Blood splatters Calvino’s shirt in little red flecks and covers his face in a fine mist. Vince makes no noise and doesn’t rise. Charlie’s gagging on her tears and drowning in her sorrow. I can’t move, rooted to place, pinned by Charlie and my own horror.
Calvino shrugs Damon off and tosses the blood-drenched weight onto the desk. He yanks open the top drawer and takes out a gun. Its metal gleams dully in the light and Damon’s mouth opens, and maybe he wants to stop Calvino, or maybe he wants to tell him to do it, but no words escape as Calvino raises the weapon.
“Too far,” he snarls. And pulls the trigger.
More blood mists into the air and seeps into the carpet beneath the desk. I see Vince’s feet, but they’re not moving, and I keep Charlie from going over to investigate. She won’t like what she finds: a pulped and ruined Vince with a bullet hole in his forehead, the rest of him a wreck.
Guards pile into the room, men from outside, but Damon gathers himself enough to forestall them. He starts shouting at them to put down their guns, and since they’re all confused as hell anyway, most of them listen. Calvino stays panting, breathing deep, and I extricate myself from Charlie finally as he comes around the desk, leaning against it for support.
I rush to him and hug him tight. I smear blood on my face and top but what’s it matter? None of it matters, I need Calvino more than I need to be clean. I kiss him and he grunts back, still in shock. Vince’s corpse cools on the floor behind him and I try not to look, but I can’t help myself. It’s as grisly as I knew it would be.
“Are you okay?” I whisper and he nods.
“I’m okay. I have one more thing I need to do.” He gently moves past me and steps up beside Damon. He grabs his brother’s wrist and raises it up into the air as more guards enter the room, six of them, a dozen of them. “Damon Manzini is now the rightful Don of the Manzini Famiglia. Any opposed should speak up now.”
Rella appears in the doorway, ashen. Susi stands just behind her. Neither sister says a word but they stare at Calvino’s blood-covered face and body and they know what happened, everyone knows what happened, even if they’re unaware of the details: Charlie, Vince, Benvolio, the whole messy horror of it.
“Long live the Don,” Rella says, her voice clear and bright, and more people take up the call. Long live the Don, they chant, and Damon looks up at Calvino. The implication is clear: Don’s rarely live for long, and he’s wondering what sort of tenure he’ll have.
One built on blood and heartbreak.
Calvino releases his brother as Damon takes over. He starts ordering men to get the room cleaned up, the body removed and disposed of, the word of his ascension spread to all the important Capos and lieutenants. He sweeps from the room with guards and soldiers hanging on his hips, and other men brush past us toward the ruined corpse of their former leader and Don, like a violent coup is merely part of a normal workday. Rella enters with Susi, and the two sisters take Charlie in their arms and move her from the wreckage of her husband.
Rella gives me a look: she wants to know what the hell happened.
I nod once: I’ll tell you later.
The girls exit, leaving me alone with Calvino and the cleaning crew.
He wraps his arms around me. Exhaustion clings to him like barnacles. He releases a long sigh and I’ve never seen him so hurt and broken before, like the cracks in his body widened ever so slightly and he’s doing all he can to keep from being pulled down into the black.
But I won’t let him falter. I won’t let him sink.
I kiss him and look into his eyes.
“You did the right thing.”
He stares back. “I’m not so sure. I killed my brother, Grace.”
“He let your father rape his wife. He murdered my cousin. He would’ve ruined this family. You did the right thing.”
He nods once and I don’t know if he believes me but I hope my saying it is enough.
“Let’s leave,” he says, draping an arm over my shoulders. We step into the hall. “This is for the Famiglia to handle.”
“And you’re not a part of the organization, are you?”
“Still an outsider. Always will be.” He limps forward and I stay close.
It’s chaos in the house, but a good chaos. A busy chaos. One that suggests new things are coming, and new things aren’t always bad—they’re just new. Change can mean growth, prosperity, happiness.
And I feel a change coming in my own life.
“I love you,” he says as we walk down the front steps. “You’re never going back to your apartment.”