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“Put down your gun Moreno. I will talk when you do that.” He hesitates for a few seconds and lowers his hand. I can feel the instant relief.
“Start talking.”
“You are a rapist.”
He scoffs, “What are you? A fucking cop?”
I feel the corners of my mouth lifting, “You wish. I am Rachel Maner, your daughter.”
“The fuck you are! What do you want? An inheritance?”
“No. I want revenge.”
His eyes blink as he puts together the information I gave him.
“Twenty-six years ago, you fucking raped Marcia. My mother. Unfortunately for you, you are my father.”
He stiffens.
“Now what? Are you going to shoot me?”
I nod as I aim for his head. “She never recovered from that night. She was depressed. Her life was never the same after. You destroyed her and then you moved on.”
He raises his hands, “What are you looking for here? An apology? Rachel, your mother was in the wrong place at the right time. She was a warm cunt, I can give you that. But thinking that killing me will change that… you must be so delusional.”
I am stuck between terror and blinding rage. “That is where you are wrong. She killed herself.”
“And I am sorry for your loss. I can write you a check to cover her funeral expenses.”
This cocky motherfucker just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t.
Even as I take a breath, I know that this will not feel as satisfying as I needed it to be. This does not even come close.
“She deserved better,” I say, and then I pull the trigger.
Moreno’s body crumples to the ground. I walk over to him and watch as blood oozes from the hole between his eyes and stains the ground around him.
“She should have never met you.” Another bullet.
“I hope you rot in hell.” Another bullet.
And another, and another.
Until there is only one bullet left.
For me.
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
Rachel
I find myself pinned to the cold, gritty floor, Alessandro’s strength pressing down on me. The silence of the abandoned warehouse is punctuated by our struggle, the echoes bouncing off the concrete walls.
“Let go!” I cry out, desperation fueling my voice as I try to wrestle free from Alessandro’s overpowering grip.
“Stop this, Rachel! You don’t understand,” Alessandro’s voice is strained, a mixture of urgency and frustration evident in his tone.
I squirm, attempting to reach the gun within my grasp, but Alessandro anticipates my move, swiftly wrenching it away and tossing it aside with a clatter that echoes through the desolate space.
