Page 110 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream
“Y—”
The man doesn’t even get the full word out before I push myself through the agony to stand on two feet, lift the gun to his forehead and fire a solid gold bullet into his skull.
His head is thrown backward where it lolls on his neck. I fire two more bullets—one into each eye socket, then I hand the gun to my brother.
He and Arrow drop my father’s body to the ground. Benito steps over it, straddling the hips, then fires three bullets into his heart. One for him, one for me, one for our mother. Then he spits on the old man’s face.
Serafina
I have to wonder how this life consumed me so quickly that I actually feel comfortable entertaining not just one, butten, certified criminals at my dinner table.
Viola’s expression is still intensely pale as she bustles around refilling wine and whiskey glasses and dishing out more helpings of pasta. She returned just as Arrow was dragging Leo Bernadi’s body out the front door, and she was followed shortly afterward by two Di Santo capos and four soldiers.
She mopped the blood off the floor while I helped Andreas change into different clothes, and watched as twelve bodies were piled up on the porch ready to be dumped into various rivers and oceans.
There’s a strange sense of camaraderie in the air that Idon’t hate. Feeling my husband’s possessive gaze on the side of my face the whole time doesn’t hurt either, and I might walk past him more often than is necessary because I love the way his hand skims my thigh each time.
Once everyone has sated their appetites and a low banter accompanies black coffee and dark spirits, my husband turns to me with a devious look in his eye.
“You did well out there, with my gun.”
I dab the corners of my mouth with a napkin. “Why thank you.”
“But, you know, that’s not really how you’re supposed to hold it.”
Iscowlat him. “Does it matter? It did the job.”
He breathes tightly. “Yes it did, and yes it does.”
I shrug. “Well, it’s a moot point really. I’m not intending to shoot anyone else in this lifetime.”
He takes a long sip of whiskey, presumably preferring the burn in his throat to the pain in his chest.
“Regardless, you need to learn how to fire a gun properly.”
I frown. “Why?”
“For your protection. That won’t be the first time someone tries to destroy us. I will doeverythingI can to keep you secure and safe, but if all those lines of defense fail, I need to know you can fire a gun properly.”
His expression changes, as though he’s willing me to see through to something very serious. I swallow and nod.
“Okay, fine. I’ll let you train me.Whenyou are better.”
He shakes his head. “You kidding me? Like I’d be able to train you. Having seen how hot you look wielding a firearm, I wouldn’t be able to keep my damn hands off you.”
I tilt my head.
“No, no. You’ll go to proper target practice…”
I ponder the thought.
“…with your sisters.”
That makes me laugh. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“No. I’m dead serious. We’ve discussed it.”
“Who has?”
