Page 37 of Ribbons and Roses
Marcel holds back for another second, still stubborn and prideful. When he speaks, his tone is listless and almost robotic.
“You promised to wipe out my debt so long as I did what you said. I accepted my sister’s invite for the Christmas getaway and then tried to get revenge on Salvatore.”
“Marcel,” sighs Ernest. “How could you do this to us?”
“What do you mean how could I?” Marcel snaps suddenly. The first real sign of emotion curls onto his face, forming a scowl. “You’ve gone off and made your own family without me! Remember when you swore you’d never accept Mancino, Dad? Remember when you were convinced he was bad for Delphine? I go away for a couple years and come back to you acting like the Brady fucking Bunch!”
Ernest stares at his son like he’s never seen him before. “Son, you… you’ve always been a part of that family. You chose to move overseas for your career. We’ve always missed you?—”
“Missed me so much you forgot about me! You moved on once Mom passed away and went back on everything you ever said about Mancino!”
“It tookyearsfor Salvatore and I to find common ground,” Ernest replies. “You know that. You know it wasn’t something overnight. I realized it was wrong to let hate cloud what was your sister’s happy marriage.”
As the two bicker, I’m more concerned with finding an out for this situation. Stitches is on the same wavelength as me. Our gazes meet and I give him a nod. We both understand that we’re going to have to make a move if we’re ever going to be able to get out of this in one piece.
It actually works to our advantage that Ernest and Marcel are arguing. Paulio stands between them cackling and demanding that Marcel tell his father all the grimy details of what he’s done.
Stitches makes the first move. “Hey,” he says to the henchman closest to him. “I really can’t see. Can’t I at least grab my spare glasses in my pocket and put those on?”
“What do you think this is?” he sneers, taking a few steps closer. He kneels in front of Stitches. “We don’t give a fuck if you can’t see. Sounds like a you problem.”
“Is it a me problem?” Stitches asks. “Or is it really your problem?”
He snatches a piece of glass from his broken glasses and then rams it into the guy’s jugular before he can ever react. Several of the henchmen turn their heads in alarm at the blood spurting out of the guy’s neck.
I use the split second to my advantage. I leap to my feet and grapple for the gun on the soldier nearest me. He’s in such shock that all it takes is an elbow to his gut and I’m ripping the Glock from his grip.
Without waiting for any of them to finish reacting, my fingers squeeze the trigger. One, two, three of them drop dead.
Paulio aims for me at the same time I aim for him. We’re at a standstill with our fingers hovering ominously over the triggers and nothing stopping either of us from going for it.
“You motherfucker,” he spits. “You think I won’t still shoot you dead? You think I won’t still?—”
“GO!” Marcel yells. “DO IT!”
He launches himself at Paulio, the two lurching several feet in the snow. Paulio’s gun goes off with a resounding bang. The others and I rush toward the two of them, me with my gun ready to fire as soon as I’ve got a clear shot of him.
“Son!” Ernest yells.
Marcel rolls off Paulio as blood stains the snow.
But it’s not Paulio’s blood. It’s Marcel’s.
I point my gun at Paulio’s face and end him with a single bullet. Stitches and Ernest have crowded around Marcel in a panic as they try to put pressure on his gunshot wound from Paulio.
“I’ve treated gunshot wounds before,” Stitches says. “We need to apply as much pressure as we can and seal the wound with dressing if possible.”
“My jacket,” Ernest says hurriedly, ripping it off. His other hand shakes as he dials 911. “Hang on, son. We’re going to get you help. Keep your eyes open.”
I’m standing over the three when the next two gunshots ring out. But it’s not from any of us in the middle of the woods. The sound’s coming from the house.
Delphine and the kids.
I break into a sprint with no hesitation.
My legs pump so fast that I make quick work of the snowy landscape, zipping by trees and emerging from the woods. The house is in the near distance, the curl of smoke from the chimney rising into the cold air.
“Phi!” I yell, charging for the door.