He sounds like he’s defending me, but he’s not. He’s just trying to get information on what happened. To understand it all. It’s not because he cares about me. Just his family and what this could mean for them.
Then it goes quiet. No one speaks.
I peek inside, just enough to see. My heart is pounding in my chest. The room is like it always is. The couches are still facing each other, Tommy on one, Dante on the other. But the only thing that pulls my attention is the gun in Dante’s hand. Aimed at Tommy.
Where is Danny?
Where are Tommy’s guards?
Is anyone coming to save him?
I strain to hear anything downstairs, but like before, it’s quiet. There’s no one here but us.
I don’t know what to do, but I can’t just stand here and listen to another person die.
I pull my bag off my shoulder slowly, then open it and pull out the biggest part of my rigging, a weighted hook.
Breathing fast, I close my eyes for a second, gathering strength for what might be the stupidest idea ever.
“Goodbye, Tommy.”
Dante’s words spring me into action, and I throw my bag down the stairs and flatten myself against the wall.
“What the…?” Dante says, but I don’t look in. I know they’re looking toward the open doorway to see if anyone is coming up the stairs.
“Problem, Dante?” I can hear the smirk in Tommy’s voice, and I pray this stupid idea doesn’t get him killed. Or me.
“Get up,” Dante orders, and then I hear them walk closer to the door.
I close my eyes for a second and then open them, pressing myself as flat against the wall as I can on the small landing. This was never meant to be used as a waiting area, just a smooth stairs-to-room transition. I look at the doorway and open my mouth to breathe, as breathing through my nose is too loud to my own ears.
And lock eyes with Dante, who grins wide when he sees me.
Everything happens fast, too fast to stop. I can both see it happening and can’t react all at once.
Dante moves his gun from Tommy’s back to aim at me. The hook slips from my hand.
Tommy sees me, turns and sees the gun, then lunges for me while trying to push the gun away.
I stumble, losing my footing.
One step, then another, till I somersault down the stairs.
When I hit the bottom, I breathe out a cry of pain. Everything hurts, but I’m alive. I’m still alive, and the gun hasn’t gone off.
From this angle, I can barely see them, but I hear grunts as if they’re wrestling for something.
Then there’s a gunshot, and I cower into a ball.
Another one has me scooting back and away. I can move, but I can’t seem to get my brain and hands tocoordinate anything more than a bum-shuffle backward until the bar is at my back and I’m out of the stairway completely.
More noise—shouting, crashing, fists hitting flesh before both men fall down the stairs. They don’t seem to care, as they continue to hit each other. Dante gets a jab into Tommy’s side as he counters with one to Dante’s face.
Blood seems to fall around them, but neither stops. Finally rolling apart, they both stand, walking in a circle as if in a death match. I can’t look away until something hits my foot.
I look down and see the gun. The one that must have fallen with them down the stairs and been kicked out of the way as they circled. They never look away from each other, so I doubt they see it.
Tommy lunges, and Dante grabs him around the middle before they fall again, rolling over each other till Dante gets on top. Tommy punches him over and over in the stomach, but it’s no use. His hits are only half as good as before with Dante’s hands around his neck, choking Tommy with a sick smile on his face as he bleeds from his mouth, his eyes bloodshot.
