Darling, Clementine

11|Shot to the Heart

Years ago: Valentino POV

The Danites were delusional if they thought a mocking toast wouldn't provoke my anger. "Cheers to the Kalopsia clan! We couldn't have done it without our fearless leader, Valentino," Colton sneered, laughter tainting as the smell of alcohol wafted from his breath. He threw his cup into the air, tilting it in my direction. Everyone at the dinner table stared at me, their lips sealed tight. We had just executed the Zenonatee clan, teaming up against a common enemy, and now we celebrated as though we didn't despise each other. I slowly raised my cup with a smile. "Cheers," I replied plainly.

A light chuckle escaped Colton's lips as he stepped from his chair to the corner of the table, bringing the cup to his mouth. His eyes locked onto me with a deadly intensity. "I mean, I've spent a decade searching for their headquarters. Yet you just seemingly knew where they were," he said, placing his cup on the table before meeting my gaze again.

"Speak plainly if you accuse me of deceit, Colton," I whispered, raising my glass to my lips.

"Of course, your majesty. It can't be a coincidence that you found their headquarters in a day," Colton continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Unless you knew the whole time. Unless you needed us because your mafia is nothing without us. Unless you are a coward and couldn't muster the courage without me." His sneer was palpable and gasps escaped from several lips around the table. "How dare you..." Adriano shouted, his fist smacking onto the table. I lifted a hand to silence his outburst. He looked at me with fury but calmed down once he saw my eyes.

"Crazy to accuse me of staging the attack. What? Do you also accuse me of being a weak leader? It's rich coming from a lowlife like yourself. You try to paint this deceit and guilt onto me when it leaks from your body like sweat," I proclaim, pushing myself from the table and running a hand through my hair to get it out of my face. "As soon as we broke into the building, who led the way as though they lived there? Who walked as though no one would harm them? You... Because you knew they wouldn't. When we stormed the meeting room of the Zens, they pointed guns at everyone but you, as though you paid them not to shoot you but your men." I brought my glass back up to my lips, pausing for emphasis. "You're the only one from your mafia unscratched, Colton. Now don't mistake my tone for pondering because I knew that is precisely what occurred," I said.

"You little..." he shouted, his face contorting with rage. "Colton, don't misinterpret my celebration for an act of kindness. I anticipated the guilt to overwhelm you, leading you to deflect it onto someone else because you are straightforward, and easily understood. A coward scared of death but is surrounded by it daily, trying to buy his way out.," I exclaimed, drinking in the alcohol. The burning sensation seared my throat, serving as a fitting contrast to the fire in my words.

"Lies. You lie like a thieving child!" Colton's voice thundered as he drew his gun, aiming it directly at me. My men reacted swiftly, drawing their weapons and training them on Colton's allies. "I suggest you put your gun down, Colton, before things get even uglier, although you're already quite a sight," Adriano quipped with a chuckle. I couldn't help but smile at his remark.

"I have no time for your temper tantrums. I couldn't care less if you staged the murder to bolster your ego, and I don't care about the details of how you pulled it off. The Zens were destined to die one way or another. Your attempt to assert power only exposes your weakness... Colton, you're hopelessly outnumbered. We'll walk out of here with scratches, but you won't even make it five steps. I won't beg you to lower your gun, but I strongly suggest you do," I muttered, unlocking my weapon from the gold chain that held it in place in my chest pocket.

"No! I'm the winner! I always win. Valentino, you're the loser!" Colton's voice echoed through the room, filled with madness and desperation. His body seemed to sway with the wind, his mouth spewing words like a volcano erupting, spraying spit with each syllable. His head shook vigorously from side to side, his agitation palpable. His demeanor shifted from aggressive defiance to something more unsettling. His eyes, once filled with intensity, now seemed to lose focus, darting around the room with a wild, unfocused gaze. He began muttering to himself, his words disjointed and nonsensical. His hands trembled uncontrollably as he clutched his gun, his knuckles turning white with the pressure. Sweat poured down his forehead, mingling with the spittle flying from his lips.