Mario jerked awake, panic flooding his body. Bright morning sunshine had replaced the early dawn’s pink-tinted gray. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but by the time he settled into his hiding place he’d been up for almost twenty hours. Then he realized what had woke him. Singing—a child’s voice, high and piping. Anthony’s voice; his bet had paid off. The desire to rush out to meet him flooded his nervous system, its power intoxicating, but Mario stayed still in the shadows. If anyone was with his son, he couldn’t risk approaching him.
Anthony walked into view, the bright sunlight limning him in gold. He had grown a couple inches, and his dark-brown hair was longer. It reminded Mario of the haircuts sported by The Beatles when they first hit the American charts, on their way to becoming the biggest band in the world. Anthony carried a large cat carrier. It was too big for him to manage well, so he moved awkwardly, like Silas had when he’d insisted on carrying Mister Bun Bun. A wave of grief crashed over Mario, despite his joy at seeing Anthony. He’d already thought of the boys as brothers, but it would never happen now.
He heard Anthony’s footsteps but couldn’t see him, so he crept toward the edge of the fallen overpass, staying well back in the shadows. When Anthony reappeared on the other side, he reached over the center divider between the four lanes. Carefully, he set the carrier down on the other side of the divider, then scrambled over it. He walked to a sheltered corner near the on-ramp, thirty feet from where Mario was hiding. An old concrete barrier had been placed at a diagonal to it. Pipes overgrown with weeds that had withered during the dry summer ran up the side of the concrete. Anthony squeezed through a gap at the end of the barrier. A puffed up black and white cat bolted from behind it.
“I’m sorry, Mama Cat,” Anthony said.
He crouched down, only the top of his head visible. Mario heard the rattle of the carrier door being opened. Anthony’s voice never stopped—he was talking to the kittens he was collecting—but all Mario could hear was a soothing murmur. The top of his son’s head ducked out of sight, then popped back up. Mario turned to look the way Anthony had come. There was no one in sight. He walked to the edge of the overhang so that when Anthony turned around, he’d be visible.
Anthony stood up. The expression on his face was satisfied, but also a little sad. “I’m sorry, Mama Cat,” he said again, his voice raised. “I’ll take good care of your kittens. Only nice people will adopt them.” He paused, then added, “Maybe I’ll catch you soon, and then you won’t have to keep having them.”
Mario said, “Anthony.”
Anthony looked up, curious, then seemed to slump. His face went slack and blank. His mouth fell open. When Mario held his finger up to his lips, indicating that he should be quiet, it broke the spell. Anthony rocketed to him, kittens forgotten, and hit Mario so hard that he knocked him down. Anthony didn’t say anything. He sobbed, his cries heartrending. Mario held his son close, rocking him like he’d done when Anthony was a baby.
“It’s all right,” he managed to choke out, almost sobbing himself. “It’s all right, Anthony.”
He felt Anthony’s head nod. He looked up at Mario, his face tear-streaked, confused. “Is it really you, Daddy?”
The overwhelming relief of seeing his son alive and whole and still collecting kittens, of being able to hold him in his arms and wipe away his tears, was too much to take in. “Yeah,” he whispered, looking into those serious brown eyes. “It’s me.”
They sat on the ground, the reek of cat piss blown away by the gentle breeze from the east, and he held his son. Eventually, he said, “Are you okay?”
Anthony straightened up and looked at Mario. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
“What about Mommy and Michael and Maureen?”
“They’re okay, too.” His voice became hopeful. “Are you coming home?”
Was there anything worse than watching the hope in the eyes of your child die? Mario was pretty sure there wasn’t. He wanted so much to spare Anthony that pain, that disappointment, but he couldn’t.
“Not yet,” he said. “I’m sorry, but not yet. I want to but—”
“Uncle Dom.”
Mario nodded. “Yeah. And because I stole the serum for the vaccine.”
Anthony almost smiled. “Mommy told us. Uncle Dom was so mad…like, scary mad. We didn’t get to stay with the priests very long before he brought us back home.”
“I know,” Mario said. “That’s why I came. To see you, and do something about Uncle Dom.” Anthony nodded, but didn’t say more, so Mario continued. “I need you to do me a favor, but you can’t tell anyone. And I mean nobody. Nobody can know.”
“Okay,” Anthony said, his voice sounding small. He was nine, but suddenly seemed so much younger. Mario hated having to pull him into this.
“Tell Mommy I’m here, and that I’m coming to see her tonight.”
Anthony shook his head. “You won’t be able to, Dad. They watch her too much.”
