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Leo ties a blindfold over the man’s eyes as he spits and curses.
I take out the pistol.
“It’s our tradition, that closest kin is given the right to execute those that murdered a loved one—in your case, the family has decided that this right falls to you.”
“If you want it,” Marcel interjects, swiftly. “It’s a choice, and not one you have to make.
You don’t have to be here. He’ll still be dealt with. We’ll make sure Vinny gets justice—”
“I want to do it.”
The words are barely a whisper. She swallows around the raspiness in her voice, saying clearer, “I want to do it.”
If there were any warmth at all left in the room, it leaves with those words. Marcel looks stunned, as if he must have misheard somehow.
“Have you ever shot a gun before?” I ask.
The girl shakes her head.
“You have the right to appoint an executioner—”
“No,” she says, her voice deeper, emptier than I’ve ever heard it, but desperately urgent.
“I want to do it.”
“Ava,” Marcel begs, falling to his knees in front of her. “Let me. Let me do this for you.”
She ignores him as though he isn’t even speaking. As I load the gun, Marcel staggers to his feet and rounds on me.
“Sal,” he says, his hand on my arm. Reality is soaking in quick. When I discussed this with him, neither of us thought Ava would want to pull the trigger. Not the Ava we knew. “Don’t let her do this. As your brother, I am begging you. She doesn’t know what she’s saying—”
“It’s her right, Marcel,” I tell him. I can’t deny her this. If it helps—if anything helps, then it’s my obligation to give it to her.
“She’s not even part of this family!” he yells.
“I would have been,” Ava whispers.
She holds out her hand for the pistol. Marcel steps in between us.
“Sal,” he says again.
I see the shock in his eyes. The disbelief. Marcel and I have done a lot for each other.
Looked the other way on traditions and rules, put our trust in the bond we share. I swore to him that I would help him protect Ava, and through the years, I’ve honored that. I still am. In anything else, maybe I could compromise for him. But not this.
“Stand aside, Marcel.”
“As if you haven’t killed anyone,” Ava says softly to his back.
“For you!” He yells at her. “I did it for you!”
I try to pull him back. He pushes away from us both, drawing his gun on the man on his knees. Leo springs forward and grabs Marcel’s arm before he can take aim. The shot strays. The bullet buries itself in the stone walls, inches away from the man. The prisoner’s stony resolve breaks, a terrified and furious yell ripping from his lips as death circles so close, unseen, but heard all around him. Sweat pours down his face, trying as he might to keep his composure in those final moments.
“Just fucking do it!” He roars.
The gun hits the ground as we wrestle Marcel away.
I shove him back. “Either you can be in here, with her, or you can be outside!”
