DAMIAN
We raise our heads and are appalled at the sight of Bonanno whose head lolls back with the bullet carving a hole in his throat. Blood pumps out steadily from the gape.
Karmen stifles a cry, staring at the corpse that used to be her father but she knows better than to make a sound. Her eyes jump to mine with tears shining through.
“We are under an attack,” Sergei whispers, drawing out a gun from nowhere.
That’s why I say made men don’t make the mistake of submitting all their weapons, whether in public or privately. Each of us have our hands on a weapon, including Karmen who digs her hands between her thighs and draws out a small gun.
A small hush descends over us, so deafening that I can hear the sound of traffic from miles away. Nothing else comes. It’s like the shooter ha