Mario had figured as much, but he still had to try. “Your mom is really smart. She’ll figure something out. What time does Uncle Dom get home, or does he work from the house?”
Anthony shook his head. “He goes to work. He gets home near bedtime.”
“Still nine o’clock?”
“Yeah.”
Mario ruffled Anthony’s hair. “Tell her I’ll be along the back fence, at eight. If she comes out and I’m not there, then I couldn’t make it. She shouldn’t wait for me. Can you remember that?”
“Yes.” Anthony looked like he wanted to say more but didn’t.
“What is it?” Mario asked.
“She’s scared all the time, Dad. She says she’s not, but I can tell. But she’s mad, too. And Uncle Alan makes her crazy.”
Mario laughed softly, “Uncle Alan makes everyone crazy. He’s an idiot.”
Anthony grinned. “That’s what Mom says.”
“Are there a lot of guards at the house?”
“Yes. There are fifteen now.”
Mario smiled at the precision, but precise was how Anthony had always been. Even as a toddler he had wanted his toys in particular places, arranged in a particular way, and noticed everything.
“None of the ones when you were at home. They’re different. They act nice but they’re not our friends.” Anthony’s mouth twisted with disgust, then his eyes filled with devilment. “They can’t figure out how I sneak out to get the kittens and it’s driving them crazy. I don’t go on the same days, or the same time.” He snorted, the condescension for stupid adults only a child can possess coming through loud and clear. “There are, like, four ways to do it. They’re too stupid to find them.”
“Remind me never to get on your bad side, kiddo.”
Mario checked his watch. His stomach lurched. He and Anthony had spent half an hour together. If he didn’t get home soon, the guards might notice he was missing and come looking for him.
“You need to go now, Anthony. Before anyone comes looking for you.” He held his son’s face in his hands. “I love you so much, Anthony.”
“I love you, too, Dad.”
Anthony’s eyes filled with tears, just like Mario’s were doing.
“I know it’s hard,” he said, wishing he had something to tell Anthony that didn’t feel—wasn’t—so inadequate. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
Anthony nodded, and Mario pulled him close, knowing it could very well be the last time. The last time he smelled Anthony’s skin, felt his soft hair against his cheek. He drank it all in like a man dying of thirst, the sight and smell and feel of his son, so that he would always remember. The boy in his arms, the rest of his family only blocks away, were the fuel for what he had to do to end all this.
“Go on, now,” he said, untangling himself from Anthony. It hurt so much to let go of him, like he was ripping off a limb. “Remember, don’t—”
“Tell anyone,” Anthony said, interrupting him.
“That’s right. You’re going to want to, but you cannot tell Michael or Maureen, okay?” He waited until Anthony nodded. “I love you so much, Anthony.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
Mario’s eyes filled with tears again. He watched as Anthony began to walk carefully through the scattered concrete and rocks beneath the fallen overpass. Then he remembered.
“Anthony!” he said. Anthony spun back to face him. “The kittens.”
Anthony’s face filled with surprise. “The kittens!”
He ran past his father without stopping, to the carrier still out on the road beside the center divider. He crouched down on hands and knees, then turned around, smiling, and gave a thumbs-up. Mario wanted to go over and help him get the carrier over the center divider, but he couldn’t risk being spotted. Anthony set the carrier across the gap between the back-to-back steel guardrails, then climbed over. He picked up the carrier of kittens and looked back to Mario. His brown eyes were bright, face hopeful.
Mario’s love for his children, deep and boundless, fierce and unstoppable, filled him. He would get them away from his brother, get them all in the same place. He would make things right.
He walked to other side of the overpass when Anthony walked out of sight. When he reappeared, he looked over his shoulder, squinting a little, so Mario took one more step toward the opening. Anthony smiled. Mario blew him a kiss. Anthony smiled more broadly, with a touch of ‘I’m too old for that; on his face, but pleased nonetheless. Then he turned away and ran out of sight.
Mario watched him go. Then he crept back, closer to the fallen edge of the overpass, where the cover was better, to sleep.
But before he drifted into dreamless oblivion, he wept.
Mario was at the corner of the first block into the neighborhood when he realized something was off. Almost every house had its porch light on. Some people always turned on their porch lights, but just as many didn’t. He dropped back into the shadow of the giant sycamore tree near the corner. He pushed up the bill of his baseball cap. Lots of people were out, going from house to house in groups. Then he saw them…children on the well-lit stoop a third of the way up the block, dressed as witches and firemen, ballerinas and pirates. Shit, he thought, just as they chimed, “Trick or treat!”
