The Red Dot

Candice's P.O.V.

The red dot of the laser was floating upon my chest as cold and unfeeling as it could be, cutting through the night air between me and the rifle of the sheriff; time was stinging thin and brittle, with every heartbeat, at my ribs, almost breaking. Mantovani stood motionless three feet away, his gun still in hand, but useless, his face naked and stripped of all his masks he had ever worn, the president, the heir, the monster, and just the naked frightened man who loved me, his green eyes wide with a fear I had never seen in the eyes of a man before, that same eyes which had looked out upon me with hunger, with tenderness, with promises of eternity, now stared at the death which he could not prevent. His finger tightened on the trigger even more, the metallic strip flashed on the floodlights of the estate, and I could well hear the clockwork going off in slow motion, the noise of all our struggle being over in a muted crackle.

Don't, Mantovani said once more, voice breaking the word, raw and desperate as it was, ripping something inside me; he used to drop his gun slowly, deliberately, falling with a soft crash to the grass with a gentle thud, hands coming up without a gun, palms open. "Take me. Use me. The empire, the money, the name--what you please. Only not hers. The rise and fall of his chest was quick, the bulletproof suit gleaming through his torn shirt, of no use to the accuracy of the sniper and the personal hate of the sheriff. The sheriff threw back his head, and looked at him as though he were a specimen, and then laughed--low, bitter, satisfied. "You think I want your empire? I want it gone. I want you erased. And the surest way to do that is to steal that one thing that made you human.

The dot never wavered. I might tell that it was burning through my clothes, through my skin, into my very heart. Ashley had a shaky hand, useless and empty, and I knew every stolen moment we had created out of this war, the piano in the villa, the cabin bedroom, the desperate kisses in the safe house basement, all of it rebellious, and now it was all coming to a scramble, the passion we had made, the family we had struggled for and the future we had dared to think of, and all this was resting on the trigger finger of the sheriff.

Behind the sheriff his other men were dispersed, and their rifles were receiving orders to open on Mantovani, on Conti who had already arrived at the front, bleeding now, though unwilling to fall, upon the shadows where Sanna and the rest awaited, powerless in this tussle. The wind blew stronger, and smelled of pine and smoke of the bunker ruins that still smoldered, and I heard the sirens--federal, local, I didn't know anymore; the exposure had brought them all, and they were circling around the wounded animal like wolves.

Mantovani moved forward slowly, in a very deliberate manner, hands up. "You want blood? Take mine. She walks away. She gets to live. That's the deal." The last word broke his voice, and I caught the drops of tears flashing in his eyes, unspent, vile, the man who never pleaded my word now pleading my life. The smile of the sheriff was ugly and victorying. You really believe I would allow her to live knowing what she is to you? That's the point, d'Agostino. You suffer. You watch. Then you die."

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. The red spot was hot, a mark on my flesh and I imagined Mom back in the farmhouse, of Dad at ease but frightened, of Isabella at the top in her guarded room, of the delicate family we had made out of bits and pieces. I kept the hand of Mantovani in mine at all times in the storms, his body over mine in all the fights, his whispered words of I love you over me after all the fights, and I knew--I knew--with a dreadful heartrending certainty that I would give anything, everything, to keep his hand on the throbber.

The finger of the sheriff clenched.

Mantovani lunged.

Not at the sheriff--at me.

He threw himself in the middle of us, arms open, and body covering mine wholly as the bullet whistled through the night, it was so deafening it was so final. This struck him back at me and his weight threw us both on the ground, and I screamed--raw and endless and tearing somewhere deep and primal--as hot blood poured through his shirt, and mine, and spread like spilled ink over my chest.

"NO!" The word rived out of me, hands twitching at his back, at his face, of his face, and I turned him about, blood dripping down my fingers, upon his lips, upon his eyes, which were already glazed, and one hand reached feeble at my cheek. "Candice... run..."

I couldn't. Wouldn't. I embraced him tight, and rocked and cried and rubbed my hands over the bleeding that would not stop and the blood, and there was too much and on too fast. The sheriff dropped his rifle, and looked on with chilly contentment, as his men moved on, and enclosed us, but I knew nothing--I did not see them. Only him. It is only Mantovani, my monster, my love, who dies in my arms because he had made a choice of me instead of everything.

His lips lips made a whisper, blood making bubbles at the corner of his mouth. "Love... you... always..."

He shivered and then his eyes stilled.

The world went quiet.

The sirens grew louder.

and in the distance I heard Mom screaming my name, and the darkness at last came in to get us both.