28
Antonio
Mia with her face caked in blood, pointing the gun straight at me, is just about the scariest thing I’ve ever seen and not just because of the gun, but because she looks like unleashing the rest of that clip on me is going to give her some sort of satisfaction.
“Come on, what are you doing? Mia?” She steps closer, the guy she just shot still twitching. The water ripples on the lake as a breeze passes. The house behind us is quiet, or at least I think it is, but then again trying to concentrate on anything else but the gun barrel aiming at me is a hard task. Especially when you’ve also been stabbed twice in the stomach, or perhaps scraped would be better suited. The guy swiped the blade at me as we were duking it out, the first attempt cut me, but it was the second swing that penetrated my gut, though by the feel of it, it doesn’t feel like he managed to get any vital organs, thank God for that. “Talk to me, Mia, what’s going on here?”
She doesn’t answer—I don’t even think she can hear me. Something’s snapped, and I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to get through to her, but something that does is the sound of Huxley’s voice.
“Drop it!”
Mia doesn’t even flinch, merely glances over to Huxley, who’s joined by two other guys, all of whom have their guns drawn.
“Nobody do anything!” I tell the guys to back off.
“I keep asking myself, how did all this happen? How did I manage to get here?” Mia starts talking, her eyes wide, focused on me as I ready myself to reply, but she continues, her voice dominating our exchange. “And the more I think about it, the less I’m sure of an answer. You see, I can’t let you take all the blame because you didn’t just bring me here, no matter how much you think you did, I let you take me. Allowed you to give me this experience, but for what? So we could fuck? No, there’s something deeper than that.”
“Mia, whatever this is I’m—”
“Not like you give a shit.” Mia shifts her head once more in the direction of Huxley as Vinnie approaches us.
“Vinnie, don’t try anything,” I warn, knowing how he can be.
“It’s over,” Vinnie says, spitting on the floor, “we got all of those bastards.”
“You hear that, Mia? It’s over. You don’t have to be scared anymore.”
“No,” Mia answers. “It was over when you killed my father.”
She reaches for the trigger.
“Stop!” I beg her. “Stop, please! He’s not dead, Mia—your father’s alive!”
Mia staggers back but doesn’t lower the gun. “Why should I believe you? You already said that his debt has been settled.”
“Mia, please, let me explain.”
* * *
“Wouldyou tell Mia I love her? That I’m sorry?” Stefano asks, a deep sorrow in his eyes.
I stand up, point the gun so that when it goes off, the bullet will go through his temple, killing him instantly—without pain, without suffering.
“She already knows,” I tell him, placing my finger on the trigger. I tilt my head as I see regret filling the man’s face. You know, the one thing that strikes me at this moment is the fact that I doubt my father would ever face the same regret toward his children as Mia’s father is showing me now. If a gun was to my father’s head, he’d spit in the face of the person holding it, tell them that he regretted nothing. In some way, I’m jealous, doubting that my father would ever think of me before he passed, but rather the array of pussy he’s managed to collect over the years. And then in comparison, you have this poor asshole in front of me who’s just trying to survive, to do right by his little girl. With an exhalation of not just my breath, but my thoughts as well, I realize that I can’t do it. How can I? More so than ever, I recognize the potential for irreversible damage, because I think I know what I want—yes and killing Stefano would only make that an impossible thing to ask. I lower the gun and sit back down opposite Mia’s father.
Slowly, Stefano lifts his head.
“Relax,” I tell him. I look at Vinnie through the window. “Lower your gun. We’re just going to have a chat, that’s all. You got any booze?”
Mia’s father points to the fridge, so I do the honor and fetch two cold ones, crack the cans open and pour him and myself a drink, the whole thing leaving a befuddled expression on Stefano’s face.
“Saluti,” I raise my glass and drink. “I understand that you might be confused.”
He doesn’t answer at first. He stays silent as he struggles to contain his fear, his hands still shaking. After a few deep breaths, he starts to talk.
“Antonio, I may be old, but I’m no fool. So just tell me what you want.”
“What I want?”