Alessio’s gun hovered in the space between Luca’s head and Noa’s chest, the impossible choice choking the air out of the room. The seconds ticked by like gunfire in Noa’s skull, his heart ramming so hard against his ribs he thought it might break through. His throat was dry, his legs locked, his breath trapped. He couldn’t scream, couldn’t plead. This wasn’t his choice. It was Alessio’s. And god, Alessio looked like he was fracturing apart right there in front of him.

Luca’s ...