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I swallow hard, my voice shaky as I reply, “Hey, Alessandro.”
“Let me guess,” he says, and I can almost picture his smile, “you miss me? Have you changed your mind? Do you want me to come over?”
“Sure... Where are you?”
I watch with bated breath as he walks toward the exit of the club, his phone pressed firmly to his ear.
“At Babinski. It’s pretty noisy right now. Sorry about that,” he says, stepping outside, oblivious to my presence right behind him.
I retrieve my gun, hands trembling as I attach the silencer. The taste of bile rises in my throat, and tears threaten to spill. I despise this.
I despise that it has come to this.
“So,” Alessandro says after a few moments, “Can I come over now?”
My own voice sounds foreign as I point the gun, the muzzle pressing into his back. “That won’t be necessary, Ricci.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
Alessandro
I turn around and almost drop my phone in shock.
In front of me is Rachel, dressed to the nines and pointing a gun at my chest. “What’s going on?” But the surprise gives way to confusion and fear as I see her trembling hand clutching the weapon.
Rachel’s voice shakes as she speaks, “I was looking for you. How could you?”
My mind races, struggling to comprehend. Then it hits me like a ton of bricks—she’s the serial killer.
She is the one killing my people, my friends.
“It is you. You’re behind it all.”
She is blinking slowly as she replies, “Yes.”
“Why?” I choke out, trying to suppress the fear welling up inside me. Rachel looks so lost, so broken, and it tears at my heart to see her this way.
“This is for my mother,” she whispers, her finger tightening on the gun’s trigger.
The revelation that the woman in front of me is capable of such violence is heart-wrenching. But I’m too shocked to react, my mind unable to process the situation. What the hell does she even mean? What does any of it mean?
“You want to shoot me,mia cara,then fuckingdo it!” I urge, my voice trembling. “Spara!”
I hate this. I am so confused.
Rachel’s hands tremble, and I notice her quivering lower lip. I can’t understand why she hasn’t pulled the trigger yet.
“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
“I was looking for you,” Rachel replies, her voice filled with desperation. “I was looking for a Ricci. I just hadn’t realized it was you. Why is it you?”
My mind spins as I grapple with the harsh truth that this woman has been hunting me, or probably my father, as part of her vendetta against the Cosa Nostra. Of course she doesn’t know that he’s dead. It feels like I’m standing on the edge of an abyss, my world crumbling around me.
“Then shoot me,” I plead, a strange mix of anger, hurt, and resignation in my voice. She is staring straight at me but there is a film of tears in her eyes. She looks shocked and stunned, her facial expression mirroring my own.
The light from the nearby street lights is reflected in her eyes.
This is it.
