The Italian

“I guess you’re not so lucky after all.”

“Enrico,” he whispers. “I’ve always admired you.”

My skin prickles. I know he would say anything to try and gain my sympathy. I glare at the lying bastard sitting propped up against the tree.

Die.

“We could run the biggest crime syndicate in the world. With your connections…and my…” He coughs, and blood splutters from his mouth.

His face falls as he realizes what’s happening, and he reaches out for me. “Help me.”

I kneel down and watch the life slowly drain out of him.

Eye to eye.

I want to see the moment he passes. I want to taste the victory of retribution.

“Enri…” He coughs, and a large amount of blood comes from his mouth.

His face falls and he grabs for me again. He lets out a pained gargling sound.

I watch on in fascination.

I’ve never watched someone die before.

I’ve seen people pass, but I’ve always fought to save them.

I’ve been frantic with words of encouragement and prayer.

I envision myself dragging his head back by the hair and slicing his throat.

I would have loved to have taken his life myself, but that would have been too kind.

He deserves to suffer.

His eyes still… and I smile.

His head drops, and I know he’s gone.

I stare at him and take a moment to reflect on Sophia.

I get a vision of her with her curves and her long dark hair. Perhaps in another life she could have made me happy.

“Enrico!” Jennifer calls.

I stand, and with a heavy heart, I turn to her. She has her gun drawn.

“He’s dead.”

I walk past her and back to the house where two local police cars have arrived. Their siren lights are flashing, lighting up the sky.

I find Olivia crying and wrapped up in a blanket. Her face lights up when she sees me, and she stands.

“Oh, thank God!” she cries.

“It’s okay,” I whisper as I take her into my arms. “He’s gone now.”

She puts her head onto my shoulder and cries as Jennifer walks back into the room.