One wrong move, and everything could go to hell.
Then my eye catches a glimpse of the man in the bathroom mirror when he walks past my stall. Skinny, white, wispy mustache, ropey muscles, graying brown hair, and green eyes.
It’s my mark.
He turns a faucet on and starts to run cold water, splashing some in his face and rubbing it as he lets out a groan followed by an ugly shiver. I hear the rattle of a pill bottle, and he pops something into his mouth. As if there were any shadow of a doubt this is my man, he’s taking a pill to keep him stiff.
My jaw is set. My hand is burning to go to the gun tucked behind me. All it would take would be one swift motion, and I could be out there. He hasn’t noticed me watching. If a man as tall as me were to step out, dressed like I am, he’d bolt. Could I take him down before then? It could be quick, clean, and there would be no risk to the girl in the room.
I see him staring in the mirror, and his eyes flit to the closed door of my stall. I’m bent enough that my head doesn’t stick out the top, but just how skittish is this man?
He peers at the door silently for a moment. Does he suspect something? Will he run? In that instant, I know what it means for the wolf to stare at a deer from the shadows.
The man crooks his arm and lets out a hacking cough, spitting something vile into the sink before washing his mouth off and popping a mint. I feel my muscles start to relax as he turns and makes his way out the door, no more alert than a moment ago. He doesn’t suspect a thing. I know the walk of someone who’s hiding something.
As easy as it would have been to take him, I had to restrain myself. There would be a cleaner coming after me to cover my tracks. They’re specialists who make sure the crime scene was scrubbed clean of any evidence. It’s grizzly work, but necessary for the people who do this kind of business.
People like me, I remind myself.
I check my watch, each second ticking by as if it were a minute. I have to give the mark time to get into the room and feel safe. If I burst out of the bathroom and barrel after him, he’ll run. If I kick down the door the moment he goes in, he might try something stupid. The deer is most exposed when its head is down to graze.
I shudder. It’s a disgusting thought.
But I take deep, slow breaths and let my body focus itself as I count to fifty, visualizing the man’s movements in my head. I imagine him walking down the stained carpet of the hallway to Room 232...his cardkey slipping in...the door swinging open...the terrified sight of the girl on the bed...and he steps forward, closing the door behind him as he slips his jacket off. I can see his yellowed, grinning teeth in my mind’s eye when I can’t keep focus any longer.
The mafia wants to treat girls like disposable things to throw away when they’re used up. But when I think of a young girl being used to lure such human slime in, my gut turns, and even though I have no idea who the woman behind that door is, all I can picture is one girl.
The one girl in the world I’d kill for.
I can’t take it any longer. I slide open the latch of my door as quietly as I can, and I let my legs carry me out of the bathroom, cardkey in hand.
The walk to Room 232 is like pushing through a dream. There’s no going back after this. It isn’t like fighting behind the workshop with the other Italians I call my brothers, my friends. It isn’t like hunting a deer, either. My uncle’s teaching is in my head like a ringing in my ears.
To kill a man is to cross a line there’s no coming back from.
I hold the cardkey up to the slot and listen. The doors are heavy. I can hardly hear a thing through there. That’s good, but…
The sound of a woman’s voice on the other side of the door reaches me, and my blood runs cold. I know that voice.
No. It can’t be.
Without another moment’s wait, I slide the cardkey and push through the door, vanishing from the hallway like a shadow.
“The fuck?!” is the shout that greets me.
Then a girl’s cry of fear, and my eyes fall on the both of them.
His belt and pants are already undone, and there’s the unmistakable look of lust written on his face. But my eyes are only on her.
She’s half-sitting on the bed, one hand up at the beautiful dress that he’s already started taking off her. Her face is turned away, and she’s raising her other arm to shield herself from what she knows is coming. Everything about her body language says she’s terrified.
Instinct takes over.
I forget about the gun I brought. I won’t need it. I lunge forward as the man dives for his jacket, no doubt reaching for his own weapon. Before he can reach it, I’m on him.
I seize his wrist and thrust my palm into his outstretched arm at the elbow. With a sickening crack, it snaps, and he lets out a croaking gasp of pain.
Without thought, pure, raw adrenaline coursing through my body and awakening what I was built to do, I easily wrap my arm around his mouth, muffling his scream as he thrashes in my arms. But he’s nothing compared to me. All the strength in his frail bones amounts to an ounce of mine.
He struggles in my grip, and his good hand grasps at my leg, pounding, doing anything he can, and finally, he finds his wits and reaches for something in his pant leg. I see the flash of a blade.
CRACK.
The man’s knife falls from his hand as his grip slackens, and slowly, I feel his body go limp in my arms. His neck is broken, eyes going glassy as he stares up at the ceiling. All it took was one quick motion, and it was over.
Gently, I lower the body to the ground before standing up over it, looking down at my kill.
My first kill.
I’m still as I look at him. I expected my hands to be shaking, my body to be trembling, but my massive frame doesn’t shudder. I’m poised. Ready for more. I’m not stupid, I know what my body is capable of. But it’s something different to look down at a corpse and realize your body is ready to do it again.
“Oh...oh my God!” The shuddering cry snaps me out of my thoughts, and my heart comes alive again as I look at the woman on the bed. She isn’t looking down at the body in horror. She’s looking at me.
Our eyes meet. And even through the hood and the glasses, I know she recognizes me. How couldn’t she? Her hazel eyes are staring up at me, as expressive and deep as the first time I’d seen them.
And they’re full of fear. Fear of me.
How can it be her? How can she be the girl they got for this? Claudio never mentioned her. Of course he didn’t. He knew it would be the one thing that would make me turn down this job. That putting her in danger would be the one thing that would keep me from acting.
I start to reach for her with the gloved hand that just took a life, and for the first time, I watch her recoil from me, clutching her clothes close to her as her lips part, quivering.
“...Bruno?”
SERENA
SEVERAL YEARS LATER…
I t’s early.