For once, I’m not worried about her, because I know damn well she can take care of herself. Who I fear for is the man in my lap, bleeding out at a rapid rate.
“Johnny,” he mumbles.
I focus my attention on him, pushing on the leaking wound. “Shh.”
Luciano stares at me, and it’s like I’m looking in the mirror. “I didn’t know,” he tells me.
“What?”
Luciano coughs and winces. “I didn’t know. About you. I would have been there if I knew.”
And somehow, despite all of my doubts up until this moment, I believe him, because in a matter of a few days, he’s proven more to me than I could have imagined.
“You’re going to be okay.” It’s like my reassurance is more for me than it is for him. I only just got him in my life. I won’t accept that he’s gone this soon. Bad things keep happening but this, no…I won’t accept it.
Red trickles from the corner of Luciano’s lips. He wheezes, blood splattering out. “It didn’t matter that I wasn’t there…”
I shush him again but it’s no use, he’s determined to say his piece.
“You turned out exactly…” His lids become heavier as he forces himself to meet my gaze. “Exactly the man I would have hoped for.”
“Johnny!” Claire’s voice pulls my attention.
She’s standing there, the barrel of the gun aimed at the man on his knees in front of her. Miller is within arm’s length of her, there in case she needs him, but not overstepping.
Franklin. The man I have been tormented by for way too long. The man who ruins lives. Who will stop at nothing to hurt every single person in his path for no good reason other than to fill his twisted desires. Who shot his own flesh and blood, his brother, because he stood in his way.
Who will now die at the hands of the most beautiful angel I’ve ever seen.
My fallen angel, sweet and fearless in all her glory.
“It’s up to you now.” Luciano’s voice is a choked murmur.
“Do it,” I say through gritted teeth.
Franklin’s eyes go wide, his hands rise further in the air, he opens his mouth to speak, but it’s no use—we’re not here to negotiate, not with him.
And with that final command, Claire pulls the trigger, blasting a bullet into the side of his head.
The shot rings out, a loud and thunderous echo in the largeness of the open space.
Franklin collapses with a thud onto the floor, ruby-red pooling around him.
Claire towers over him, firing off shot after shot into his chest, blood spattering all over her body and face, until the magazine in her gun runs empty.
I allow myself to see it through her eyes. To feel the liberation through her.
This would be the perfect moment to sigh in relief. To relish in this bittersweet triumphant victory. But when my gaze cascades from her to the man dying in my arms, I find it a bit too difficult to celebrate.