“You don’t want to kill me,” I said.
“I do,” he said. “But again. I’m exorcising the demons. The only reason we’re standing around this table, and not sitting at it, is because of you.”
“It doesn’t matter what you fucking exorcise,” I said. “You’re still a Scarpone. That’s why you’re standing there.”
“And that’s why you’re about to fall, Palermo,” he said.
I knew it was just a matter of seconds. The winner determined by who was quick enough to get the draw.
One.
Two.
Three breaths.
My hand was steady, my finger about to pull the trigger.
A light hit my eyes, so bright that I blinked from the shock of it. The entire dining room was flooded with it. It brought Scarpone into focus, and for the first time, I saw the entire man he was in this room.
He was a tall and wide motherfucker, a similar build to my own. The tattoo on his hand was a reflection of him, like the scorpion was an echo of me.
He blinked at me, doing the same.
Our guns held steady, neither of us trusting the other enough to put down our weapons. Whoever had hit the lights was of no importance. A flash of gold-colored silk moved in my periphery. I ignored it.
The moment between us held steady, ready to decide the victor. It wouldn’t be Vittorio. My finger was magnetized to the trigger. One pull and his life was mine.
His eyes narrowed, but before I could process what it meant, the cold barrel of a gun touched me behind the head.
“You don’t get along with anyone, do you?” My sister’s voice came from behind me. She pressed the gun harder to my head. “Drop your gun, Corrado.”
“You, too,” my wife said, holding a gun behind Scarpone’s head. She was wearing a gold silk shirt.
Scarpone and I looked at each other, narrowing our eyes even further.
This fucking complicated things.
How were we supposed to shoot at each other with them in the room?
Still. He held his gun, and I held mine.
“This is what you have done to us,” Alcina said, looking at me. “You have forced our hands. If we kill you both, then one of us will not be forced to hate the other for the rest of her life. One of us will not be left without our other half, while the other goes on to be whole.”
“Fucking ridiculous,” Mari said. “Trying to send us away so you both could do this.”
Alcina’s eyes moved from mine to the woman standing behind me. In a move that seemed synchronized, they stepped away from us, pointing their guns at each other.
“Put the fucking gun down—” Scarpone’s voice and mine melted together when we both sent out the same order, except he said his wife’s name and I said mine.
We were no longer looking at each other, but at them. They were staring at each other, guns raised, determination etched in their features.
They were both dressed up, like they had prepared themselves for a funeral.
“Fitting, yes?” Alcina said, staring at Mari. “You both came dressed and prepared in suits. We will go in our finest clothes, too.”
“Maybe we should have worn our wedding dresses,” Mari said. “Real poetic.”
I moved my gun slightly. Mari pulled the trigger of her gun, the bullet slicing through the fabric of my wife’s shirt. Blood started to spill right after, turning the gold purple.
