I knew Arthur would want to fuck me over. He wants to see if I still have ties to my family. He wants me to kill the woman who birthed me, and I know why he wants me to do it. If I do, Giuliana would hate me forever, and if I don’t, Arthur will kill me.
“H-he’s o-o-only c-c-coming back t-t-tomorrow,” she sputters, dragging me from the dark thoughts of Giuliana and my impending death. I doubt I’ll be able to pull the trigger. Because even though she was not a mother to me, she gave me life.
“What time?”
She scoots up, and I notice her arms have blood-red track marks from elbow to wrist. Her veins are popping against her pallid skin. She doesn’t just look like a junkie; she looks sick.
“What happened to you?”
She drops in the chair, not looking at me, but pulling out a cigarette from a packet on the table. I watch her light it. Pulling in the smoke, she inhales it deeply before letting it out in a plume in front of her.
“Talk to me.”
“Thomas will be here tomorrow. You can come back and see him then,” she repeats what she told me moments ago. “I’m dying.” Two words still my world, steal my breath and cause my heart to leap into my throat.
“What?”
“Life has finally caught up to me.” She turns to me. Picking up a bottle, she sloshes the clear liquid down as she swallows. Her throat works quickly, taking in as much as she can, then she sets the bottle down.
“I don’t understand,” I tell her, not wanting to venture farther into the filth but needing to hear what she has to say.
“I fucked up, Lance,” she admits. “I shot up, went on a job with some john, and he didn’t tell me he had AIDS.” Her confession is so quiet I barely hear her. But the words don’t make sense. I know what it is, I’ve heard the stories, the news, but knowing my own mother is dying is not something I was prepared for.
“I came here to kill you. It seems you’ve done a good job of it on your own,” I tell her, shoving my piece into the holster. I don’t need it anymore. Something tells me Arthur knew this. He must’ve known she’s dying.
“I know.” She nods. “Arthur Calthorpe and his men have been after Thomas for a while. I’ve had others here looking for him, but they always spared me.”
“Because he wanted me to be the one to do it.”
Again, she nods. “I’m ready, son.” She smiles. Even though she’s facing away from me, I can see her profile and the way the corner of her mouth tilts up. “I’ve been ready for the end for a very long time.”
Her form blurs, and I realize I’m tearing up. I swallow past the lump in my throat in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. I’ve never cried, not once in my life. I’ve always been taught that men don’t cry, so I never did. When I felt the urge, the sadness well up in my chest, I would shoot, kill, torture, and the pain would dissipate.
But there’s no getting away from it this time.
“Do you really expect me to pull the trigger?” I question, stepping closer to her.
That’s when she turns to regard me. Her lips wrapped around the cigarette, and I don’t expect her to answer, but she does, wordlessly.
She nods.
I watch her kill the butt, blow out another cloud of white smoke and lift her gaze to mine. There are so many emotions warring through her, but the one that grips me is the guilt. It’s clear in her expression.
“Do it any way you please,” she informs me with a gentle smile on her face. In this moment, I should be in charge, but she’s the one who’s seemingly stronger than I am, and it confuses the fuck out of me.
What do you do the moment your mother asks you to kill her?
Do you take a blade to her neck?
Or do you aim the barrel and pull the trigger?
Lance
I walked out of the house, leaving her there, so I didn’t have to watch her face crumple. I’ve turned cold, more so than I thought I ever could. Working for the Cavalieri for so long has hardened my emotions, but deep down, I know it’s not just that. There’s one person who makes me care, who softens every part of my dead heart, and she lights my dark soul.
Picking up my burner, I hit dial on the number that’s always been my salvation, and I hope this time it will be again. I listen to the rings, the shrill sound echoing through my mind.
“Hello?” Her voice is tentative, probably unsure who’s calling her private line. I’ve had this number for so long, but I never made use of it. Mainly because when I wanted to call her, she was far too young. Now, all bets are off.