First Kill's Epilogue
"…because now he had many friends with whom he ate pasta."
Paolo closed the book. "So, what did…"
Dina looked like an angel with her eyes closed, motionless in the hospital bed. She slept.
Paolo looked at the one-way mirror making up a quarter of the wall. He exhaled slowly, lowered his head equally slowly, and raised one hand to beckon forth his observer.
Priss entered. She stood at the door, arms crossed.
Paolo turned from her and looked again at the mottled pattern on the floor tile between his shoes. "Thank you for the book. She liked it."
"So does Angelica."
The two of them let a silent chill settle in the room.
"All right. Let me have it. I deserve it." Paolo addressed the ground.
"It looks like I can't say anything to make you feel any worse. I just wish you listened to me."
"About?" This turned his head to face Priss, who stalked toward him.
"The girls having bad luck on their first missions. I told you not to push them. They know how to do the job, whatever it is. What they don't know is how not to overdo it."
"I was just trying to…" To do what? To cheer her up? To help her out of that rut?
To make up for my mistake?
"Do what? Buck the trend? Show off? Impress someone? Great job!"
"To help her, dammit. I told her killing someone changes you, and she took it literally."
"Mannaggia, you're an idiot! Of course she took it literally. You're … you're like a god to her. Her heart and soul belongs to you!"
"I … I wanted to give her another chance to," He paused, the word caught in his throat. "To do what she's made to do. I was going to say-"
"-To say what? What could you have said? Face it, you messed up!"
"I was going to tell her that she was faster, that she was better at … at doing her job. That she changed."
Priss paused with her mouth open. She took in a breath. "You still got her hurt."
"Yes. Yes, I did."
"I told you the first mission is unlucky. Why weren't you more careful?"
"I … Hell, it doesn't matter. I still got her hurt."
"Like hell. It matters. Do you know why? It says to me that you don't trust me. It says to me that you think you know better. Well… well, you don't."
"No, that's not it. Okay, you're not going to believe me when-"
"Try me."
"All right. It sounds stupid, and it didn't matter in the end-"
"Tell me."
"This isn't her first mission. We … we silenced the family, remember? Cleaned up my loose end?"
"No. You did it. You sabotaged their brakes. She didn't do anything. She watched."
Paolo blinked.
"That's why she froze. Don't you get it? This was her first time, and you… you had to go ahead and tell her that she'd… What, that she would grow wings?"
Paolo had no reply. He sighed, and looked again at his feet.
A soft murmuring nudged at the heavy silence.
They both looked at the bed.
"Momma?" The voice was a whisper, a butterfly of words. "Pappy…"
Paolo's throat suddenly seized. His heart was impaled.
Priscilla patted her sheets, found her arm. "Shh. I'm here, Di- I'm here Alessia. I'm here." She gave Paolo a glare and jerked her head to the other side of the bed.
"Momma… please… Momma?"
Paolo breathed the words as softly as he could, exaggerating his mouth's movement. "But we're not-"
Equally soft, but with eyes hard and flinty, she replied, "Don't you have a soul? Stop thinking and start feeling." As she did, she worked the sheets away to reveal her arm.
She placed her hand in the little girl's hand.
It slowly closed. "Pappy… where are you, Pappy? Pappy?"
Paolo cleared his throat as he rounded the foot of the bed. "I'm here. I'm here sweetie."
"Momma… Pappy… please"
Paolo found her hand under the bedsheet. Hurriedly, he grasped it through the thin cloth.
With surprising strength, it wrapped around his. It wasn't a painful grip, merely an unexpectedly firm embrace, hand-in-hand.
"Please ... Momma, Pappy ... please stop fighting. Please..."