I lean across the car and kiss her. I stare into her eyes and touch her cheek gently. “You’re a good person at heart, Siena, even though the world’s given you a thousand reasons not to be.”
She’s still wearing the bandage, not because the wound needs it, but because she thinks it’s too hideous to show.
I think she’s beautiful, and I’ll convince her to be proud of her scars eventually.
Scars are what make us who we are. Everyone has scars—some are etched into skin, and some are burned into memory. Nobody moves through life without a scar slicing them in half.
A black SUV pulls into the parking lot and rolls over toward the office. It parks and Siena sits up straight and watches as the doors open. Her brothers pile out—Enzo is behind the wheel, and Santo and Franco are in the back.
Her father gets out last. He shuffles from the passenger side and moves around the SUV toward the door. Enzo holds it, and as their father disappears inside, he looks across the parking lot and I swear we make eye contact. I’m too far for him to possible see me, but it’s like he can stare into my soul in that moment.
It’s haunting and hard to watch. But the brothers head inside, and the door swings shut.
“Time for us to go,” I say, checking my gun and tucking it into the holster. “Are you ready?”
“I’m ready.”
“There’s no shame in staying behind, you know. There’s no reason to watch this.”
“He’s my dad.” That’s all she needs to say. I understand, even if the impulse won’t help anything. She climbs out and begins the walk toward her father’s doom.
I follow after her and catch her hand. I kiss her wrist and pull her against me. “I love you, Siena,” I say softly, touching her chin. “No matter what happens.”
She blinks rapidly and grins. “Are you seriously saying that right now? Right before we go in there and—you know, kill my dad?”
“I can’t think of a better time.”
“I can think of a hundred better times.”
“You needed to hear it.”
“God, you’re an insane person. And I love you too. You freaking psycho.” She laughs, a heady mixture of nerves and fear and pure joy, and I kiss her quickly before we walk hand in hand to the office.
I step inside with Siena on my heels. The brothers are all behind the counter, and their father’s sitting in the back room where just a few days ago I put a bullet in Zita’s head. The room’s been cleared out—too much blood splattered everything to save much. There’s a new desk, bland and empty, and it’s covered in files and papers. I glance to my right—and find a dark stain on the carpet. All that’s left of Renato.
Siena hugs herself as she moves over toward where Santo’s leaning back against the wall. He looks at her and nods once, but says nothing. Enzo’s speaking quietly to their father who’s flipping through some accounting books. Franco runs a hand through his hair and quietly holds the small gate open for me.
I slip through like a ghost and pull my gun free of the holster.
Guido Bastone doesn’t look up. He’s too engrossed in whatever he’s seeing in those books. Enzo’s leaning over him, guiding him through the numbers—they keep records of their girls, apparently—and speaking into his ear. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but it doesn’t matter. The moment hangs, and I feel all the eyes in the room on me. Siena, Santo, Franco. They’re staring and waiting for what’s about to happen.
This is their chance to turn back. Santo or Franco could change their minds right now, pull a weapon, and end me. I’m not looking at them. I’m barely aware of their existence. This is their chance to save their father, but nobody moves.
I chamber a round. The unmistakable click-clack of a bullet sliding into the barrel of my gun breaks the silence.
Enzo stands up straight. He turns, but doesn’t look surprised. A specter of a grimace slides over his face like a black shadow.
Guido Bastone’s mouth drops open when he spots me.
“Maxim?” He says my name like a curse and shoves his chair back. It bashes into Enzo’s shin. He grunts and steps aside as his father barrels out of the back room, his face turning red with rage. “How dare you come back here, you little shit? Do you have any idea how much trouble you caused me? Killing Zita and those two guards. Three corpses. That’s a lot of fucking trouble. And now you’re—”
I don’t let him finish his rant. I raise the gun and point it at his head.
His eyes go wide.
I wonder if he ever imagined this might happen. A man like him probably drifts through life thinking everyone will bow and scrape at his fucking feet. He raised his children to worship him like a god and yet he managed to break them so thoroughly, so deeply that they’re willing to end his life to avoid his nonstop torrent of abuse.