“Please,” he begs.
Cristiano releases him with a disgusted expression on his face and steps back. I guess he doesn’t want to get his nice suit dirty. That alone is the signal my uncle needs to pull the trigger again, killing his other nephew. His godson, this one.
He’s never been much of a family man, but I didn’t realize he was a killer. Although I’m not surprised.
Cristiano’s eyes fall on Noah who is sitting up now, looking dazed, shocked. His head is probably spinning like mine was, jarred awake to witness this scene. This massacre of what remains of his family.
“Bring the boy,” Cristiano commands. Two soldiers move as if it would take them both to lift my fifteen-year-old tall but scrawny baby brother.
“No!” I’m on all fours then, scrambling toward Noah, the wedding dress slowing me down.
In my periphery I see my uncle raise his gun and aim at me. Then I see Cristiano’s hand close over his forearm and point the gun down.
Would he have shot me? God. Would he have shot me, too?
I throw myself between Noah and the soldiers, spread my arms out Christ-like. “No!”
One comes to shove me out of the way, but Cristiano makes a sound. A tsk. The man stops, steps backward. They’re like dogs, his soldiers. Well-trained dogs.
Cristiano moves toward me, my uncle on his heels.
“He’s a boy!” I scream, pushing my back into Noah in my attempt to shield him.
“Boys grow up to become men.”
“Please. He’s only fifteen. He was five when it happened. Five.”
My uncle cocks the gun, drawing all my attention.
“Look at me,” Cristiano says.
I blink.
“Me. Look at me.” He steps fully between my uncle and me, so I’m forced to. “How old were you?”
“What?”
“You. How old were you?”
I’m confused. I open my mouth, see my uncle’s impatient face move into view beyond Cristiano’s shoulder.
“Twelve,” I say to Cristiano, forcing myself to block my uncle out.
“One of my brothers was twelve. The other eleven.”
“We didn’t…Noah and I…” I shake my head, panicked as I see Angel and Diego’s bodies. Unable to block them out. “We weren’t part of that.”
“Hmm. But you would marry that Rinaldi bastard?”
“What?” It takes me a moment to process. “You think I had a choice?”
His response is a grunt but it’s something.
“Did you notice the fucking door you broke down was locked? That I was locked in?”
“The boy,” he says calmly to his solder, opposite my frantic tone. He holds my gaze as he speaks.
“No!” I’m on my feet and lunging for the soldier in the blink of an eye, fingers like claws, nails digging into flesh. But big hands grab me from behind and peel me off.
Cristiano turns me to face him and I get one good scratch down his face before he can stop me. He mutters a curse as he twists my arms behind my back, gripping both wrists in one hand. With the other, he fists a handful of hair half in-half out of the twist the woman had just painstakingly pinned my mother’s veil into. He forces my head backward making me look up at him.
“Please. Not him,” I plead, tears finally coming. “Please.”
He studies me, eyes narrowing.
“He’s a boy. Just a boy,” I try.
“Like I said, boys grow up to become men.”
He releases me and gestures to my uncle with a nod. My uncle moves. Noah’s up on his feet, back pressed to the wall.
I drop to my knees at Cristiano’s feet, hugging his legs as he’s half-turned away. “Please. God. Please don’t kill him. Please!”
The gun is cocked. The echo is deafening. It’s surreal what’s happening and all I can think is, we’re all going to die. He’s going to kill us all.
But when I look up, I find Cristiano staring down at me with a look I can’t quite name. Disbelief? Curiosity? Confusion?
I open my mouth to beg again. “I’ll do anything. Anything you want. Just please—” my voice breaks.
My uncle mutters something, some sound of annoyance as he steps forward.
“Stop,” Cristiano says.
I stare up at Cristiano.
He lays his hand on my head and I feel a glimmer of hope.
“Cristiano,” my uncle starts after a moment of silence. I can hear irritation in his voice. “You need to kill them both. Like you said, boys grow to be men and she’s a liability. Bear in mind, they didn’t spare your mother.”
I see from here how Cristiano’s jaw clenches. How the hand at his side fists. He turns his head slowly toward my uncle.
“Maybe I should kill you too, then. Just to be sure.” His words are a whisper. A hiss. The threat is unmistakable.
Someone chuckles. It’s the casually dressed man. The sound is so out of place. When I look at him, he meets my eyes. Inside, I see hate. He hates me. Probably hates all of us.
I turn back to the two before me and see my uncle’s throat work as he swallows. It dawns on me. He’s afraid of Cristiano.