Now this.
Dom swallowed. His finger was curled around the trigger, which the gunsmith had specifically set up to be only slightly less sensitive than a hair trigger. One twitch of Dom’s finger, and it would all be over. But he couldn’t move.
Luciano pulled in a deep breath through his nose. Eyes closed, he released it. “Just do it.”
The trigger was suddenly a hundred pounds. He had visions of the gun jamming. Backfiring. Exploding and taking them both out. Anything but doing what it had, without fail, done thousands of times before.
And still, his finger didn’t move.
Dom lowered the gun. “I can’t… I can’t do this.”
“Dom. Look at me.”
He lifted his gaze and met his cousin’s. Luciano swallowed. “You don’t have a choice. Either you kill me now, or my father kills us both.” He reached up and took Dom’s free hand. “I can’t let that happen. You’re like a brother. Always have been.”
A lump rose in Dom’s throat.
“If someone’s gotta take me out, then I’d rather it be you than anyone else.” He looked up, straight into Dom’s eyes. “At least I know you’ll make it quick. You know damn well my father wouldn’t do the same for either of us.”
Dom shuddered.
“I’m at peace with it.” Luciano squeezed his hand. “This isn’t your fault. We both know it isn’t. You’re caught in the machinery as much as I am.”
“How the fuck do I get out?”
Luciano laughed dryly. “If I knew, do you think we’d be here right now?”
Acid rose in Dom’s throat. “Did you ever wish you could—”
“All my life, Domenico. All my life. Now…” Luciano released his hand. He sat straighter, eyes closed and expression fully relaxed. “Please. Just do it.”
There was no avoiding it. And the longer Dom tried to talk himself out of it, the longer he tortured his cousin with the inevitable.
He aimed the pistol at Luciano’s temple, angling it slightly toward the back to maximize the damage and minimize Luciano’s chances of surviving, even for a moment.
“I’m sorry, Luciano.”
“I know.”
Luciano was perfectly still. So was Dom’s hand.
Holding his breath, Dom closed his eyes.
And squeezed the trigger.
Dom had deliberately foregone earplugs, and the gunshot temporarily deafened him. Long enough to almost completely silence his cousin’s body hitting the sand at his feet.
Ears ringing and jaw clenched, Dom opened his eyes. His aim had been true—from the hairline back, there was almost nothing left of Luciano’s skull. Blood, bone, and brain matter clung to vegetation and soaked up sand for several feet.
Just to be sure, though, Dom leaned down and touched beneath his cousin’s jaw. The skin was still warm, of course, but there was no pulse.
A nauseating sense of relief flooded through him. He couldn’t stomach the fact that he’d just killed his cousin, but thank God, Luciano had died quickly.
He rose and walked away. In the car, he put the gun under his seat—he’d toss it in the ocean once he was safely away from here—and drove, not completely sure where he was going yet. He didn’t get sick this time. He was too numb. Too fucked up in the head. His stomach would catch up once the booze started flowing, of that he was sure.
Tapping his fingers rapidly on the steering wheel, he drove away from the crime scene and didn’t look back. He didn’t speed. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t risk getting pulled over and having a record of his presence within close proximity to Luciano.
On one hand, he desperately needed the distraction only Sergei could offer. On the other, he couldn’t face him. Couldn’t touch Sergei with the same hand he’d used to pull the trigger, or the same hand he’d used to confirm Luciano’s pulse had stopped.
Not tonight. Tonight, he needed the longest, hottest shower he could stand, and then he was going to get drunk. As drunk as humanly possible. Until he blacked out. Then maybe he’d wake up and drink more.
For now, though, he had to get out of here. Away from Luciano’s corpse.
Luciano, I am so sorry.
Tears stung his eyes. He’d filled more contracts than he cared to think about, but this one was his own cousin. He’d killed a son on the order of a father. Tomorrow, he’d stand beside Corrado while the family grieved Biaggio for his longtime service and loyalty to the family.
There wouldn’t be much of a funeral for Luciano. He’d have a Catholic funeral—even disgraced members of the family were buried according to Catholic traditions. Corrado believed men could be judged and dispatched here on Earth, but it was up to God to decide where they went afterward.