Shadows of the past

Abigail observed as the color seemed to drain from his face, and he reclined in his chair. Remo Quinn was undoubtedly a handsome man.

His voice carried a deep, enigmatic resonance, accompanied by a subtle hint of an accent.

He appeared to tower at least six feet tall, possibly even nearing six foot four, his shoulders broad and his arms exuding power, the muscles visibly flexing under the casually unbuttoned, crisp white dress shirt, its sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms inked with tattoos.

His hair, thick and luxurious, held the hue of dark chocolate brown, gracefully falling in soft waves and curls that framed his ears and neck with precision.

Illuminated by the fire's gentle glow, there were shimmering streaks of burnished gold, creating a captivating interplay of light and shadow.

His face was sculpted, boasting high cheekbones, a strong square jaw, and a subtle hint of a cleft chin.

An aristocratic nose, framed by thick, dark brows, further enhanced his striking features. Yet, it was his eyes that truly held Abigail's attention—vibrant brown, a captivating and deep gaze.

She comprehended why her friend Izabella was passionately in love with him, why she had risked everything to be by his side.

Sadly, life proved to be cruel, denying her the happily ever after she yearned for.

"W-where did you get this picture?!" He bellowed looking at the picture on the table.

It was like he was looking at a ghost, his fingers tremble slightly as he pointed at the picture.

Abigail's heart raced as she watched Remo Quinn's intense reaction to the photograph.

The atmosphere grew heavy with unspoken emotions, his booming voice contrasting with the vulnerability that flickered in his eyes.

It was clear that the image held a significant meaning, triggering a mixture of shock, anguish, and perhaps even guilt within him.

The radiant smile of the woman in the picture stood in stark contrast to the tension that now gripped the room, an unsettling reminder of what had been lost and what still haunted him.

I... I found it in an old box of photographs," Abigail stammered, feeling the weight of the moment.

She could sense the anguish in his reaction, the mixture of surprise, pain, and perhaps even a hint of nostalgia.

Remo's gaze remained fixed on the picture. He seemed to be grappling with a rush of memories, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath.

The woman's joy captured in the photograph was a stark contrast to the tension that gripped the room now.

A heavy silence hung over them, as if time itself had paused. Abigail wished she could retract her words, erase the impact of the image she had unwittingly brought forth.

She watched as Remo's fingers reached for the photograph, his touch both tender and trembling. The photograph was a portal to a chapter of his life he had kept concealed.

As he studied the picture, his voice trembled as he whispered, "That's Izabelle ... how do you know her?. She passed away years ago." The vulnerability in his admission was palpable.

"I'm— Abigail Falcone, her— childhood bestfriend."

Remo chuckled, pulling a gun from underneath his desk he pointed at her.

"You would have to try harder dear, no offence but you look like the least person Bella would befriend so let's do this again.

You're going to tell me where you got that picture, how you know about Bella and why you're here. At the count of 3."

Abigail's chest tightened as a surge of fear engulfed her. She felt her heart race erratically, its pounding echoing in her ears like a frantic drumbeat. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, her lungs struggling to take in the air she so desperately needed.

The room seemed to spin around her, the familiar surroundings becoming distorted and unfamiliar.

Her hands shook uncontrollably, and she clutched her chest as a wave of dizziness washed over her. The cold sweat on her forehead felt like icy tendrils, and her vision blurred as tears welled up in her eyes.

Remo's voice, low and menacing, counted off, "One..."

The sound reverberated through Abigail's head like an echo, a stark reminder of the impending pressure she was under. The gun in his hand seemed to loom larger, a sinister presence in the room.

"Two..."

Abigail's mind raced, her thoughts a jumbled mess of panic and desperation. She struggled to form coherent sentences, her tongue feeling heavy and uncooperative. Her whole body felt like it was on the verge of collapse, the weight of the situation bearing down on her.

"Three..."

As Remo's final count hung in the air, Abigail's world seemed to shatter. The panic engulfed her completely, rendering her speechless. She fought to control the onslaught of emotions, but it was as if an invisible force had taken hold of her, paralyzing her ability to respond.

As the tension in the room reached its peak, Abigail braced herself for the worst, her chest heaving with each labored breath.

Time seemed to slow down as she awaited the outcome of Remo's countdown. The gun in his hand felt like a heavy anchor, a symbol of the danger she was facing.

But then, in a split second that felt like an eternity, a deafening crack shattered the silence. Abigail's body instinctively flinched as the gunshot echoed through the room, her heart racing even faster.

The wall just behind her exploded into fragments of plaster and paint, scattering into the air like confetti.

Her wide eyes locked onto the jagged hole in the wall, her senses overwhelmed by the close call.

Her chest tightened even more, the adrenaline coursing through her veins amplifying the panic that had already taken hold.

The realization of how close she had come to danger seeped in, leaving her trembling uncontrollably.

Remo's voice, now laced with a grim warning, cut through the chaos. "I suggest you start talking, Abigail Falcone. Before my aim becomes less generous."

Her voice trembled as she fought to regain control over her body and her thoughts. "I... I didn't —mean— to —intrude."

Due to the fear, her stammering was even worse.

"What do you know about Izabelle?" Remo's tone was measured, his eyes still searching hers for any hint of deception.

"I-I-know…she —was my friend," Abigail replied, her voice quivering, "and I know she meant everything to you."