––––––––
Another shot rang out.
The bullet tore through the wall right next to me. I needed to get to that motherfucker, but he was firing blindly now. I immediately moved to the doorway as he continued to shoot. A voice filled the air. But it wasn’t Pasquale’s.
"Boss? Boss, are you still there? Are you okay?"
The phone!
He hadn’t ended the call. Like the bitch he was, he’d dropped the phone when he dove behind the bed. Another shot rang out. Wood exploded from the dresser.
"Do I sound okay?" Pasquale yelled to the caller. "Get in here and fucking kill him."
The guy on the other end of the phone didn't sound too concerned for his boss.
"North and East are already on the way."
As I stared down the hall, gun raised in case they came around the corner, another shot rang out. Pasquale was still firing blindly, trying to keep me away from him. Nothing would keep me away from this motherfucker!
"You get in here, too," Pasquale shouted to the caller. “I need all of you.”
"Boss, Don Corradini told me to guard the front gate and keep him updated on what went on here. I have to call him and let him know about your latest fuck up."
Wait!The front gate guard wasn't one of Pasquale's men. He worked for the Corradinis. The crime family stationed him here to monitor my cousin. Apparently, they didn't trust Pasquale nearly as much as he thought they did.
Interesting.
The guard didn’t seem worried about my cousin at all. He was more interested in filling in the Corradinis on what was going down.
"You bastard!" Pasquale roared. “Get in here.”
Another shot rang out.His tenth shot!This one struck the wall in the hallway. Enough of this shit. I leaned out from the doorway. I saw Pasquale’s hand on the bed, gun aimed at the doorway.
The rest of his body was hidden behind the mattress. I fired. Pasquale cried out, his weapon clattering to the floor.
“Fuck! You shot my hand.”
I could hear him moving around as I entered the room and leapt onto the bed. With his uninjured hand, he weakly grabbed his weapon and looked up to find me standing on the bed, staring down, gun trained on him.
His injured hand was covered in blood, and his white T-shirt was splattered with red stains. His left hand still held a gun, but from the way he was holding it, I could tell it wasn’t his dominant hand.
“Fuck you!” Pasquale yelled as he aimed at my head and squeezed the trigger.
Click.
Click.
I smiled. On that tenth shot, my cousin had run out of bullets. Shock then fear registered in his expression when he realized he was fucked. Pasquale looked up at me, blood running down his injured hand.
"Don't shoot," he yelled.
"Why not? You shot me."
His gaze flickered to the hole in my shirt. “But you... You don’t seem shot.” He frowned. “I did shoot you, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you shot me, cousin.”
He swallowed. "I... I thought you were an intruder."
