Page 60 of Marcello

“Point it and pull the trigger. Simple. And make sure you’re real close to him when you do it.”

My stomach turned uneasily. “Point blank range.”

“Exactly. Once you shoot him, run for it. We’ll come find you afterwards.”

“What do I do about the gun?”

“Keep it or hide it, but don’t throw it away. I want it back.”

“Yeah!” Lametta said petulantly.

Buzzcut shot him a disgusted look, and Lametta cowered in silence again.

Then Buzzcut looked at me and smirked. “Alright, man… this is what you asked for. Now do it.”

I shuffled away from Buzzcut and Lametta like a man going off to face his death.

Or his damnation.

20

As I walked past the kids playing soccer, I felt like a sleepwalker in a dream. Nothing seemed real.

This is the part of the movie where the hero has to make a life-or-death choice.

As I approached the security camera, I turned away so it would only see the back of my hoodie.

I had an almost overwhelming urge to glance back at Buzzcut, but I didn’t want to give him an excuse to shoot me, so I kept my eyes forward.

Once I was past the kids, I turned the gun around inside the pocket of my hoodie, gripped the handle, and put my finger on the trigger.

I was surprised how easily the gun fit inside my hand. It almost felt… natural.

As I continued along the curved walkway, I could finally see past the columns to the end.

There was the Camorra rival, leaning against the last green door. He looked exactly like Buzzcut had described: a white track suit and tattoos.

Unfortunately, just twenty feet beyond him, a couple dozen high school students were sitting on the steps near the other set of stone lions.

Most of them were smoking cigarettes, but I also detected the rank scent of weed in the air.

Shit!

Witnesses!

I wondered if Buzzcut knew they would be there.

Probably.

Fucking ASSHOLE.

I thought about going back and telling him, but I knew what he’d say:

Do it anyway.

That, or he’d shoot me.

So I kept walking.