Eight.
A few agonising weeks later.....
BAAAANNNGG!!!!
The furious crackling sound rips through the room, and I watch as the man who stood before me, pleading for mercy on his soul, collapses to the ground.
The office doors burst open, men flood in one by one, angry expressions marring their features. When I turn to face them, the gun I'm holding slips from my grasp due to my trembling fingers, landing with an echoing thud on the floorboards.
I raise my hands, covering my mouth as I try to muffle my cries of shock, and I turn back around to face the poor man I've just killed.
His lifeless blue eyes peering back at me, his face contorted with a pleading expression and blood pooling around his head.
My heinous crime is on full display in front of Trent's army of goons.
"I...I..I. you." I stammer, my eyes overflowing with tears as I look at Trent.
"Indeed, Mila, the gun was loaded, and you have just assassinated the Irish leaders, son." He says with a proud smile that pervades his face.
"But, why?" I sob as I look at him through hate-filled eyes. "You stated that there were no bullets and that you would not force me to kill a man." I lunge at him, my closed fists pounding against his chest, and I instantly wish they were armed with daggers.
"And you believed what I said?" He titters at my gullibility, chuckling. "Never trust a man like myself; I will ruin you in an instant for my own amusement." He sighs, his hands clasping my wrists, restraining my abusive outburst towards him.
"As I previously stated, you are my property, and I reserve the right to do with you as I please." He hisses in my ear. "You will always belong to the Mafia, your crimes will forever bind you to us for the rest of your life," he says with amusement.
I take a step back from him, yanking my hands-free from his embrace, and pick up the gun again, cocking it back and aiming it directly at his head.
Attempting a bullseye shot..
"Signore, padrone, capo..." (Sir, Master, Boss...) Those are some of the utterances his army of goons use to address him as they draw their weapons and point them at me.
"I'd rather die, you slimy piece of shit!" I cry out, shifting my arm and pointing the gun at my temple with a finger resting on the trigger.
"Mila!!" Ace shouts, his words encased with distress as he pushes through Trent's goons. "You don't want to do this, you cant, I won't let you." I watch him shaking his head in the corner of my eye as he carefully approaches me.
"I despise being here; I loathe belonging to anyone, least of all the fucking Mafia!" I sob uncontrollably, shaking my head as my gaze darts between Trent's arrogant face and the Irish leaders' son.
"Pull the trigger, Mila." Trent entices me with the rubbing of his hands.
I close my eyes, utter a final prayer, and pull the trigger.
Nothing,
I was faced with the sickeningly silent sound of the empty clip clicking. Trent's savage laughter punctures my ears. "You foolish bitch..." His statement tinged with levity. "There was only one bullet, do you honestly think I'm stupid enough to hand you a fully loaded weapon?" He sighs as he continues to laugh.
I open my eyes and throw the useless weapon at him, watching as it slams into his chest, arousing a twisted snarl from his lips. Before I can anticipate his next move, his hands wrap around my throat. My feet shuffle around the wooden floorboards as he drives me backwards and pins me against the nearest wall.
"That," he sneers in my face, his spit splattering across my skin as I close my eyes. "Non è stato molto carino." (Wasn't very nice.) His grasp around my neck tightens.
"Fuckk you," I say vehemently.
" Fuck me, eh?" He lifts his arm, hoisting me off the ground, my feet hang mid-air, and I gradually sense my face reddening as pressure develops around my temples.
"Trent," Ace warns in a low tone. "Kindly refrain from killing her." He begs, completely surprising me.
Trent drops me, and I slide to the ground like a sack of potatoes, gasping for oxygen and clawing at my neck with my hands. I watch with wide eyes as Trent reaches behind him and pulls out another gun, which he then points at Ace.
"Do you think I take orders from you?" He says, gritting his teeth and cocking the gun with his thumb.
"No, sir. I beg your pardon," he says as his eyes fall on mine. "I'm not sure what I was thinking," His voice was barely audible above a whisper.
'You're a fucking pussy!' In anguish, my inner Goddess shouts. 'Shoot the impotent scumbag!!!' She sneers darkly, and I make no attempt to contain her sudden outburst.
"No, that is your issue though, isn't it, Ace?" Trent says as he taps the gun against Aces' temple. "You crumble like a sour apple pie whenever your bitch is involved." He sighs and his gaze darts between me and Ace. "Here," Trent grounds out, extending his wrist, implying that he takes his gun from his offering hand.
"Wh...what are you intending for me to do with that?" Ace asks like a dumb fuck with eyes the size of saucers.
"Take it!" Trent demands as he thrusts the gun towards Ace.
Ace snatches it away from him, his gaze probing the weapon as if it were attempting to communicate with him.
"Sparale" (Shoot her,) Trent says with excitement, looking back at his army of goons.
Ace's head snaps up, a whimper escapes my lips, my prayers have finally been heard and I use the wall to assist myself in rising to my feet.
"D.. Do you want me to sparale?" (shoot her?) He gulps.
"Si, assassinate her."
I smile as Ace raises and points the gun at me, his finger resting on the trigger. "Dove?"( Where?) He asks.
"Shoot wherever you wish, Ace." Trent smiles at me and claps his hand against Aces' back, which causes Ace to stumble forward and the gun to fire...
