Josie opened her eyes to find Monica on the floor before her. She had taken the bullet meant for Josie. She was small, but she was fast. Her tiny body lay still at Josie’s feet, crimson spreading out around her like ink saturating paper.

Tristan jumped Moloney, wrestling his gun away. Frank raised his gun and fired once before Alex took him out with a bullet to the temple.

“Monica!” Josie screamed, her voice a haunting and agonizing cry.

“No! No, no, no, no! Monica!” Rob shouted, running to her side and dropping to his knees. “Why did you do that? You stupid woman!”

“I had to. I saved her,” she barely got out before her throat flooded with blood.

The blood soaked into the knees of his jeans as he pulled her into his lap. Rob wailed as her breaths became shallow and her eyes fixed onto his, his howling pleas for a miracle falling on helpless ears. Monica’s body arched as a cough forced crimson rivers from the corners of her mouth.

“Button. I love you,” he whispered, pushing her hair back from her face.

She managed a smile, exhaled a stuttered breath and faded away from this world.

Everyone who had been watching the scene now looked on helplessly as Rob jumped up and hurled himself toward Moloney. What began as excruciating sadness morphed into something malevolent and irate. Tristan let go of the man and stepped aside as Rob raised his gun and emptied the entire magazine. But each blast from his gun offered no redemption, no satisfaction. Even when Moloney lay dead at his feet, Rob wanted to crush him, to pound him into the earth with his own fists. He wanted to bathe in his blood, but he knew that wouldn’t resurrect his love.

Rob dropped his smoking gun to the floor and disappeared into the shadows. A few seconds later, the sound of the door slamming closed jarred everyone from their daze.

“Tristan!” Josie shouted.

Alex turned to find Tristan leaning against one of the crates, blood soaking his shirt. Alex knelt beside him and looked at the wound.

“Who got you?” Alex asked.

“Frank.”

“Are you okay?” Josie shouted.

“‘’Tis but a scratch. A flesh wound,’” Tristan said, giving Josie a reassuring smile.

Alex took his shirt off and wrapped it tightly around Tristan’s biceps.

“That’ll help,” Alex offered.

“Any excuse to take your shirt off, huh, muscles?” Tristan said.

Alex untied Josie from the chair, his large fingers fumbling with the knots. She fell onto the floor, sobbing over Monica’s body. She fought for each breath, the air feeling like razor blades to her lungs. She felt undeserving and wondered how she’d ever take a guilt-free lungful of air again.

Alex helped Tristan stand and together they retrieved Josie. She clung to Tristan, crying into his chest.

“I hate to break up the reunion, but we gotta get outta here,” Alex said.

A loud smacking sound came from behind them in the dark. The three eyed each other as Alex pulled his gun and pointed it toward the sound. Another smack. Josie whimpered. Then came another and another, until the sound of a single person clapping became recognizable. From the back of the warehouse emerged a man wearing an expensive suit and matching hat. Shadow covered most of his face, making only his menacing smile visible.

“That was truly an entertaining show,” he said, his voice amused and heavily accented.

The three onlookers stood motionless, curious as to the identity of this stranger and worried about what it meant for their survival.

“My name is Gino Gallo. You have done me a great favor here today.”

He snapped his fingers, and Barry appeared behind him. “You saved this man from having to eliminate his former associates. You should be grateful, Barry. Are you grateful?”

Barry nodded, his eyes on Tristan the whole time.

“Yes, sir.”

“Of course, we did offer a bit of help, eliminating Moloney’s backup for you,” Gallo said.

“What now?” Alex asked, unfazed by the man’s presence.

“Let me tell you what now,” Gallo said, glaring at the boy who dared to question him. “You all will leave this place. My men will take care of the bodies and clean up the mess. Do not fear retaliation. I’m in charge now. I will not allow it. Now go, before I change my mind.”

Tristan, recognizing a blessing when hearing one, motioned for everyone to go. They all moved toward the door, but Josie would not budge. Her eyes were glued to Monica’s lifeless body.

“Josie, we’ve got to go,” Tristan urged.

She nodded and gave in to his pulling.

“Thank you,” Josie whispered to her friend as she was dragged out into the night.

Grooves in the moon’s surface that resemble canals or canyons.

The sound of banging on the front door was almost lost in the cadence of thrashing rain against the house. When Daniel Fallbrook opened the door, it only took seconds for him to assess the situation.

“Bitsy! Get my bag!” Daniel yelled from the front porch.

He grabbed Tristan and pulled him inside, sitting him down at the breakfast table. Bitsy’s casual linens were swept aside as Tristan placed his injured arm on top of the cool oak. Josie and Alex filled the other two chairs and watched Daniel tend to his wounded son.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Close range, twenty-two,” Tristan answered.

Daniel removed the T-shirt tourniquet from Tristan’s arm and cut off the sleeve of his shirt with kitchen scissors. Bitsy raced into the room carrying his medical bag, her silk gown fluttering behind her like wings.

“Tristan, sweetheart,” she cried. “Are you okay?”

Her trembling hands made the sign of the cross as she hovered over the two most important men in her life.

“It went clean through,” Daniel answered. “I’ll just clean and suture it. You should be fine,” Daniel said.

“Oh, thank God,” Bitsy whispered.

It was then that she noticed the other two people in her kitchen. A large, shirtless man sat at her table. Water dripped down his muscled body in the most distracting way. Any other time, she would have reminded him of proper manners when it came to stages of nakedness at her breakfast table. But she figured she could overlook his indiscretions considering the circumstances. Next to him was a beautiful, sad girl. Her hair was slick and wet, fat tendrils sticking to the bare skin of her face and throat. Her arms circled around her body.

“My God in heaven! McKenzi Delaune, is that you?” Bitsy asked.

Josie glanced at Bitsy before her eyes immediately snapped back to Tristan. She didn’t need to see the woman before her to know what she looked like. Josie knew the curve of her cheek and the way her smile fell to one side like her son’s. She knew the sweep of her hair and her Cupid’s bow lips.

“Bless her heart. She looks like she was eaten by gators and shit over a cliff,” Bitsy muttered.

Daniel and Tristan both looked up, wearing matching expressions of shock.

“Oh, stop looking at me like that! Grandmother Ducote always said ‘shit’ was a lady’s curse word.”

Josie’s body stiffened as she tried to take a breath. Though her lungs were burning, her body would not cooperate. Voices were murmurs of whirring sound mixed with the racing beat of her own pulse. She felt dizzy and weightless, numb and on fire at the same time. She wished the pounding in her head would stop. She wished that every time she closed her eyes she didn’t see Monica’s body lying at her feet like some kind of sacrifice. She wished it had all been a dream.

Finally Josie sucked in a deep breath, its elements giving her body just what it needed. With its exhale, the air left in a wailing sob, a scream that seemed silent in her own head. Bitsy embraced Josie. She ran her hands over the girl’s hair and placed a kiss on her wet head.

“We didn’t know, baby. We didn’t know you were out there all alone,” Bitsy said.