147.1
“What is he going to do?” he demands, almost leaning over the wheel. The speedometer reads eighty–five but the needle keeps drifting toward minety. Of all the times for there to be no cops on the road, why is there no one out here to help us?
The question is still running through my head when the pursuer veers to the left, then starts inching closer like he wants to come up alongside us. “Dad, he’s coming!”
“I see that. Hold on.‘
>>
Meanwhile the phone continues ringing, and ringing, and all it does is remind me of who’s waiting at home. How will he ever get over this? He will never stop blaming himself. If I could only reach the phone, but every time the car swerves from one side to the other my cell slides along the back seat.
I glance over my shoulder and now that the lights aren’t directly behind us, I can see inside the other vehicle. It doesn’t surprise me to find Donovan Moroni behind the wheel, and it looks like he’s laughing. I could be imagining that, but I don’t think so. I know he’s crazy and that’s exactly what he would do.
He takes his eyes off the road for a second, no more than that, and our gazes lock. He sees me and he knows I see him. All it takes is the slightest turn of the wheel to bump us, hard enough that we skid off the road.
“Motherfucker!” Dad shouts while I scream, bracing myself as the car speeds toward the woods alongside the road.
Everything goes through my head at once: Gianni, Tatiana, the ultrasound, Mom and Dad, Mom’s funeral, even Luciano. The good mixes with the bad, all of it overlapping in the short time it takes us to tear through the overgrown brush bordering the tree line while Dad slams on the brakes.
Then it’s all over. The car crashes into a tree, the impact stopping us in an instant. At first I’m stunned when the airbag hits my face and chest, but I shake it off, pushing the deflating bag away and looking into the passenger side mirror once it’s visible. He’s not back there–the road is quiet. I doubt he could come to a dead stop all at once, as fast as he was going, but he’s coming. I know it deep down in my gut.
“Dad. Are you okay? Oh, my God.” My heart’s still pounding when I turn to him. It feels like I’m moving in slow motion as I clear the deflating airbag away and find him knocked out cold. “No, no, Dad. Wake up. Come on, wake up!” I don’t want to shake him too hard, though, since I don’t know if he’s injured. All I know is he’s slumped over the wheel, but when I hold my hand up close to his face, I feel his breath on the backs of my fingers.
I unbuckle my belt and turn in the seat, scanning the area through the rear window. There’s smoke rising up from the front of the car.What should I do?
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Should I try to get him out in case there’s a fire? don’t know if the smoke means something’s already burning. I’m not sure I could move him of whether I should even try. I don’t know anything.
One thing I can do is finally reach the phone. Once I have it in my hand, I decide to dial 911. Until it occurs to me I have no idea where we are, exactly. I wasn’t paying attention to the mile markers and I don’t know the number of the exit we were approaching. But none of that matters, not when Dad needs help.
My eyes flick up to the road, searching for some kind of landmark, and land on a car as it backs its way down the shoulder of the road. A car with damage to its front passenger side. A car that comes to a rolling stop.
“Oh, god!” I drop the phone from my shaking hands and reach for Dad. “Dad! Please, wake up! Help me!”
It’s no use. I might as well be alone, and again, I can’t help the thoughts of Mom that flood my mind as the car door opens, then slams shut.
He’s coming for us. He’s going to kill us…
All at once, a sense of calm washes over me. Everything comes into sharp focus. It could be the sight of Donovan sauntering around the car, his silhouette lit by his headlights, before he begins strolling across the soft ground torn up by speeding tires. He acts like he’s on a leisurely walk.
Mom might have been alone and defenseless, but I’m not, because driving isn’t the only thing Dad taught me how to do. Twisting around, I open the glove box, where the gun he told Gianni about sits. There’s a round in the chamber when check.
Please, Mom. If you’re there, if you can help, I need you.
“Anybody alive in there?” he taunts, laughing like the maniac he is.
Any lingering nerves or questions about whether this is the right thing to do vanish when I hear that menacing laugh.He wants to kill me. My father. My baby. No fucking way. If it’s a choice between my life and his, I’m choosing me. My first instinct is to jump out of the car and start firing but I have to be smart about this. The element of surprise is what’s going to give me a leg up.
