Chapter 14
Zora
The sharp crack of a rifle tears through the morning air. The sound rolls across the woodland like thunder, scattering birds from the treetops and sending startled movement rippling through the undergrowth. For a brief second, everything seems to freeze.
Then the fallow deer collapses. One moment it is standing among the tall grass. The next, it is on the ground. Dead. The shot could not have been cleaner.
A low murmur spreads through the gathered crowd. Several people immediately turn toward Domenico. Or rather, Lucien.
Darragh lets out a laugh as he lowers the binoculars from his eyes. "Jesus Christ."
He shakes his head before clapping a hand against Domenico's shoulder. "You make it look insulting."
The guests around us laugh.
Darragh continues staring toward the distant clearing where the deer fell. "That had to be at least three hundred yards."
"Closer to three-fifty." Domenico replies.
The answer only earns another disbelieving laugh. "Of course you know the exact distance."
Domenico hands the rifle to one of the attendants waiting nearby. "You asked me to shoot it."
"I didn't expect you to make it look effortless." Darragh studies him for another moment before turning toward the others. "This is why I hate inviting him."
The crowd chuckles.
"He appears out of nowhere, humiliates everyone, then disappears again before the rest of us can recover our pride."
"That sounds like a personal problem."
"It is." Darragh points directly at him. "See? This is exactly what I mean."
The laughter grows louder.
Standing beside Domenico, I remain silent while observing the people surrounding us. The hunting party is exactly what I expected and somehow worse. Old money. Political influence. Inherited power.
The men wear expensive hunting jackets and tailored boots that cost more than most people's monthly salaries. Their wives and companions stand nearby holding glasses of champagne despite it being barely mid-morning. Everything about the gathering feels carefully curated.
My gaze drifts across the clearing. The woods stretch endlessly in every direction, dense and beautiful beneath the pale Irish sunlight. The scenery almost succeeds in distracting from the fact that a dead animal is currently being dragged through the grass by attendants. Almost.
Eventually, my eyes find Roisin. She sits alone on a stone bench near the edge of the gathering, positioned as far away from the hunting platform as physically possible.
Even from this distance, her displeasure is obvious.
I also notice that, once again, she is dressed in a high-necked, long-sleeved dress despite the sun overhead and the humidity hanging in the air.
The moment she catches me looking, she rolls her eyes dramatically. I nearly smile. The expression translates perfectly. Men. Guns. Traditions.
I suspect she would rather be doing almost anything else.
"You look about as thrilled as Roisin." The deep voice beside me pulls my attention back. Domenico.
I glance at him. "And yet here I am."
His eyes briefly flick toward the rifle that has already been prepared for Darragh. "You disapprove."
It isn't a question.
"I think there are easier ways to prove masculinity."
The corner of his mouth lifts. "I'll let Darragh know."
"Please do."
"I enjoy watching him become offended."
That almost earns a laugh from me. Before I can respond, several guests begin calling Darragh forward.
"Your turn! Let's see if the future king of Ireland can actually shoot. You've spent enough time talking."
Darragh groans dramatically. "Animals. All of you."
One of the older men raises his glass. "Coming from the man who organized the hunt?"
More laughter follows.
Darragh accepts the rifle from one of the attendants before checking the chamber himself.
The casual familiarity with which he handles the weapon is unsettling.
Not because he looks dangerous. Because he looks comfortable.
As though violence is simply another skill he learned alongside reading and learning mathematics.
He glances toward Domenico. "You know, one day I am going to beat you."
"No." The answer comes immediately.
Several people laugh while Darragh places a hand over his chest. "You see this, Vivienne?" He gestures dramatically toward Domenico. "This is what I have tolerated for years."
"I imagine it has been difficult."
"Thank you. Finally, someone understands."
Domenico looks entirely unimpressed.
Darragh points at him again. "That attitude is exactly why I dislike you."
"You invited me."
"A mistake I continue making."
For a moment, it almost feels normal. Friends teasing each other. Old acquaintances sharing jokes. People enjoying a weekend in the countryside.
The illusion lasts only a few seconds. Then I remember where we are. Who these people are. And what they are capable of.
The realization settles heavily in my stomach. Because beneath the laughter, beneath the expensive clothing and polished manners, every person standing here possesses some degree of power.
