Page 6 of Made Man

Mr. Volpe sighs a final time and somehow flips the gun so he’s offering it to me. “You know what you have to do,” he says to me, those cold fish eyes boring into me.

“Sir?”

“This man attacked us. If Mira had been home, and she got caught in the crossfire, she’d be dead right now. If they caught her, they’d make her wish she was before they put a bullet in her brain.Without hesitation. Do you understand that?”

I don’t know how I got here. Before Mira snuck out to meet me, I was hanging in my room, playingMaddenonline and shit-talking some kid who lives on the other side of the world while I ate Funyuns with my dog passed out and snoring on my feet.

“You’re going to marrymydaughter, right?” He offers me the gun again. “You love her. If this man lives, he would kill her the first chance he gets.”

Blood roars in my ears. Everyone is standing around like this is nothing new, staring at me. Everyone except the man kneeling on the floor has a gun like Mr. Volpe’s and knows how to use it. They watch expectantly, and I can read the secondhand embarrassment on each of their faces. They know I don’t know how to shoot. They know I don’t have the balls.

Shame and fear clutches at my throat, tightens my asshole, ripping who I thought I was to shreds.

“Mr. Foster?” Mr. Volpe raises an eyebrow.

I don’t move.

He steps toward me, and I flinch. He grabs my hand and wraps my fingers around the metal. It’s warm from his hand.

He lifts my arm so I’m pointing the gun at the blond man. Like I’m a puppet.

The man breaks his silence in a sudden rush of Russian. He’s speaking to me. Begging. I don’t know a word of what he says, but the meaning in crystal clear.You don’t want to do this. You don’t have to. Please.

“Boy?” Mr. Volpe prompts. “He would’ve killed the woman you love. You’re going to let him live?”

He knows I am. I can hear the pity in his voice. The utter lack of surprise.

“I c-can’t.” My eyes burn.

The man begs louder. He’s not much older than me. He could be any kid from school. Any kid I playMaddenwith online.

“Sir,” I plead.

Mr. Volpe sighs one last time, and then so fast that I don’t even realize what he’s doing, he wraps his hand around mine and presses my finger to the trigger.

The blond man’s head explodes. Chunks splatter across the blue plastic mat. Someone screams.

It’s me.

The blond man slumps over like someone let the air out of him.

I guess they did.

I did.

I killed him.

No, it wasn’t me. It was Mr. Volpe, but it’s my finger on the trigger, even now, my shaking arm raised, aiming at the lifeless body crumpled on the basement floor.

Gently, Mr. Volpe presses my arm down and peels the gun from my weak grip. He clicks a button. The safety? And then he slides it into his back holster.

“Here’s what you’re gonna do, kid. You’re going to go home, take a shower, and get a good night’s sleep. And tomorrow, when my daughter texts you or calls or whatever, you’re gonna tell her that it’s over. It’s not her, it’s you. You’re going away to college, right? You need space to figure out who you are. Experience life. Whatever. Or ghost her. I don’t care. You disappear, and so does this body and gun with your prints all over it.”

He leans to speak directly into my ear, his breath hot on my neck. “I think we both know you’re not the man for her.” He claps me on the back and guides me up the stairs and out the front doors.

The neighborhood is dark and quiet except for a single squad car pulled over down the street, its red and blue lights lighting up a scene. An officer has two young men in hoodies lined up against the hood of his patrol car while his partner rummages through a backpack on the ground.

“Kids and their fireworks.” Mr. Volpe smirks and shakes his head. “Get home safe, now,” he says, urging me down the stairs with a hand to my back.

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