bullet wound in her calf. She looks strangely at me, then at her father.
That’s when I realize that Fergal died at some point during the shooting. I lay his corpse down and roar around the edge of the barricade, “One of your Irish fucks tries to sneak up on us and I’ll kill your fucking boss! My men are coming for you! The best thing you can do now is run!”
I collapse against the metal of the industrial equipment as I try to move toward Hazel. Benjamin is propped up against it already, his chest inflating and deflating rapidly. He’s been hit in the neck and the chest.
I struggle to my feet and pull Hazel’s gag free, and then look around for a blade. I left mine out there.
“My … pocket …” Benjamin croaks. He taps it weakly. “This one.”
“Why did you do that?” I whisper, taking it one-handed, using the other to aim the gun. Any second now, the Irish could come running around the edge of the cover. How many rounds do I have left? An Eagle holds seven. How many did I fire out there? I’m not even sure.
“She’s my sister.” He smiles sadly. “I forgive you, Carlo … for what you did, I mean … you thought I was … maybe I am … I’m not right in the head … never have been ...”
I cut Hazel free just as my legs give out from underneath me. She hobbles to her feet, catching me, lowering me against the cover and taking the pistol from my hand. I shake my head, trying to tell her that the recoil will blow her arm from the socket, that she needs to sit down, she needs to rest. She’s bleeding. She’s been shot. She needs to protect our baby.
But my eyelids are getting heavy. For a second, I think I’m in the pond; everything feels liquid and insubstantial. But it’s just my blood coursing from the wounds. I need to sleep. I can’t keep fighting anymore.
“Hazel,” I whisper. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. I loved you the first time I laid my eyes on you.”
“Liar,” she teases with a shaky smile, and then winces as she falls to one knee, her leg giving out. But even that she does gracefully. It’s a flesh wound. She knows to keep her weight off it. She’s smarter than I’ve ever given her credit for. “Don’t talk like that. We’re getting out of this alive. I can hear your cavalry. Keep your eyes open. You too, Benjy.”
She doesn’t look at her father’s corpse. The shooting continues. I hear Italians yelling, and then the Irish. More bullets crack the air around us.
“All my life I wanted to feel something,” Benjamin says, oddly lucid now. “Something real. I never did. But now I do. I feel proud. Proud that you found somebody to love, sis. Proud that you’re happy. Proud that …”
And just like that, he’s gone. That’s how a man dies. Speaking one second and choking on his own blood the next. His head slumps and his chin rests on his chest.
“Benjy?” Hazel murmurs uneasily. “Benjy, wake up!”
I want to tell her it’s no use. He’s gone. But then I can’t talk anymore, either. A blank curtain falls down over this world.
When I open my eyes, I’m in a kitchen and there’s the smell of vanilla in the air. Hazel is humming something, shimmying from side to side. Each time she does it, I catch a glimpse of her pregnant belly, bulging the apron.
I sneak up behind her and kiss her neck softly, and then rest my chin on her shoulder.
“Promise you’ll never leave me,” she whispers.
“I promise,” I sigh.
And then that, too, dissolves, and I’m left with nothing but oceans and oceans of darkness.
I wake up what feels like minutes later, but must only be seconds. People are yelling on the other side of the warehouse and Hazel has leaned down to shake me.
“I promise,” I mumble, but it sounds like somebody else.
“You don’t get to die on me,” she hisses. “Do you understand? Not now, not ever. I love you. We’re going to get through this and raise this baby together. We’re going to teach it how to paint and cook and run and be strong like its father. You’re going to teach our child respect and honor and all that Family stuff you’re always blabbing about. Okay? Do you understand me? You don’t get to die.”