Halloween…it’s fucking Halloween.
Mario checked his watch again: 7:55 p.m. He cursed himself for instructing Anthony to tell Emily not to wait if he was late. He didn’t want her putting herself in danger by waiting for him, but this was going to slow him down.
The other side of the street had a couple porch lights that weren’t on. He pulled the cap down low and crossed the street. The throb in his calf flared into a sharp jab with every step, worse when he tried not to limp. He walked as quickly as he could, but not so much that it would look like he was in a hurry.
“Happy Halloween,” a woman said as she walked by. The group of children she was minding had run ahead in a pack, shrieking and laughing.
“You too,” he replied, nodding.
His heart felt like it might thump out of his chest. What time did trick-or-treating usually end? Eight thirty? Nine? Not soon enough, he thought, stepping to the grass parking strip alongside the sidewalk for a group of firemen and fairies to hurry by.
“Great weather for this, isn’t it?” a man with another group of children said to him.
“Sure is,” Mario said, sweat drenching his back and armpits while he smiled and dipped his head low. By the time he got to the neighbor’s property on Waverly Street, which backed onto his, he was so rattled he just walked down the driveway like he belonged there. He’d planned to walk by, give it a good look and make sure the coast was clear, but now he just wanted to get off the street.
He slowed as he got to the garage, staying in shadow. There were lights on in the front of the house; someone was probably giving out candy. The kitchen at the back of the house, facing the yard, was also lit up. He could see the glow of the lights of his house on the other side of the high hedge that ran along the wrought iron fence along his backyard. He crept to the back patio, trying to stay out of areas where the kitchen’s light spilled out, and looked for the best place to wait. The pool house wasn’t far from the fence, but he had to cross the patio, which was illuminated by the kitchen light and small accent lights. Better than motion sensors, but still not ideal. He checked the house again, then darted across the patio and slipped around corner of the pool house. He checked his watch. He was seven minutes late.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
The neighborhood seemed to be quieting down. Normally this would be good, indicating nothing was out of the ordinary was going on, but every second he spent leaning against the pool house made his body hum with anxiety and dread. He checked his watch—a minute had passed. The watch beckoned him to check again. He resisted, but when he finally gave in, only two more minutes had passed. If he was on time, Dominic would be getting home in about forty minutes.
I’ll give it five more minutes, he thought. After that, it would be cutting it too close to when Dom would arrive home.
A branch snapped. An electric charge thrummed through Mario’s body. He tensed, preparing to flee.
“Mario?”
Relief felt like a ten-ton weight lifting from his shoulders.
“Over here,” he said.
A few moments later, Emily wriggled into the space between the tall boxwood hedge and the wrought iron fence.
“Oh my God!” she said, reaching for him through the bars. “What are you doing here?”
“Are you okay?” he asked, taking her face in his hands.
Her skin felt warm and soft and smooth, and a faint waft of perfume—Coco, by Chanel—clung to her. A dark baseball cap covered her bright blond hair.
“I’m fine, we’re all fine, but you shouldn’t be here,” she said, her face pinched with anxiety.
“I had to make sure you were okay.”
A deep sorrow over the failure of their marriage blossomed inside him. He and Emily had gotten married too quickly, for the wrong reasons. Even if that hadn’t been the case, marriages fell apart all the time. But his upbringing—the good and the bad—was always there, buried deep and disapproving, especially because he carried most of the blame for what had happened to theirs. You stayed with your wife and took care of your family. You stayed with your husband, even if he beat you, like his mother had. It was old-fashioned and outdated and sometimes unhealthy, but a sliver still persisted, woven into his DNA.
“We’re fine,” she said. “Is Connor with you?”
“Oh, Em,” Mario said, pulled up short. Of course she couldn’t know, and somehow, he’d never thought about it. “He’s…no, he’s not. He’s— He was infected, Em. He’s gone.”
Emily whimpered, then slumped, her head resting against the bars of the fence. She took shallow, shuddering breaths as her shoulders shook. Mario patted one, feeling completely inadequate to the task—and terrible for wanting to hurry her up—because they couldn’t be here long. She looked up at him, but her face was twisted with anger.
“I’m going to kill him, I swear to God,” she hissed. “Your fucking brother… I’ll fucking kill him.”
Mario’s eyes widened in surprise. The grief and sorrow he’d expected, but not anger.
“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking it off as she wiped her eyes. It was hard to tell in the weak moonlight, but Mario thought he saw a steely determination in their depths. “They’re going to execute Father Walter tomorrow.”
