Dominic #2
“You’ll never have to count again,” I promise.
She nods, a soft breath escaping my lips as she presses hers against the back of my hand. She’s a child. It’s an innocent kiss, but we both still because that feeling from earlier is back. That gut feeling that something bad is about to happen. It’s thick and heavy in the air.
“Are you God?” she asks quietly.
I could tell her yes. Maybe it would give her some peace when I do what I’m about to do. But even I can’t lie to her like that. So, I tell her the only truth I can. Words that became her truth the moment her last name crossed my lips.
I offer a regretful smile. “No. I’m the Angel of Death.”
She gasps and, damn it, there’s hope in her eyes. “Will you make me an angel, too, so I can fly away?”
“No. Not today, little one.”
Her eyes glisten with tears. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear they look like tears of relief.
That can’t be true. I just told her I was the Angel of Death. “Don’t cry,” I tell her.
She stiffens. “I don’t cry. Mama says tears are a tool not a weakness.” Clearing her throat, she remains quiet until she’s forced the last of the water from her eyes. Flicking her gaze back up, she stares at me as if mesmerized. “Your eyes are frozen.”
“When you have a cold heart, your eyes turn to ice.” Better she doesn’t think of me as a savior. I’ve found fear is a better motivator than comfort.
We need to get out of here. I have no doubt the police are on the way. There might not have been an alarm, but the servants’ quarters aren’t far away. Six gunshots could wake the dead.
“What’s your name, little one?”
“Alexandra.”
“Well, Alexandra, I’m going to find your mom, and then we’re going to take a trip, okay?” I don’t elaborate. She doesn’t need to know it’s just going to be the two of us. At the end of the day, I still work for Luciano, and the contract was for Nicholas and Katerina.
Like I said, I don’t kill kids.
She just turns and stares at the door. “It smells like pennies.”
It takes me a moment to understand what she’s talking about.
Pennies. Copper. Blood.
In a little girl’s mind, blood smells like pennies.
“Did you see the pennies?”
She nods. “I was scared. I wanted my papa.”
Fuck. She watched Joey gun down her whole family. “Alexandra, I—”
She has that damn look in her eyes again. The one where she stares at me like I’m some kind of god. “Am I going to smell like pennies, too?”
Jesus, this kid is killing me. “No,” I tell her. “Never.”
Those sad eyes seek mine as she holds up her pinkie finger. “Pinkie swear?”
I’ve never pinkie sworn in my life, but if it makes her feel better, why the hell not?
“Pinkie swear,” I say, wrapping my much larger finger around her tiny one.
I let a silent pause hang before breaking the moment.
“Can you stay here for me while I go find your mom?” When she nods, I add, “Good girl. I’ll be right back. ”
Unable to take my eyes off her, I back toward the door. It’s ridiculous, but it feels like as soon as I do, she’s going to vanish into thin air. Maybe she feels the same because she takes in every move I make, watching from her hiding place in between the dresser and her bed.
There’s a fraction of a second when I see her eyes widen before the door flies open behind me, slamming me in the back of the head and jolting me forward. The impact is so sudden, it knocks me to the ground, sending my gun flying out of my hand and skidding across the floor.
Right at Alexandra’s feet.
“Alexandra!”
I turn to find Katerina Romanov standing in the doorway, blood splattered across her white nightgown. She’s a grownup version of Alexandra. Long, dark hair and piercing green eyes. Only there’s a hard edge to this woman.
“Pick up the gun, zvyozdochka! That’s right! Hold it in your hands.”
“Alexandra!” I coax, using the calmest voice I can right now because I know where this is going. This bitch is about to tell her kid to shoot me. “No more counting; remember? No pennies. Just give me the gun. You don’t want that, little one.”
“Alexandra! Shoot him!” Out of the corner of my eye, I see her fling a diamond encrusted finger toward me. “He killed your sisters! Your brother! Your father! Kill him! Kill him now or their blood is on your hands!”
Fuck, even I flinch at that one.
“I did not!” I don’t dare advance toward the little girl. Instead, I try and seek out that connection we just shared, speaking in words she understands to counteract the bullshit her mother is spewing. “Alexandra, I didn’t touch them. I hurt the bad man who made you smell pennies.”
“Pennies?” Katerina screeches. “What the hell are you saying? Shoot him!”
There’s no emotion on Alexandra’s face. No tears, no fear, just stone silence. Her hands aren’t shaking anymore as they wrap clumsily around the grip, her finger curling around the trigger.
I can’t hear anything. My pulse is thundering too loud in my ears.
Then, as if in slow motion, this tortured child who is scared of six, thinks blood smells like pennies, and believes tears are for the weak, turns the gun on her own mother and pulls the trigger.