[Aldo]
Andre licks his lips, his face pale and glistening with sweat.
“Hell of a story. Have to tell you while I whoop ya ass on NBA.”
His voice is ragged, the words tumbling out like they’re made of glass, sharp and fragile. He coughs hard, his body convulsing, and the wound does too, dark blood seeping through his fingers.
Dawn is wiping her face constantly, her movements jerky and desperate. Her eyes stay fixed on Andre, but they’re glossy, far away.
She can’t look at me-can’t look anywhere but him. Her trembling hand pats his head over and over like she’s trying to calm a storm that refuses to settle.
“Fucking Russians, hey,” Andre says with a weak grin, his teeth faintly red-streaked.
I snort a laugh, though it feels like swallowing shards. “Fucking Russians.”
Andre’s smile flickers briefly, then fades as another violent cough shakes him. It’s wet, bubbling, and wrong.
He gasps, his hand twitching toward his stomach, but his fingers curl mid-reach, too weak to make it.
His face twists in pain, a sheen of tears glimmering in his eyes. He doesn’t have the strength anymore.
The realization crashes over me like ice water-he can’t survive something like this.
“Dawn tells me you’re gonna be a daddy,” he rasps, the words faint but deliberate.
Heat rushes to my face, a painful contrast to the cold knot in my stomach. “Yeah,” I manage to say, my throat tight. “You’re an uncle too.”
Andre’s grin returns, small but triumphant, a flicker of the man I’ve always known. “I could whoop two generations’ asses at NBA then.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out broken, more sob than sound.
Dawn chews her lips until they’re raw, her gaze darting between Andre and me.
She opens her mouth to tell him not to joke like that, but the words crumble before they reach the air.
She can’t say it. Neither can I.
“Look at you two,” Andre says, his smile stretching painfully as he tries to adjust himself.
The effort makes him wince, his breath hitching. “Bawling like a couple babies.”
“You will be too when you get to hold your little niece’s or nephew’s hand,” Dawn says, her voice trembling but laced with fierce hope.
Andre’s lips quirk up again. “Okay. I’ll do that.”
He fumbles for her hand, his fingers brushing hers before he finally squeezes weakly.
I glance back over my shoulder, my senses sharpening in the night. Luca is squatting with the Russian man, his injured arm bound tightly with a makeshift tourniquet.
The other man is tied up against the truck, head slumped but still breathing.
The cars look like skeletons in the moonlight, mangled and useless. Broken glass glints like tiny stars across the dirt, and the faint smell of gasoline lingers in the cool air. We’re trapped here, surrounded by destruction, and there’s no way out.
I force myself to turn back to Andre and Dawn. To reality.
I look at him-really look at him-and the truth slams into me like a freight train.
This isn’t a dream. He’d died. And then he came back. And now…he’s dying again.
“Andre-” His pale face stops me mid-sentence.
He knows it too.
Dawn knows it, and the knowledge crumples her.
She presses frantic kisses to his forehead, her tears falling onto his cheeks, mingling with the sweat already there.
Andre swallows hard, his throat working visibly. “Tell them I was good. Tell them I didn’t betray you. Tell them I always wanted you two together.” His voice trembles, cracking like glass under pressure, but he keeps going, his will stronger than his body. “Just tell them that-”
“You are good,” I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. My voice is hoarse, thick with emotion. “The best.”
Andre smiles faintly, his eyelids fluttering. He blinks once, twice, then looks at Dawn and stays like that-forever.
A low whine escapes Dawn’s lips, soft at first, then growing into something raw and animalistic.
I crumble into her, wrapping her in my arms as she rocks back and forth, clutching Andre’s lifeless body.
My heart heaves under the weight of losing him-again.
The second loss is sharper, more final, carving itself into my soul like a jagged wound that will never heal.
We sob together, our grief merging into the cold, empty night. Time stretches and warps until I finally notice the world around us again.
The sounds of the night have returned: the chirp of distant crickets, the faint rustle of wind in the grass.
I lift my head, my vision blurred with tears, and see Luca waiting.
He’s standing, stoic but bloodied, his arm strapped tight. The Russian is still tied against the truck, his head lolling weakly.
Fury ignites in my chest, a white-hot blaze that consumes me. I lunge for him.
Luca grabs me around the middle, his grip iron despite his injury. After a brief, furious scuffle, he hauls me to a stop.
“No,” he says firmly, his voice cutting through the haze of my anger. “We need him.”
“He needs to be dead.”
“And he will-in time.” Luca’s eyes bore into mine, steady and unyielding. He places his hands on my chest, grounding me.
“But tonight is not over. I need him because there were others. We need to make sure this situation is contained quickly. I have already called for Rocko to come and pick you up. You will be returning with Dawn and Andre’s bodies.”
“I want to hunt.” My voice is a low growl, vibrating with the need for vengeance.
“No, my friend.” Luca’s tone softens but remains resolute. “Call up your parents, you need to be with your family.”
His words hit me like a sledgehammer, breaking through the fury and almost shattering me again.
I suck in a breath, forcing myself to stay grounded in the here and now.
Luca turns me back toward Dawn.
She looks so small beside Andre, her figure hunched and fragile.
The two of them could be kids again-just two siblings caught in a moment frozen in time.
For the first time, I don’t see them as separate people, different pieces of my life. I see them as one.
I see the kids I met more than twenty years ago.
But I also see Dawn as the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.
As the woman I hope our children will look like.
And Andre, as the uncle who wasn’t just good, but great.