by T Gephart
Read that: You have no fucking idea what you are dealing with and maybe don’t want to go against dear old dad. Little did both of them know Daddy no longer had an opinion on account he no longer had a pulse.
“I told you, it’s my right.”
As stimulating as the conversation was—hearing how Sofia’s brother wanted to end my life and the watching the dipshit who was supposedly my father enjoy it—it was time to end their fun time.
The odds weren’t great.
Secured garage, close proximity and a lot of bullets.
Had just as much chance of it going south as I did walking out alive, but there were two of us and two of them. And while Sofia was looking like a deer in headlights, I’d seen her open her father’s jugular. She’d been through too much to toss it all away now.
On three. I mouthed silently raising my gun for the visual. Her head shook, as she mouthed back no.
I didn’t give her the choice, tilting my gun as my lips counted out one . . . two . . .
“Asshole, I’m right here.” My legs jacked up, coming the full height as I leveled a nine each at Little Jimmy and Franco. “So, let’s discuss your family’s right while you give a blowjob to my Glock.”
Sofia popped up right after, her gun pointed at Franco while her brother did the whole holy-fuck-am-I-seeing-a-ghost, his face twitching like it was having a seizure.
“Sofia?” Little Jimmy ignored the nine I had pointed as his chest and focused on his sister. “How can this be?” His gun inadvertently pointed directly at her.
“Well, isn’t this a treat?” Franco smirked, casually leaning back against the shiny black Caddy, his own piece palmed, pointed at Sofia. “Very efficient to have everyone here in one place.”
“Lose the gun, Franco.” I tilted my head to his torso to remind him he had two tracking him. Even Vegas wouldn’t have backed the odds of both of us missing.
“I’m rather attached to this.” He tightened his grip and smiled. “So fuck you.”
“Sofia, what’s going on?” Little Jimmy waved the gun in her direction, not able to understand why his dead sister was standing very much alive in front of him. “What are you doing with this guy?”
“Jimmy, please.” Sofia nodded to the barrel he had pointed at her, no doubt hoping to telepathically try and get him to lower it. “I know you don’t understand, but Dad lied to you. He is the one who wanted me dead.”
“No, no. He wouldn’t do that.” The gun stayed raised, but wavered a little like he was unconvinced of where to point it. “You’re his blood. He disowned you but he’d never kill you.”
“He did.” She turned and looked at the man standing beside him. “Franco was in on it.”
“Is this true?” Little Jimmy’s head whipped to the side while trying to maintain visual on both Sofia and me. “Tell me!”
“I hate family disputes. Not my place to get involved.” Franco yawned, apparently bored and not the least bit concerned we were in a four-way standoff.
“Except you are involved.” I laughed, and as much as I hated to admit it—even to myself—I saw a family resemblance. That cold hard stare when he eyeballed, the lack of fucks he gave—it was like looking into a mirror. “And I still owe you for the last time we were together.”
“Stop.” Little Jimmy’s voice shot out of his mouth. “Someone tell me what the fuck is going on.”
“You’re too late for that conversation, son.” Franco smiled, his eyes remaining on me.
I’m not sure it bothered me, because fuck knows I didn’t want that son directed at me, but I really hated how these conceited bastards threw the word around.
There’d been a time when I would have literally killed to hear it, to know that there was a part of me that belonged. But like everything in life I’d been disappointed too many times to believe it was possible. There hadn’t been a place for me; I’d wandered from wake up to lights out as an outsider. And no one ever had my back. Except for a woman, the one I was supposed to kill and couldn’t.
And now here he was, the guy who had no idea of my existence, or even the chain of events he set in motion all those years ago. Looking at me like I was the disappointment, the stench of entitlement suffocating the room.
An eerie calm washed over me as words I hadn’t planned on saying came spilling out of my mouth. “What happened to your first wife, Rose?”
“What?” His head whipped around as his smug ass smile evaporated.
Yeah, he hadn’t been expecting that. Just the mention was enough to jack his spine up straight.
Sofia’s eyes widened, but she kept her mouth clamped. She nodded, giving me the signal she would back me up as her eyes stayed on Franco. Little Jimmy’s head continued to swivel between us all trying to work out what the fuck was going on.
“Rose?” I repeated it, enjoying watching him flinch as I said it again. “The woman who you were married to? You remember her, right?”
“I divorced her, she had an affair.” His jaw tensed, the words barely getting out of his tight row of teeth. “Stupid whore couldn’t keep her legs closed.”
Stupid whore.
How many times had I said those words?
How many times had I believed them?
But had she actually been either stupid or a whore? Or was that something that had been programmed into me without me even knowing. A silent legacy gifted to me by a shithead.
“What did that feel like?” I couldn’t help it, wanting to scratch that itch a little bit more. “Not being able to keep your woman satisfied that she had to go elsewhere.
“That’s how you want to spend the last moments of your life, talking about the dumb bitch I used to be married to?” He was searching for an answer, wondering why the fuck I’d bring it up. The mention completely out of left field.