“What?”
“You have to let them know,” she said. “They have to get him out of there now.”
“Okay,” Mario said, his brain spinning like a top.
Brother Rupert and the others thought they had maybe a week, but they didn’t. Their plan to rescue Walter in three days would be too late.
“Are you sure you’re all okay?” Mario asked again. When she nodded, he said. “I’m coming back for you, all of you. I will get you out of here. And I’ll deal with Dominic.”
Emily smiled, and her face softened. “You think I don’t already know that? It never crossed my mind that you wouldn’t come for us if you knew what was going on. Though you could have picked a better night than Halloween.”
“Tell me about it… I didn’t realize.”
“How’s—” She paused, then said, sounding unsure, “You and Miri…you’re together again?”
Words failed him. What could he say in this moment, when every second he spent with Emily put her in danger? How could he answer her question and have it make any sense when he barely understood what had happened to them himself?
She must have taken his hesitation as reluctance to say something that might hurt her, for she added, “I’m happy for you, Mario. For both of you.”
He could tell she meant it, and it hurt—more than he could have ever imagined.
“We aren’t right for each other, Mar. I needed you at first, and I did fall in love with you. It didn’t start out that way and it didn’t last, but for a while…” She sighed. “Being with you made me think I couldn’t cope, that I was helpless, but I’m not. I realize that now, because I haven’t been allowed to be helpless since you left. I’ve had to get on with it, and I found out that I can.”
The lump in Mario’s throat made it hard to speak. “I can see that now, Em, how strong you are. I’m sorry for how it all happened, with me and Miranda. I never meant to hurt you, but I did.”
“There’s a lot to be sorry for, for both of us. I’m—” She stopped, and he could see the nervous energy in the tilt of her head, how she shifted her weight back and forth, the suddenly higher pitch of her voice. She bit her lip as she looked at him without seeing him, as if she was searching for the right word. “Ashamed, for using the boys the way I did.”
“What are you talking about?” He was genuinely confused, because Emily was a wonderful mother. She always had been.
Her mouth fell open. Haltingly, she said, “When I... took them out… Beyond the walls. When you said you were leaving me. I thought— Oh Jesus, Mario, I thought you figured it out. I didn’t want you to leave, and I knew we’d be spotted right away, and that you’d be there. I knew there weren’t any zombies nearby.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “When I think of how I could have been wrong…”
For a moment, her words didn’t make sense.
“Doug was right,” he said, so softly she didn’t hear him.
She hadn’t lost it or been pushed too far, not in the way he’d thought, anyway. She hadn’t cracked up or been out of her mind when she took the boys outside SCU’s walls all those years ago. It had been a thought-out, calculated decision. She had manipulated him, and he had fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.
She reached out and touched his cheek, but hesitantly, like he might shove her away.
“I’m so sorry.”
Mario had known Emily for eleven years, been married to her for most of them. Hell, he still was. He’d seen her at her best and her worst, made love to her with passion and tenderness, and sometimes, bitterness. Had a family with her, built a life together, yet he felt like he was seeing her—really seeing her for who she was, not the wounded person he’d thought of her as—for the very first time. He covered her hand with his own, a different kind of love for her swelling in his heart. One grounded in respect instead of rescue, in recognition instead of projection.
“Em, it doesn’t matter now.”
They looked at one another, an ending hovering between them that held the other with compassion.
“I should go,” Mario said, wiping away the tears that had sprung to his eyes. “Anthony said Dom gets back around nine. You’ve been here too long already.”
Emily laughed softly. “They haven’t even noticed I’m gone yet, trust me. I started a grease fire in the kitchen.”
“What?”
She began to laugh harder, yet still stayed quiet. “It’s okay, Mario. Really. The kids set up a tent in the yard. They’re in there stuffing their faces with candy. The fire wasn’t that bad, even if I did manage to accidentally spill flaming grease across the floor. I pretended to freak out and ran away screaming to look for the kids.”
“Oh my God,” Mario said, alarm giving way to amazement. “Who are you, and what have you done with my wife?”
Emily’s smile mirrored his own. She took his hands and gave them a squeeze. “I’ll keep the kids safe. Be careful, okay?”
“I will.”
