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Half of the men started for the door, followed by Juntasa, who was then followed by the other half of his men. On their way past Malcolm’s table, one of the men reached into Gatti’s jacket and removed hisweapon.
Damian watched as they made their way toward the front of the bar, Juntasa secreted between them like an ancientking.
It was only then that Damian realized how quiet the bar had become. Every single person had somehow left — even thebartender.
It was just him and Malcolm now, a strand of multicolored lights blinking into the emptyrooms.
Malcolm remained with his back to Damian and took a drink from the bottle in front of him, emptying it and setting it back on thetable.
Damian drew his weapon as Gatti stood to facehim.
“The Thai value respect,” Damian said. “You might say it’s something we have incommon.”
He waited for Gatti to reach for another weapon, to rush him in an attempt to knock him off hisfeet.
Instead an uncanny smile rose to his lips. He raised his arms at his sides, holding them out like he was the victim of an invisible crucifixion, closing hiseyes.
Damian was transfixed as an expression that could only be described as peaceful settled onto Gatti’sfeatures.
For a split second, Damian hesitated, the unexpected surrender throwing him. Then he saw Aria’s face in the hospital, heard the beating heart of theirchild.
He fired a round into Gatti’s forehead, watched as surprise lit his eyes in the second before his body dropped to thefloor.
Damian quickly covered the distance between them. He wanted to tell Malcolm the bullet was for every time he’d disrespected Aria, for all the years he’d manipulated Primo, taking advantage of his mental illness for money and power. He wanted to tell him it was for his child, who deserved to grow up without the specter of someone like Malcolm hovering over his or herlife.
But it was too late. Malcolm Gatti was alreadydead.
