Cosa Nostra

Chapter Five - Angelo's Humble Abode

My mother and father sat before me, arms crossed onto the table. They stared at me unblinking, a lazy smile playing on their lips, their posture relaxed. However, my shoulders were tensed, my posture stiff, and I couldn't figure out why. I took a quick glance of my surroundings, we were in a restaurant, but we were the only ones in there. I began to stroke the white table cloth that covered the table, my fingers finding the very edge of it, and kept twisting the lace border around them. I gave them a quick, forced smile, before turning my gaze onto the table.

Food, that wasn't there before, covered every single inch of it. Wine glasses filled with red wine sat on our right. My parents move their arms onto their laps. My father slowly reached for a spoon and dunked into the soup. The same soup that all of us had.

I stared down at it, squinting suspiciously. "What is this stuff?" I didn't bother to look up.

"Stracciatella." The voice was gruff, and deep, and all to familiar. I practically snapped my neck to look up, and there sat Angelo in what was once my father's place. "It's soup containing eggs and cheese." He took a slow swig of the red wine.

"You should try some," came another deep voice, but this one more melodic. Vince sat where my mother used to, and leaned forward. "I didn't poison it."

My heart was hammering, my eyes constantly switching between Vince and Angelo, not knowing on who was the biggest threat.

"Where are my parents?" It was a whisper full of desperation.

"Gone." It was all Angelo said, but it was such a vague answer. Were they gone as in dead? Or were they gone as in they went outside but will be back in a few minutes?

Before I could ask Angelo to clarify on what exactly he meant, a waiter appeared carrying a dish that was covered in his left hand, offering it to me. I looked up and a scar was displayed on his right cheek. I sucked in a breath. I knew that scar.

"Are you ready for the main dish?" Antonio asked, a wicked smile carved into his face.

I looked down at the table, ready to point out that we already had food, to only see that the table was empty. Antonio set the dish down, and lifted the lid. In the middle of the plate sat a gun.

Antonio looked at me. "You only have one shot, bambina, make it count." He waved his arm to where Vince and Angelo use to sit, but my parents were there again. This time, however, their hands were tied behind them, their bodies covered in bruises, and scrapes. A gag was in their mouths, but it did nothing to stop them from whimpering. Fear was etched into their eyes, and I was sure horror was etched into mine. I had to kill one of my parents.

Antonio pushed the plate closer toward me, urging me to take the gun. Something dark settled beneath my skin, and I leaned forward, and grabbed the gun.

I shifted my gaze between my parents, analyzing on which one deserved to die. Should it be my father who constantly pushed my to do my best? Or should it be my mother who always nurtured me? An answer came crawling into my mind.

I pointed the gun at my mother, who let out a horrified muffled scream. My father looked at me, then at the gun, to my mother, and then back to me. I smiled at him before pulling the trigger. Killing my mother had the same effect of killing my father. Kill one, you kill them both. It's like killing two birds with one stone.

In the end, it didn't matter that I only had one bullet.

A hand clasped my shoulder, and laughter erupted behind me. Angelo was the one with his hand on my shoulder, looking at the bullet hole gaping from my mother's forehead, Vince was the one laughing, and starring me silently, Antonio sent me a wink.