He leaned toward her between the bars of the fence, then hesitated, but Emily met him halfway. Her lips on his were soft and familiar, but the kiss they shared was entirely new. It said all the things that he didn’t know how to put into words. That he wished he’d met this Emily first. That he was sorry for the pain he’d caused her, and grateful that she didn’t begrudge him the happiness he had found—however fleeting—with Miranda. That he’d loved her once, too, for a time…inconsistently, badly, in a way that had stunted her, though he’d never meant for that to happen. That he’d forgive any and everything she might have done, because that was what a man who had once loved and still respected his wife did. Not because he had to, but because it felt right, because she was the mother of his children and they would always share that bond. That he was grateful they’d reached this place of understanding, of compassion and care, for one another.
The kiss said goodbye to the life they had shared, imperfect as it was, but not to the family they would always be, even as their paths diverged. Mario was breathless, and a little dizzy, when the kiss ended, and surprised by the heat it sparked between them. They stood, foreheads touching.
“Be careful,” Emily whispered.
“Always,” he said. “Kiss the kids for me.”
She kissed him again, and he responded, wishing the fence wasn’t between them. He ached to hold her in his arms, feel the warmth of her body’s familiar contours against his own. They were both breathless when she disappeared through the hedge. Mario stood for a moment, the endings and beginnings of his life seeming to surround and hold him close, all of them at once. He let them swaddle him tight for a bittersweet moment, before they dissipated into the warm night air, and set him free.
He managed to not limp too much, keeping his pace steady. The trick-or-treating was over, thank God, but there was still the occasional person out. He’d already passed a woman on a run, and an older man walking a fluffy little dog at a brisk pace. Mario had adjusted his baseball cap as they passed one another, as if doffing his cap, while he shielded his face with his upraised arm.
He followed Waverly north as far as Kingsley. The wall was three blocks straight ahead, and the gate three blocks west. He turned the corner, his proximity to the wall so close it felt like a magnet pulling on him. Music blared from the house on the corner, laughing people in costumes visible in the brightly lit windows. Mario picked up the pace, anxious to reach the next block.
He crossed the street and could see the mouth of an alley halfway down the block. Then bright lights flared on his left. The squeal of tires, and the shrill squeak of brakes hit too hard shattered the quiet night. He was slammed from behind, his feet scooped out from under him. He tumbled over the warm hood of a car, then backflipped off it on the passenger side. His shoulder cracked against the pavement. Bright sparks he was pretty sure weren’t really there lit up his vision. Mario rolled onto his side, moaning. Pain flared in his lower back, where his Sig dug into his spine. Pain from his injured calf radiated through his toes and into his thigh. He pushed himself to sitting, trying to orient himself. The world seemed to be spinning around him.
A car door opened. “Are you okay?”
Mario barely heard the voice—a man’s voice. He had to get away, had to run. He couldn’t let the driver help him. Mario staggered to his feet and slowly, painfully, he started to walk away. He’d have run if he could.
“Wait up!”
Mario stumbled, but righted himself. His pulse pounded in his ears. He could hear the man’s footsteps behind him. He was going to be caught. After everything, he was going to be caught, and if that happened, he was dead.
He stumbled again. The dark alley was just ahead.
“Hey! Wait!”
Mario waved him off, “I’m okay,” he said, but his words sounded slurry.
A hand closed on his bicep. He tried to keep going but the man’s grip was strong.
“I didn’t see you. Your clothes are so dark.”
This close, the voice sounded familiar. The man got in front of him, still holding on to Mario’s arm. He was a little taller than Mario, with a heavier build, well dressed, and reeked of gin. Mario squinted at him, and shock cut through the muddle of his concussed brain. In an instant the world around him came into focus, the shadows sharply exaggerated.
It was Dominic.
Dominic’s face went slack, mouth falling open. Color drained from his face like he’d just seen a ghost. “Mario?”
Mario shoved, driving his shoulder into Dominic’s solar plexus, knocking him into the dark alley. Dominic staggered, pinwheeling his arms to keep his balance. Mario charged, fist leading the way for a Superman punch. He connected squarely with Dominic’s chin. Dominic teetered for a split second, then fell backward with an oof.
“You fucking piece of shit.”
Mario pulled the Sig from the waistband of his pants. Wrath flowed through his veins. His injured body felt numb, the pain distant. He approached his brother’s prone form like an avenging angel.
“Mario, thank God!” Dominic said, pulling himself to sitting.
Mario kicked him. The crack of ribs against his boot felt good. Dominic groaned, clutching his side.
“I know, you motherfucker. I know what you did.”
“Mar!” Dominic’s voice was high—panicked. “I don’t what you’re—”
Mario kicked him again, harder than before. He pressed the barrel of the gun against Dominic’s head, and he quit writhing. The only sound was the wheeze of his breath and the faint dinging from the car.
