I gasped, not noticeably, but loud enough that Brando heard me. I had once unknowingly jumped into waters where a shark circulated, my legs taunting white fish sticks. This time, I felt movement under my dress, something caressing my ankle in a curious manner.
A snake? I took a deep breath, releasing it in small puffs, trying to keep air flowing, because at that moment, I was sure terror was going to suffocate me.
Brando put an arm around my shoulder, placing his mouth close to my ear. “Scarlett.”
I pointed down, my hand trembling. “S-s-s-serpente,” I barely got out. The language didn’t matter. As long as he understood it.
He pulled back. The look on his face questioned my sanity.A snake? In the restaurant? I don’t think that’s possible. Are you insane?That was what I deduced from his look, but fear was a blinder, a misleader, and he could’ve been shouting—shit, fuck, a snake under your skirt, it probably has venomous fangs and a taste for women—in his mind for all I knew.
In a quick movement, he lifted the skirt of the table, going under. A second later, Romeo, who must’ve been watching, disappeared under the table too. Another second later, Brando’s hands lifted my skirt, exposing my legs.
He might’ve been totally submersed underneath the gown, but I was too shaken to quibble over specifics.
Seeing as Brando and Romeo were still underneath the table, I stuck my head under too, curious to see if they had the thing subdued or were looking for it. If it was on the loose, I wanted to be wherever Brando was so he could capture it.
Oh God! What if it bit me and I was having a delayed reaction to its venom? I could be in shock!
“W-where is it?”
Brando and Romeo looked at each other, before their perplexed faces turned to me.
“There’s nothing under here, baby.” Brando swept a hand from one end of the table to the other, attempting to prove to me that nothing moved underneath but feet.
Romeo slid his hand underneath Violet’s dress, pinching at her ankles. She peeked underneath before kicking at him. His laughter came out low and raspy.
“N-no.” I shook my head, refusing to believe it. “S-something is u-under here.” I came up, taking a large gulp of my white wine to settle my nerves before sticking my head under again. “I’m not losing my mind!” I hissed.
I didn’t comprehend the strange whizzing sound that seemed close to my ear, at first. Just the tight crunch of glass shattering before the shower of shards rained down on the floor.
In the next moment, I was being propelled underneath the table, Brando’s body on top of mine. His full weight pressed in on me, and the black rose necklace cut into my skin.
The sound of gunfire rose, each shot like a blast to my eardrums, along with the bloodcurdling screams and urgent commands from one man to another. My flattened position on the floor didn’t hide the other bodies lying about, men on top of women, shielding their bodies with their own, while others ran about, some falling after.
One set of feet seemed more determined, coming straight for us.
Brando reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun, the muzzle flashing with each bullet, the acrid scent of gunpowder mixing with the sweeter scents of food and wine. I touched my ears, to make sure they were not bleeding—the pressure was immense, like being too far under the water. It was closing in on me from all sides, and my teeth chattered. I moaned, or I think I did, when the bitter tang of blood erased the scent of all else. It crept along the floors in crimson rivers and occasional smears. Not even the open air from the shattered glass walls was a match for its presence.
Like a scene out of a movie, the tablecloth slipped, pooling on the floor, Ciro holding tight to one end, as though it was a last lifeline, his body bouncing before it settled like stone.
A lifetime could have bypassed us, but it must’ve been only minutes. The sounds receded, replaced by panic and more cries, cries so anguished that an inane urge to stick my fingers in my ears, close my eyes, and pretend that I was anywhere but there came over me in a wave that sucked me under.
Brando twisted off me, telling me to stay put, and then ran toward the door. My eyes followed his footsteps, unable to focus on anything else. After a minute or so, when I heard Uncle Tito’s voice barking out orders, I snapped to.
Carmen hovered over Dario, her hands cradling his head, hair covering his face like a black veil, praying in Spanish. Uncle Tito was attempting to save his life, all the while attempting to get her to move, to help him.
Lifting the thick skirt above my knees, I crawled toward Uncle Tito, feeling the sharp bite of glass tear at knees and palms, and attempted to take a quick inventory.
Violet huddled with Mitch and Mick, all three of them breathing, talking to each other, while trying to figure out who had been hit, if anyone had been, and where.
Donato was propped against the corner, holding his arm. Chiara kneeled over him, crying, as she attempted to staunch the wound.
Valentina hovered over Santina, the young woman’s arms splayed and lifeless, her body moving in time to Valentina’s insistent pounding. Livio looked on, fire in his eyes.
Rosaria cradled Thomas in her arms, he had… Oh God. She caught my eye and shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks.
I swallowed the acrid taste of death down, refusing to let tears blur my vision and get in my way.Not now.
My knees ran into Aunt Lola, who didn’t seem to be bleeding, but was still not moving.