And it was getting to him, rattling his cage so much his nice expensive suit was getting tighter in the collar. “Because I will fucking end you, Michael.”
And I saw in his eyes that every single word of it was true.
No, not what he was saying. What Sofia had said.
That woman I’d spent my entire life hating had to look at Franco and know that the kid she was carrying would probably end up like that. I couldn’t imagine what that would have been like for her and not giving into the urge of ending it all together.
It was easier when I believed the lie, one that in a weird way the asshole had perpetuated even without him knowing. And maybe, just maybe I didn’t really hate her at all.
It was hatred in general that consumed me and I was just addicted to the burn. Those flames were easier when they had a name, when hating myself didn’t cut it
“You think I care if you kill me?” It was my turn to laugh. “But you didn’t divorce her, she left you when she found out she was pregnant.” I watched as he fought the desire to react, failing miserably as it came double barreling at him. “And the woman you say you were so willing to get rid of was the one person who denied you what you most wanted in life—a son.”
“Michael!” Sofia yelled, forcing me to look where Franco’s gun was pointed.
He turned his hand away from Sofia and angled it right at me.
Good, that was a better place for it.
I’d done so many things in my life, seen so many things that could never be unseen. And I was ready for the ride to stop.
I’d welcomed the fall once before but I hadn’t been ready, this time I needed to do something right for the first time in my life. Not because I suddenly believed in the bullshit lie that there was something for me after, but because I needed to give it to her.
I would save her and take those bullets, not because I’d given her my word, but because I owed her. Sofia showed me the truth even when I didn’t want to see it.
And for giving me the first moments of peace I had ever had.
Even if they were going to be my last.
“Rose was my mother, you cocksucker. Which as much as I hate to admit it, makes you
my father. And guess what asshole? I may not have known her but she obviously knew you. And I guess she knew me too. Because I’d rather die than continue your fucking legacy.”
It was automatic, my right hand squeezing the trigger and the bullet spiraled out of the barrel.
I was sure I made contact; positive as I felt the impact of a bullet traveling in the opposite direction hit me.
It burned, the blood spilling out of me as my vision started to fade. The echo of guns firing bounced off the confined walls; the only thing louder was the screaming.
There were voices above me, but I couldn’t see.
“Thank you, Sofia.” I wasn’t sure she had heard me, but I didn’t have anything left in me to say it louder.
The darkness was coming faster than it ever had, wrapping my body like a blanket and taking me away with it.
There was no fear.
No pain.
No regret.
And as my lungs rattled in my chest, I felt it for the first time.
Freedom.
Thirty years ago there had been a storm.
The heavens had opened up and the earth had trembled, and fear had been struck into the hearts of those who had to endure it.
Not because of the relentless rain that had drowned the Chicago streets and the thunder that had shaken the walls. But because that storm, hadn’t been the only one that had come that day.
An expectant mother was weathering her own storm. Her body failing as it fought bravely, the love for her unborn child the only thing that kept her heart going. Just holding on long enough to give birth to a son.
She knew it would be a boy; he would have his father’s eyes and her smile and despite the sadness that had surrounded his creation, he would only have the best of them. There had been a time where his father had been kind and loved her, where his embrace had made her feel safe, and those were the things that she knew would be imparted.
And her son’s heart, his heart, would eventually find its way back to hers. Because that was the only way she could bare it, unable to face the prospect of saying goodbye forever.
And if she had to leave before she could ever hold him—give her life for his—she would do it a million times over. Because that’s what a mother did, love her baby beyond her own mortality even before he took his first breath.
Forever.
She would love him forever.
But thirty years wasn’t long enough, and she would have more time to wait before she would see her son again.
Because she had indeed given the very best parts of herself to him. And the muscle in his chest continued to beat long after it should have stopped, finding its own will when it seemed that all was lost. In that moment, he had been more her son than he’d ever been, and whether he knew it or not, embraced her resilience to survive.
“Sofia,” he mumbled, the oxygen mask against his face making it difficult for him to speak. “Safe?”
“Shhhhhhh.” A nurse gently moved her fingers against his arm in an attempt to comfort him, hoping this time her touch wouldn’t upset him. She had learned the first time she had done it that he didn’t like it, and was trying to resist her instinct to soothe. “You’re safe.”
He heard the voice of a woman but didn’t know who it was. The cadence was wrong and the pitch was slightly off, and she didn’t sound like Sofia. He tried to open his eyes, needing answers as to where she was but that fog around his head hung heavy. It was an effort that seemed beyond him, his eyelids just able to stretch a tiny bit so that he could hope to see where he was.
There was too much light, the brightness burning his retinas so that he only saw shapes. He squinted, hoping to make out the owner of the voice but she was hidden by a sepia aura distorting his vision.
“Sofia?” he asked again, the muscles in his neck straining as he tried to lift his head off the pillow. “Where. Is. She?”
Each word was broken into its own sentence as they battled against his need to breathe. He wasn’t going back to sleep until he knew, until he was certain that she was here too.
