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“Do you have any charcoal sticks here?”
“Yes, sure,” she smiles, “How many do you want? And what are you working on?”
“Charcoal sticks aren't olive branches,” I clip, and her face drops.
I hear Claudio whistling and I pick up on his footfalls.
“I better go, I don't have the stomach for the both of you at once. I'll be in the kitchen, help me with those sticks please.
”I turn and take long strides to the staircase, meeting Claudio slightly away from his office before I pretend to go up, so I can see where he is going first.
He goes straight into his office and I hop down the stairs to meet Rosaline in the kitchen for what is to come.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
BENEDETTO
“We don’t have to do this son,” Claudio grits.
“Who is the letter from?” My mother asks, coming closer to stand beside him.
I guess I have to let the cat out of the bag, don't I? I smile and brace up for the big reveal.
“It’s from my fath…” I start to say but the fucker pulls the trigger and the booming sound ricochets in the kitchen.
The gun explodes in his hand and he goes down with the explosion, while my mother takes cover and Rosaline does the same.
He would have killed me without blinking. And that's exactly what I needed my mother to see. The first part of my plan is successfully crossed out.
To think he would think I'm stupid enough to hand him a loaded gun and try to poke him till he pulls the trigger.
Claudio grunts and stands with wobbly legs, and his face contorts when he notices what happened. I smile victoriously.
“I'm alive.”
He grunts and stumbles on his feet behind the kitchen island, trying to grab a knife from the knife stand.
Rosaline crawls out and stays on the ground, not moving but muttering something that sounds like a prayer.
“I guess we can end it now, Benedetto,” he picks up a knife, “I have had to put up with your shit for far too long,” he snorts, “You altered the gun and couldn't even do it properly?”
I shake my head at him.
Indeed, whom the gods want to punish, they first make mad.
He thinks himself smart and untouchable. His conceitedness is his undoing. He thinks no one can match him in combat or confront him face-to face. Who needs all that when I can attack in the best way possible?
“I didn't want to kill you that way, Claudio.”
“Oh yeah?” he chuckles, too bad for you because now you won't be able to kill me at all,” he lifts the knife, “I will kill them first,” he points at Rosaline and my mother with the knife, “You will watch them die before I kill you,” blood starts to trickle from his nose but he ignores it.
“A little longer and this will be over,” I take my cup of coffee and swig, “You want to kill me like you killed my father, don't you?”
“Since you are dying today, let's talk,” he sniffs, then blinks, and I smile, knowing it's only a matter of time before all of this will be over. “I killed him, and it took you four years to come around,” he laughs. “Foolish boy, that's far too long to bring down what I have built or to convince the clan that you are not sick in the head,” he swings the knife around, “Even if you kill me, I already gave words round that you are not to be trusted, so either way, you will be left with nothing.”
I always wondered why villains tried to talk so much, and even now the concept makes no sense to me. How someone can see they're on the verge of dying but still decide to engage in chitchat is beyond me.
I reach for a knife on the stand and he plunges, going in the direction I want him to go, which is further away from my mother and Rosaline. But I'm quick to take back my hand as he throws himself on the kitchen island, zoning out and slurring.