I open the door a little, then keep my right arm pressed to my stomach with the gun tucked under my left. “Please… Don’t do this…” I moan ke I’m injured. I raise my right foot and step out, planting it firmly on the ground. “Please, Donovan. I think he’s dead.”
“Boo–fucking–hoo,” he retorts. “That’s the entire point. If you get out of the car like a good girl and don’t fight, I won’t have to hurt you. But if you pull the shit you did back at the basement compound with that knife, I can’t make any promises.”
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“I’m coming. Just, please, don’t hurt me.” I climb out slowly, my body hunched over and my once racing heart now beating normally. There’s no fear. No doubt. Only the certainty of what needs to be done. He must die.
“Look at you. Not so brave now, are you? No knife for you to pull on me, huh?”
“You knew this is what would happen, didn’t you? It was your plan all along.” I don’t know why I ask the question. It’s not going to change anything but it will confirm how fucked up he is, and give me another reason to blow him away
“Your precious Gianni likes to play dirty. Well, we can play dirty, too. My father told me what he would do, because he’s so fucking predictable. Create a distraction, a way to split everyone up. It’s the oldest trick in the book, and he ate that shit right out of my hand. All he cared about was getting his precious Caterina out of harm’s way. Funny enough, he sent you right into it. It’s a shame he won’t get a second chance at being a father.”
I turn to him slowly, ensuring he’s close enough for a clean shot. The last thing I want is for the bullet to miss him. I don’t know if I’ll get another chance. Straightening my spine, Nift the gun and point it directly at his chest. I don’t say a word. I only take a moment to savor the smug expression he wears.
“What do you think you’re going to do with that?” he laughs.
“I’m going to make certain you never fuck with me or my family again. I’m going to end your life.” Everything happens in slow motion. The look of shock on his face, the step he takes towards me, his body hunching over and reaching for the gun. I release all the air in my lungs and squeeze the trigger.
My fingers squeeze the trigger and the smell of gunpowder fills my nostrils. The bullet zips through the air, hitting its mark. The center of his chest. He stumbles back with a strangled cry before landing on his ass. “My father will kill you for this. You’re all dead.” He scrambles backwards on his hands, while I slowly advance on him.
What kind of person does it make me to be able to watch him die? To see the light slowly seep
out of him.
He gasps, flopping around on the ground like a fish out of water. I wonder how he likes it? Drowning on his own blood. What a shame his death couldn’t be more drawn out.
We’ve taken too many chances with these monsters. We’ve left them too much room to come back at us again and again. I’m not doing that anymore. And that thought is what has me taking aim a second time. My story won’t end the way my mother’s did. I pull the trigger, my mind numb and my sole focus on my target. Another bullet lodges itself in his chest and I look from his face to the advancing headlights that sweep across my body.
Relief washes over me as I watch him take his final breath. Dead. He’ll never hurt anyone I love again.I raise my left arm to shield my eyes, and all at once, reality comes rushing back.
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I killed a man. I killed him.
What if I can’t prove it was self–defense?
“Caterina!” I’ve never heard anything sweeter than the sound of Gianni’s voice calling my name. He stops the car and flings the door open,unning to me with his arms outstretched. When I’m finally wrapped in his embrace, I melt against him and let everything else fade away. I killed someone. I should feel shame, or guilt, but neither of those emotions come.
All I feel is relieved.
“He’s dead,” I whisper, almost in disbelief. “He’s dead and I killed him. I killed him. He’s dead.” My teeth chatter and suddenly I’m so damn cold.
“Shh, little bird. I know. It’s okay. You did what you needed to do. You protected yourself.”
“…Caterina?” Dad’s voice–soft, groggy–sounds from inside the car. He’s alive. He’ll be okay.
I’m so thankful he’s alive. We both made it. My knees buckle and I end up on the ground, sobbing while Gianni holds me.
Everything’s going to be okay. I just know it.
4/4
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