“Michael.” He heard his name, and for a second he thought it was her. But even though her voice was kind, she was too young. “Are you coming back to us, Michael?”
He couldn’t fight anymore, the effort exhausting him as he lowered his head back down on the pillow and concentrated on breathing.
In and out.
In and out.
The mask made it easier, the steady push of oxygen making him slightly dizzy, so he closed his eyes but he forced himself to stay awake.
Maybe she had escaped. Had gone before the police had come and left all of it—and him—behind. And while he hoped he would see her again, he would be glad to know she was safe. It would make him happy to know she got away. Away from her father and away from his.
“He is asking for her, the woman he was with?” The younger female moved closer to the bed, unsure as her hand hovered above his wanting to touch him.
She didn’t though; instead retracting her hand and pinning a lock of her long blonde hair behind her ear. She wondered if she would get to know him, and if he would want to know her. His existence so new to her that it had only been days since they’d first met. Well, not really met, but she hoped that would come later.
“Yes, he wakes occasionally.” The nurse carefully emptied a syringe of clear liquid into his cannula, the medicine seeming to settle him. “He always asks for her but no one has told him yet.”
Michael stilled and not because of the sedative that was making its way into his veins. Instead he hoped the quiet would keep his brain alert just long enough to hear what they were saying. Because they sounded like they knew.
“Does he know about his father?”
The young blonde lowered herself down onto the seat that sat beside his bed. She had been there yesterday too but this time was the first time he had spoken.
“No, he knows nothing.”
The nurse checked the IV machine beside him, rolling her fingers across the dial and adjusted the dosage. “Your father is getting stronger but may never regain the ability to walk. He was luckier than Michael, and while the bullet severed his spinal cord it missed most of his internal organs. But they both have a long way to go.”
The nurse smiled at the girl, watching her shift awkwardly in her seat. Seeing two of her family members almost die would be hard enough for anyone but especially difficult for someone so young. She was so brave, a warrior like her brother.
And it was strange the nurse thought, that Mona Santini spent more of her time with him—her brother—than she did with her father. The man who was only a few doors away and completely conscious.
Of course the nurse had heard the whispers. That Franco had been the one to shoot the son he had never known he had, but she didn’t believe any father was capable of that. People could say such horrible things, and vicious rumors weren’t things she’d ever entertain. No, she was there to heal people, which is what she intended to do.
“Stay as long as you like.” She stopped beside Mona and looked at the siblings side by side. Her skin was a little lighter than his and her hair of course was blonde, but it was striking how much they resembled each other. “You can talk to him too, they can hear us and it helps them to know we’re here.”
Michael hadn’t moved, his body on his back with his limbs loose on either side but he hadn’t been asleep like they had assumed.
Inside his head he was screaming, the noise so loud that it would surely drive him mad.
Franco had somehow survived.
Michael had only one wish when he’d pulled that trigger. And that was to make sure that the monster who happened to be his father had taken his last breath. Even if it meant dying with him. And he didn’t know why or how the bullet that had been intended for his heart had missed it entirely, but it no longer mattered.
And even as the noise echoed inside his skull, not even a whisper passed his lips. He was still no closer to knowing what had
happened to Sofia.
“Michael?” Mona asked, her hands knotting in her lap as she felt stupid talking to someone she didn’t really know. “I’m Mona. We’re . . . well, Dad says we’re family. I’m going to stay here for awhile and just hang out, if that’s okay. Maybe just talk, but I don’t mind if you fall asleep.” She twisted her hands nervously as he watched the faintest movement of his lashes bounce off his cheeks.
It had been isolating being Franco Santini’s only child, she’d been so lonely and sheltered, and her heart had ached for a sibling. It seemed that by some miracle, God had answered her prayer and now she would no longer be alone.
“I know you are asking about Sofia and they won’t tell you.” She took a deep breath, hesitating before she continued.
He felt his skin prickle, wishing there was some way he could urge her to continue, but there was nothing he could do. He was imprisoned in a body that had once served him well and he would have done anything to get out.
“She’s gone, and you’re safe from her. She can’t hurt you anymore. Dad—” Her dark almond-shaped eyes darted quickly left and then right knowing she shouldn’t be talking about it. “Dad made it so she is never coming back.” She leaned closely and whispered. “He killed her; this time he made sure of it.”
Mona wasn’t to know that with those words she had stirred up another storm. Because she had only received one side of the story, the one carefully curated by her father. And while he’d been careful about what he said, he hadn’t been with what he’d done.
It was true that his gun had been pointed at Michael when he’d been in the Amaro garage. But not even Jesus Christ demanding it would have made him shoot the son—the heir—he’d longed for. He smiled as his hand twisted, changing the trajectory of the bullet. And it was that quick change in movement that was enough to save his own life.
Little Jimmy would never have killed Sofia, and it had been him who ultimately shot Michael.
Confused and overcome with grief, he chose the closest target when the gunfire started. Sadly for him, he had chosen the wrong side. The same gun Franco had used to shoot Sofia was then turned on the other Amaro child.
