The Boss spoke. “Leave it be, David.”
Move the gun, dad, Tristan urged in his head, his lips trembling.
His father shook his head. “His daughter for my daughter.”
Move away, dad.
He shouldn’t have been here.
He shouldn’t have sneaked in to see this.
He couldn’t understand.
He didn’t understand.
Oh god, why wasn’t his father moving away?
He was so scared. He was so, so scared.
He wanted to leave.
But his feet wouldn’t move. They wouldn’t move.
He tried to swallow his whimpers as his heart started to hurt. He just wanted to go home. He just wanted to sleep in his bed. He just wanted his sister back. He wanted to go home.
But his shoes were stuck to the ground.
He shouldn’t be here.
Oh god, he was so scared.
His heart pounded so hard he could hear it in his ears, his stomach heavy.
His entire body started shaking, his arms trembling, bleeding, hurt.
His father cocked the gun, unlocking it.
Tristan started to cry, unable to stop his tears anymore. He loved his dad so much. But why was he doing this? He didn’t understand. This wouldn’t bring Luna back.
His breathing became heavy.
Tristan watched his father’s finger hold the trigger and saw his muscles move, and he knew with sudden certainty that his dad was going to pull the trigger.
This wasn't a bluff. This wasn’t a game. It was life and death.
Tristan looked at his father’s face and saw nothing. No hint of the face he had when he looked at Luna. No hint of any softness.
Tristan waited.
Inhale.
Exhale.
In.
Out.
His father’s finger flexed.
In.
Out.
The finger started to pull.
Tristan whimpered, terrified.
And before he even understood, he pulled the trigger.
The force of the hit pushed Tristan down to the ground, the gun still gripped in his arms as the loud sound of the bullet broke through the hall, accompanied by curse words and screams, and the crying of the girl.
Oh god.
The sudden onslaught of noise became white as Tristan looked back at the table, only to see the little girl with splattered blood on her face.
Without a thought, his mind silent, completely silent, Tristan walked out into the fore, straight to the girl who was getting red in the face from her cries. Hands trembling, Tristan wiped the blood off her soft face, forgetting his own bleeding palm.
Instead of cleaning her skin, he marred it even more with his own blood.
His dad was going to punish him so badly for this.
Ready to apologize for hitting him, to accept whatever punishment he gave out, Tristan turned to the side.
His heart stopped.
No. No. No. No. No.
The gun dropped from his hand, clattering loudly in the suddenly silent hall.
Tristan shook his head.
No. No. No. No. No.
His father lay there on the floor, his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling, his body motionless.
With a hole right in the center of his head.
The hole from a bullet.
Something lodged in his chest.
“You killed your own father?”
Tristan heard the Boss’ voice. He heard him ask, heard the words, but kept looking at his dad, denying it in his heart.
No. No. No. No. No.
“That’s his father?” someone else asked.
“How could he aim from there?”
“How did no one know he was here?”
“He’s ruthless for a kid. Can you imagine what he’d be like?”
Words.
About him.
Rushing all around.
Over him.
One word.
On repeat.
No. No. No. No. No.
“The next course is ready when–”
It was the sound of his mother’s voice that pulled Tristan’s head up.
Oh god, what had he done?
Tristan saw as she came to a stop in the doorway, her eyes on him.
“Tristan, what are you doing here?” she asked, her eyes angry as she came towards him. Turning to the Boss, she started speaking, “I apologize for him, Mr. Maroni. He’s just a kid. He doesn’t know what he’s doin–”
Her voice cut off abruptly as her eyes fell on his father, the words choking in her mouth.
Tristan saw as her hands came up to her lips, tears streaking down her cheeks as a sound escaped her chest. His jaw started to hurt from the way he'd clenched it.
"Who?" her mother's voice wavered on the word.
The Boss stepped forward towards Tristan. “Your son.”
His mother’s eyes snapped up to his, disbelief etched on her face. Tristan let her watch him silently, watched the disbelief change in horror as she saw the truth on his face. The horror he saw in her eyes killed something inside him. His jaw trembled as he stepped towards her, wanting to rush into her arms and have her tell him everything would be okay.
She jerked back from him, her mouth agape in terror. “Get away from me.”
Tristan stilled.
His mother looked at him for a long time, shaking her head. “Why?”
"I.. it..." the words stuck in his throat, lodging there, unable to escape.
She took a step back. "You lost your sister. Now, you've killed your father. My husband. My daughter."
Tristan clenched his hands to keep from reaching out to her, not uttering a word. There wasn’t anything he could say.
"My son was a sweet boy," his mother whispered almost to the door now. "You're not him. You're like them. Monsters."
Something broke – damaged beyond repair in his chest.
“I don’t want to see you again,” her voice cracked as she stepped through the door from whence she’d entered. “You’re dead to me.”
She left.
Tristan stood there.
Alone.
Without his baby sister.
Without his father.
Without his mother.
Only with men who looked at him like they would eat him alive.
And a baby who had stopped crying.
A baby who, a few minutes ago, had been nothing to him. A baby for whom he’d murdered the father he’d loved so much.
Tristan looked at her – her eyes swollen from crying, the colors in them shining and twinkling; her little mouth rosy and soft; her chubby face smeared with his and his father’s blood.
The flutter he had felt in his chest minutes ago was gone. In its place was something else instead. Something he’d never felt before. Something he didn’t understand. Something twisted and ugly and alive, taking root inside his chest as he watched her breathe, because of him. Something poisonous bleeding its way into his heart, paralyzing it, deadening it, until he couldn’t feel it anymore.
Until he could feel nothing but the poison. Until he could see nothing but her face with his blood.
He had spilled his father’s blood to protect her.
His mother had called him a monster. She'd been right. He’d become a monster, more evil than all the men in the room, in one second.
All because of her.
Because she’d made him choose.
And he had nothing.
No one.
Nothing.
Nothing except this feeling in his chest. He latched on to it, looking at her face, etching it to memory. He looked at her eyes, seeing her soul forever tainted with his blood.