“So, we have ourselves the Sicilian equivalent of the Mexican Standoff,” The Cleaver announces.
Luciano glances at me. I can read his eyes. “You were right,” they’re saying. “We should have never traded her to the Rizzos.”
“This is how we solve such standoffs in Palermo.” The Cleaver draws a pistol and holds it to Angela’s head. Her face is completely pale, and she’s visibly trembling.
I want to fucking kill The Cleaver so badly in that moment. I want to skin him alive, eviscerate him, burn his entrails.
“Lower your weapons,” The Cleaver orders. When none of us obey, he shifts his grip on the weapon and presses it harder into Angela’s temple. “Lower your fucking weapons,cazzi!”
My brothers look to me for guidance. I nod my head.
I’m relieved when they lower their weapons. I do the same. Meanwhile, the Rizzos keep their weapons trained on us.
What The Cleaver doesn’t know is that Enrico still has him and his men in his sniper sights from shore. Then again, there’s probably another Rizzo boat somewhere nearby as well, but their deck would be too unstable for a proper sniper shot—our boats are too close together, and they’d risk killing their own men if they fired.
“You know, I consider it rude to hide one’s face at a business meeting,” The Cleaver states. “Take off your masks.”
Again my brothers glance at me. I sigh, and remove my balaclava. They do the same.
The Cleaver studies us, his gaze lingering on my face. His brows draw together in thought as if he’s struggling to place me.
Finally the light of recognition appears in his eyes. “Ah. The little farrier. I haven’t seen you around in a long time. Been keeping yourself busy with other things, I see. You have two other brothers, I believe. And a sister. Yes… Rosa, I believe her name is. I’m going to kill them, and her. But not before every one of my men has a turn with her. In fact, maybe I’ll invite the entire Rizzo household to the occasion.”
My rage is close to boiling over. My brothers are visibly angry as well, fingers twitching on triggers, jaws clenching, eyes glaring. Angela means nothing to them. The only reason they’re holding back is because of me. I’m grateful to them, and I won’t forget it. I’m willing to forgive everything they’ve done because of their restraint in this moment.
Assuming we survive this.
“Kill them,” The Cleaver orders.
Before myself or my brothers can react, we’re riddled with gunfire. The force of the bullets throws us backwards and we fall over the gunwales of our respective boats. As I plunge into the sea, the last sound I hear is Angela’s scream.
“No!”
29
Angela
Iwatch Massimo fall over the side of his boat and when he doesn’t reemerge, a part of me dies with him.
The men are laughing, in a cheerful mood. I hardly notice the guns they’re carrying anymore. Usually I’d be petrified with fear. Now, I’m immobilized by grief.
Massimo.
I’m overcome with guilt. He came for me. This is my fault. I’d only just forgiven myself for my mother’s death.
I’ll never forgive myself for his.
Blood explodes from the face of one of the Rizzo men and he falls overboard.
Hope rises inside me and I search the ocean waves for Massimo. It has to be him. It has to!
“Sniper!” someone shouts.
My shoulders sag with grief when I remember the other two I saw ashore: Massimo’s brothers, I think. So it wasn’t him after all. He really is dead.
The Cleaver grabs me roughly and hauls me beneath the gunwale. Blood spurts from the neck of another man before he can duck.
Good.
