Gunpowder and Silk

Dante

The moment I stepped inside through the front door, I knew.

Blood. Gunpowder. Adrenaline.

It clung in the air like incense following flames.

She was there in her house — bare feet, stained silk robe. Her hair mussed, a smear of blood on her cheek that wasn't hers. Her eyes focused on mine, unyielding, firm.

Vittoria D'Amore. Fearless. Undisturbed by chaos.

I slammed the door shut harder than