The Italian

Yes! I got him.

The trail of blood disappears into the nearby forest. I reach around to the back of my pants to find the other gun is gone.

Fuck.

I only have the knife now.

I take it out and clutch it tightly as I follow the trail of blood into the darkness.

And then, without the moonlight to guide me, I lose his trail.

I stand at the edge of the forest for a moment and I slowly walk in.

I have no idea if he’s still armed. I know I took one gun from his grip, but I don’t know if he had anything else on him.

The echoing of crickets and the noise of the waterfall in the distance are the only sounds.

I step slowly through the dense foliage.

I don’t have shoes on, and it’s difficult to walk on the uneven and sharp ground.

My eyes scan the dense landscape. Tall trees block the moonlight. Out here, it’s nearly pitch-black.

Where are you?

He would have seen me walk in with the moonlight behind me. I duck down into the foliage and crawl out of sight.

I sit still for ten minutes and slowly allow my eyes to adjust. I can soon see a lot more than I could before. I pick up a small rock and hurl it as far away as I can. It hits a tree a fair distance away with a bang.

I slowly climb to my feet and scan the forest as I grip the knife in my hand.

I see a shadow on the hill, and I creep toward it.

It’s him. I can see his chest sucking in air as he gasps for breath. He’s losing a lot of blood.

Does he have a weapon?

I hunch down and make my way toward him.

“Ferrara!” he cries.

I stay silent.

“Ferrara! Let’s make a deal!” he calls, his voice echoing over the valley.

He’s bleeding out and he knows it.

I throw a rock and it lands next to him. He jumps back in fear.

He’s unarmed.

I stand up and show myself, knife in hand as I slowly walk toward him.

His eyes hold mine. “We can be great together. We can join forces—be the strongest syndicate the world has ever seen.” He’s wet with perspiration, and he’s desperate.

I hunch down beside him. “You’re dying, Lombardi.”

He pants.