I drop down on the barstool, whimpering with pain. Angelo touches my hand softly, but his eyes never leave Dujar. “Let me check her wound,” he requests.
“It won’t be necessary,” Dujar says casually. Then he nods at the man with horn-rimmed glasses. “Oh, where are my manners? I am Dujar. You know Angelo already, of course. Your escort today, Artan, you have already met. And this is Giraldo. He is another rat, like our deceased friend Levi here.”
Giraldo starts to yell something as Dujar aims the gun at him, but the yell is cut off by the sound of the gunshot.
Just like that, he’s dead.
Angelo’s hands immediately snap up, covering my ears and softly turning my head away. I clamp my hands over his, pressing them closer to my ears, but I don’t let him turn my gaze all the way away.
“I hat
