Page 89 of Marcello

I just stood there staring at the prisoner until Cesare thrust the gun at me insistently.

I took it from him. I had no choice.

I glanced back at Cicciobello.

The fat man’s grin faded, and he gave me a face like, What are you fucking around for? DO it!

I looked at Cesare –

Whose dead-eyed stare was starting to smolder with anger.

“Did you hear me?” he asked in a low, dangerous voice.

I looked at the Cosa Nostra as he dangled from the meat hook.

He was completely helpless. No threat at all.

The man slowly lifted his head and looked at me through a haze of agony.

I stared back at him –

And raised the gun.

This is the part of the movie where the hero damns himself to hell.

BLAM!

The guy’s head snapped back –

And then fell forward onto his chest as a steady stream of blood drizzled from his forehead.

Cesare clapped a hand on my back – the proud older brother once again.

I just stared at the dead man through the smoke curling from the barrel of the gun.

Though my ears were ringing from the gunshot, I could hear the other guys as they whooped and hollered.

“Alright!” Ciro said with an approving laugh. “Romeo popped his cherry!”

“Naaah,” Cesare said, ruffling my hair, “he did that last week.”

“That was his anal cherry,” Cicciobello joked, and every guy in the room burst into raucous laughter –

Except me.

My hand trembled as I lowered the gun to my side.

But I didn’t puke…

And I didn’t cry.

I saved that for later, when I was all alone.

28

Cesare ordered the meat-packing workers to get rid of the body (God only knows what they did with it). The rest of us left for a bar.

I sat there in stunned silence, downing shot after shot, as the other guys laughed and told stories about their first kills.