You really think a nobody from the gutter is fit to touch me?"

Now, listening to the sound of Alessio's heavy breathing on the other end of the line, I let out a sharp, brittle laugh.

"So what's the game this time?"

"Another bet? See if the little orphan you almost killed still comes running? Or," I drawled, my words slow and deliberate, "are you planning to play with my head again? Add another trophy to your collection and watch me fall apart, begging you not to leave?"

"Alessio Moretti."

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

My hand trembled, knocking the glass off the coffee table. Whiskey soaked the invitation, and as it bled onto the carpet, my pills scattered among the dark stains.

My psychiatric meds.

They scattered and began to dissolve in the spilled liquor, a bitter stain to match the cold gleam of the bullet. My entire body shook as I tried to pick them up, but then I heard Alessio’s voice again.

"Cindy, it's been three years."

His tone softened, as if he were coaxing a child.

"Three years."

"Can't we just move past this?"

"Just... put it behind us."

A sharp, humorless laugh almost escaped me. My hands wouldn't stop trembling; I could barely muster the strength to pick up a single pill.

And he was talking about putting it behind us. How could I ever put this behind me?

Three years. I thought it was enough time. Enough to heal. But just hearing his voice… my body remembers. The pain, bone-deep and sharp enough to shatter my marrow, washes over me all over again.

"You know what they say about exes—the best ones act like they're dead. I already built you a tombstone in my head, Alessio. Why can't you just stay in your damn coffin?"

I fought back the shivers wracking my body and sneered.

"Alessio Moretti."

"Did you feel like you lost out by not killing me in that crash? Or was it drugging me and throwing me to those animals—"

"Cindy!"

Alessio’s breathing turned ragged, his voice cracking. "That's not who I am. I never wanted to hurt you, and I would never look down on you for being an orphan."

"Everything that happened before… I was immature. It was my fault. I admit it. But can you please—"

A long silence stretched over the encrypted line.

For a moment, I thought I heard the arrogant mafia heir sobbing. He choked out, "I really regret it."

"Cindy."

"I regret it."