Page 60 of Mafia Princess

Without waiting for them to catch up and give me backup, I run for the spot where I saw him disappear. My chances of hitting him are slim once he’s in the water. He won’t go down without a fight, though. He’s probably behind the column, taking aim right now, so I weave in and out as I run, hoping he won’t hit me, that the guy behind me will cover me well enough. Dust and grit from the concrete sloping down toward the river blow into my face, but I blink it away, ignoring the stinging in my eyes.

When I’m nearly at the supports, I hear a crack, and I can feel the air move the bullet comes so close to my cheek. But I’m still standing, so I keep going. I could pull up and aim and wait for him to peek around his hideout. Instead, I go full force, pushing myself as hard as I can, until my thighs burn and my feet thud against the pavement. I don’t slow as I reach the massive structure. I fly around it and slam into Little Al so hard he goes flying off his feet. Together, we hit the ground with bone-splitting force.

Lucky for me, Al’s on the bottom, and he takes the brunt of that force. He groans, cussing and wheezing as he tries to hit me with his gun. Before he can recover himself or get air in his lungs, I grab his wrist and twist it hard. He howls, the gun skittering from his grip as his bones snap. He curses, delivering a crushing left hook to my jaw. It knocks me backwards, and he scrambles up, but I’m just as fast. I jump to my feet and level my gun at him.

“Don’t fucking move,” I warn before he can take a step toward his gun. He’s dirty, his clothes ragged, his hair unkempt and greasy, a beard darkening his jaw. Guess he’s not visiting a special someone in the city after all.

“I should have known they’d send you alone,” he snarls in disgust. “They don’t care about you, King. You’re disposable to them.”

“Is that why you tried to fucking dispose of me?” I snap. “You’re the motherfucker who sent me into an ambush, after all.”

“Don’t get all butt-hurt,” he says. “It wasn’t personal. I didn’t even know you’d be going when I tipped Luciani off.”

“But you sure as fuck didn’t discourage me from going,” I remind him. “In fact, if I remember correctly, you thought it was a splendid idea for me to go. I thought you were just being a dick because you knew I’d have to face Eliza’s father, but it wasn’t that, was it? You wanted to get rid of me and Al in one shot. You’re a sick bastard, you know that?”

“Give me a fucking break,” Little Al says. “You’re nothing, King. Just a worthless little soldier. I might have been having a little fun with you, but you were never even part of the equation.”

“Yeah, well, you should have calculated better,” I say. “Because I’m the reason Al survived.”

“And I bet he’s sucking your dick and kissing your ass for that,” the man’s grandson says in disgust. “You’ve only been at this a few months, and he probably already likes you better. I’ve been doing this my whole fucking life, and I’m still a measly little soldier, no better in his eyes than a rookie who grew up like a pampered prince and showed up barely a day over eighteen with a lollypop in his mouth, thinking he’d take my place. You never even killed a guy, you fucking pussy.”

“I never wanted your place,” I say. “And I sure as hell don’t envy it now.”

We stare at each other for a minute. And maybe he’s right about me, because I’m hoping Il Diavolo shows up and puts a bullet in his brain, puts him out of his misery so I don’t have to do it.

“He wasted my talents,” Little Al says at last. “I could have been something great, you know. I could have been a legend. Instead, I was a fucking babysitter.”

“Maybe he didn’t trust you,” I say. “Can you blame the guy?”

“I’m his fucking grandson!” Little Al throws up his hands, then howls in pain at the reminder of his broken bones. “He never respected me, never listened to me,” he rants. “I had great ideas, but he passed me over every fucking time. I’m next in line, but he didn’t teach me shit. I’m twenty-three years old, and I’m still doing the same fucking job I was doing when I started.”

“Maybe he could tell you were a sneaky son of a bitch, and he was never going to let you take over. Al’s a smart man. He probably knew you were a coward.”

“I’m not a fucking coward,” Little Al growls, his eyes looking feral in the pale lights reflected off the water. “If I were, I wouldn’t have risked it all to get him out of the picture.”

“You tried to kill your own grandfather because you didn’t get a promotion?” I ask, hardly believing anyone could be so small.

“Because I’ll never get the fucking promotion I deserve,” he rages. “Al’s not going anywhere anytime soon. The guy’s sixty and still going strong. If no one took him out, he’d be around another twenty years. Was I just supposed to wait around until I’m almost fifty before I take over? It’s my rightful place! He had his turn. It’s my turn!”

“Sorry, but I don’t think so.”

“You can’t kill me,” he says, his eyes going even more wild than they already are. “I have a wife, a kid! Let me go, King. What’s it to you? Here, take my things. Bring Al my watch, tell him you killed me.” He pulls off his watch and tosses it at my feet, then starts taking off anything else he can, tossing his wallet and shoes down with them.

“You know it doesn’t work like that,” I say, but I consider it. What would it hurt if I stripped him of everything he owns, everything that identifies him, and let him run? I could tell Uncle Al I dumped his body in the river.

I think of my sister sinking into the river. What if she didn’t die that night?

But of course she did. Just like Little Al has to die tonight.

“What does it matter if you let me go?” he presses. “I was your partner, King. I did right by you. You think you’ll come back a hero if you kill me, but just watch. You’ll never move up. You’ll be stuck at the bottom forever. He doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself, the selfish old bastard.”

“And you did?” I ask. “That’s why you thought it would be funny to send me into a death trap that you set up yourself?”

“I told you, I wasn’t even thinking about you,” he says. “It wasn’t about you!”

“You’re right,” I say, cocking the gun. “It wasn’t about me, but you didn’t care if I died, if I leftmywife a widow. It was all just a cruel joke to you, pushing me to join Al because you couldn’t handle the fact that he saddled you with a rookie.”

“Don’t shoot,” he says, holding up both hands. “I’m unarmed, man. You don’t wanna do this. Please. I’ll disappear, and no one will ever know you didn’t do it.”

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