August 22, 1944

Manny Baldelli’s snores could wake the dead.

I don’t know how his wife sleeps next to him, but she lies just as still as he does.

Wouldn’t surprise me if she’s merely a corpse he keeps next to him. He’s always been off his rocker, and it’s not something I’d put past him.

The bedroom they’re staying in is on the bottom floor, with one wall entirely a window, giving me a perfect shot of him. He and his wife, Carmen, sleep on a four-poster bed, Manny closest to the window and his wife barely visible behind his large body.

Normally, a wanted man would never think to leave himself so exposed. But Manny has always had more ego than brains, and he believes he’s in a hidden location surrounded by several guards, which gives him a false sense of security.

Unfortunately for him, those guards are all dead.

I took out each one quietly when the others were out of view. A simple rope around the neck prevented them from making any noise while I choked the life out of them.

A mere appetizer to the entrée.

There’s a buzz beneath my skin, demanding more blood on my hands. More souls to release into the ether. Nothing will satisfy me more than watching the life drain from Manny Baldelli’s eyes.

My tommy gun is strapped on my back, so I quietly remove it and take aim, uncaring if I hit the possibly alive wife or not. She’s collateral damage and nothing more.

And then I unload, the unmistakable sound of dozens of bullets firing through glass, shattering it and startling Manny and his wife awake, their eyes nearly popping from their skulls.

The two of them roll toward the other side of the bed and out of shot, though I don’t let up on spraying metal, even as I kick at broken glass, making enough room in the window for me to step through.

Just as I enter the room, the magazine runs empty. Instantly, I slip the tommy gun to my back and pull out my pistol, taking aim just as Manny jumps to his feet, his own gun aimed my way.

Glass shards catch on my clothing, a few pieces slicing through flesh. But I hardly feel it.

I’m quicker and shoot the second he’s within sight.

My bullet hits him directly in the chest, though he manages to squeeze off a shot of his own that comes within millimeters of my face.

I don’t even blink.

The following silence is almost deafening save for Carmen’s soft cries. I’m unable to discern if they’re from pain or terror or maybe both, but she is the least of my concerns.

Carefully, I approach them. Many have gotten themselves killed thinking they completed a hit, only for their target to still have enough breath to fire off one last fatal shot, determined not to meet hell’s gates alone.

Manny lies on his back, his eyes closed and chest unmoving while Carmen cradles his head in her lap. Her response to my presence is delayed, but the moment she notices me, she curls herself over him, renewed cries spilling from her lips. She doesn’t appear to be hit anywhere, though I can’t say I would consider her lucky.

“Please,” she whimpers.

I raise my gun and fire off another shot in Manny’s chest. His body automatically jerks as the bullet sluices through his muscles and organs, and it evokes a sharp scream from Carmen’s throat. Her trembling hands cover her ears, and she begins to rock back and forth, her husband’s head still cradled in her lap.

Carmen Baldelli is no saint.

She’s known for beating her staff to death over simple mistakes, and the ones she doesn’t kill, she makes them wish she had.

Carmen has enough innocent blood on her hands to warrant a single bullet through the brain.

So that’s what I give her.

Her cries silence, and so does the buzz beneath my skin as I finish taking lives for the night.

I roll my neck, releasing the tension that has gathered in my muscles since the moment I left Angelo’s estate.

Then I slide my gun into the back of my trousers and head back out of the broken window, feeling lighter than I’ve felt in months.

Tucking my hands in my pockets, I whistle a Frank Sinatra tune as I stroll toward my car, thinking of nothing more than seeing Genevieve Parsons again.

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