Some wield money. Some wield influence. Others wield fear. And a few wield all three.
Darragh finally shoulders the rifle and begins walking toward the shooting marker positioned farther down the slope.
The crowd immediately follows, eager to witness another display. Conversation shifts with them.
Within moments, most of the guests have moved several yards away. Leaving Domenico and me standing near the edge of the wooden platform overlooking the woods.
The sudden reduction in noise feels strangely noticeable. I am far too aware of the man standing beside me.
Domenico rests one hand against the wooden railing overlooking the clearing. For several seconds, neither of us speaks.
Unfortunately, silence has never been particularly safe around him. "You've been avoiding looking at me all morning."
I keep my attention fixed on the hunting grounds below. "Have I?"
"Mm-hm." The sound carries far too much amusement.
I finally glance at him. His expression is infuriatingly calm.
"Perhaps I've simply been enjoying the scenery."
His gaze lingers on my face. "I don't think that's it."
I already know where this conversation is heading. I hate that he's enjoying himself.
"What exactly do you think it is?"
A slow smile appears on his face. "I think you've been unusually distracted since last night, Elf."
Heat immediately climbs into my cheeks. Damn him. The worst part is that he notices. Of course he notices.
His eyes darken slightly. "There it is."
I narrow mine. "There what is?"
"The reaction."
My grip tightens around the railing. "You are remarkably arrogant for someone who spends most of his time annoying people."
A quiet laugh escapes him. "I've been called worse."
"I can imagine."
The smile doesn't leave his face. If anything, it becomes more pronounced. And for one brief moment, I seriously consider pushing him off the platform.
The thought is interrupted by Darragh shouting from farther down the slope. "Lucien! You're up again after this one."
Several people turn toward us. The interruption breaks whatever had been building between us. Yet the irritation remains.
No. Not irritation. Something far more dangerous. Because Domenico looks entirely too pleased with himself. As though he has won something. As though this is amusing and he has me figured out.
The realization sparks something reckless inside me. Before I can reconsider, I step forward.
"Darragh." My voice carries across the clearing.
Several heads turn immediately.
Darragh lowers his rifle and looks up. "Yes, Vivienne?"
"I want the next shot."
The reaction is instantaneous. Conversations pause. A few guests laugh. Others look genuinely interested.
Darragh raises an eyebrow. "You shoot?"
I can feel Domenico's attention on me without looking."Well enough."
The answer earns a grin. "Now this I want to see."
I start down the wooden steps before anyone can object. The crowd parts easily as I approach.
Darragh studies me for a moment before handing over the rifle. The weapon is heavier than it looks. Cold metal settles against my palms. Around us, several guests gather closer, eager for entertainment.
I can practically feel Domenico watching from the platform above. Good. Let him watch.
I lift the rifle to my shoulder and peer through the scope. The world immediately narrows. Trees. Brush. Movement.
A deer emerges from the edge of the woodland, unaware of the dozens of eyes tracking it.
I follow its path through the lens. The conversations around me fade. The weight of the rifle settles comfortably against my shoulder. The target remains perfectly centered.
And as my finger rests lightly against the trigger, one thought becomes abundantly clear.
I have absolutely no intention of shooting the deer. For a few seconds, I track it exactly as everyone expects me to.
Then, very slowly, I move the barrel.
The crosshairs slide away from the deer and drift across the landscape. They pass over the tall grass, the tree line, and the gathering of guests before finally settling on the wooden platform above.
On Domenico.
He stands exactly where I left him. One hand resting casually against the railing. Completely relaxed and confident.
Even through the scope, I can see the faint amusement lingering in his expression.
The sight of it only strengthens my resolve.
I adjust my aim slightly until his upper arm fills the center of the reticle. The distance is longer than most people would attempt for a shot like this, but that hardly concerns me.
After all, I am trying to humble him. My eyes never leave the platform. For a heartbeat, everything seems frozen in place. The world narrows to the rifle in my hands, the distant target, and the steady rhythm of my pulse pounding in my ears.
A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. Then I pull the trigger. The rifle explodes against my shoulder. The shot echoes violently across the hunting grounds, scattering birds from the trees and silencing every conversation in an instant.
Then the shot cracks through the air. Bang.