“You tried to kill Miranda.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She was pregnant. Did you know that? She was pregnant when you hatched your little scheme.”
“A baby?” He could hear the fear in Dominic’s voice, smell it pouring from his alcohol-soaked pores. “That’s great, Mar. Congratulations.”
Mario cocked the hammer of his gun. “If one more lie comes out of your mouth, I’ll blow your fucking head off.”
Dominic whimpered. It was a pathetic sound, like a scared puppy might make. From the street behind them, Mario heard voices. He looked up. People from the party were coming to see what had happened.
“I know everything. If it was just me,” he said. “But it wasn’t. You had to go after Miranda, too.”
His finger trembled on the trigger, itching to squeeze it.
“Is everything okay there?”
Mario glanced down the alley. A woman dressed as Cleopatra stood in the street, the gold cape affixed to the shoulders of her dress falling behind her and fluttering around her ankles. She squinted, her eyes bright against the heavy, black kohl encircling them. A guy dressed like a Viking was a few steps behind her. She’d asked if everything was okay, so she obviously couldn’t see them well enough to know Mario was holding a gun to Dominic’s head.
“Just trying to get this guy up,” Mario said. “He’s drunk.” Cleopatra took a step forward. “A little combative, though.”
She hesitated. “We heard the brakes, and I saw someone getting up from the ground.”
“That was me, but I’m fine. I fell getting out of the way. He came to see if I was okay, but started puking,” Mario said, trying to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal. “We’ve all had a few too many. No harm, no foul.”
The Viking arrived. “What’s going on?”
“He says the guy’s drunk,” she said to him. “But that he didn’t hit him like we thought.”
The Viking squinted down the alley at them. “Do you need help?”
“Thanks, but no. He just needs to sleep this off. I’ve already called security to drive him home.”
“Are you sure?” Cleopatra asked, her voice anxious.
“My dad was a drunk. I’ve been dealing with guys like this all my life.”
“Well,” she said uncertainly. “If you’re sure.”
“I’ll wait with you,” the Viking said.
“That’s so kind, but you really don’t need to,” Mario said, a calm in his voice that he did not feel infusing warmth into his words. “Your party’s been interrupted enough… I’m so sorry.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” he said.
“I’m sure. Security will get the car. They’re so on top of stuff like that.”
The Viking nodded, and Mario thought his shoulders relaxed. Only people who belonged here knew how efficient security was when it came to cleaning up messes.
“Let’s go, honey,” the Viking said. “If he’s already called security…”
Cleopatra hesitated for several seconds. “Well, okay. Come over for a drink, if you want. My name’s—”
“Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile,” Mario said, a smile in his voice.
She laughed. “Yeah. Have a good night.”
She turned away, taking the Viking’s hand, and they walked back to the house. For a few seconds, Mario thought they might change their minds and come back, but they didn’t.
Dominic must have been watching them, too. When he spoke, the pretense of surprise and concern was gone. “Just do it,” he said. “Just get it over with.”
Mario looked down at the dark form of his brother. He could feel Dominic trembling through the barrel of the gun pressed against his temple. His little brother, who had sided with the Council from the start, and used the worst calamity in human history to enrich himself. Dominic joked about shooting migrants, and toyed with the Dosers working as dishwashers at restaurants if he got a dirty knife, insisting the offender be brought to the dining room so they could grovel for his forgiveness. He was also the boy Mario had taught to ride a bike, who imitated the old German priest in their parish so well that Mario had laughed until he cried. Mario had taken beatings from their father to keep his little brother safe, and he’d repaid him, all these years later, by trying to kill the woman Mario loved.
His arm trembled as he curled his finger around the trigger. Just squeeze, he told himself… He tried to kill Miranda. Just do it.
Anger howled inside him like a cyclone, bludgeoning the inside of his skull, shoving and pushing, but not enough. The tension in his arm slackened, because he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t shoot his little brother.
“Get up.”
“What?”
“Get. Up.”
Dominic scrambled to his feet. He swayed a little, but given how he smelled, Mario was surprised he could stand upright. Mario gripped his brother’s arm with one hand and shoved the Sig into his side.
“We’re walking back to your car. You’ll get in the passenger seat. I’ll drive.”
“Where are we going?”
Mario gave him a shove. “Shut up.”
Mario’s mind raced as they walked down the alley, spinning out scenarios. The safest thing to do would be to kidnap Dominic, take his car, and leave, but that wasn’t what he was going to do.
He was going home, to get his family.