The Death of Me | A mafia story

Chapter 34 - Brothers slash Cousins

NOT EDITED.

Alex POV

Little brother..

Brother..

The word ripped through my ears, pushed itself into my head and stayed inside. It bounced off the four walls, leaving an echo behind, an echo that kept on repeating, over and over and.. over again.

Brother?

He is my.. my brother?

The oxygen I tried to draw back into my lungs seemed to disappear, to vanish from the room as if his words sucked every last drop of it from the cold chilling air surrounding us. My chest tightened with agitation, my jaw clenched and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block all of it.

But my brain, my brain was teetering right on the edge of that fucking cliff.

Brother.

The word yet again repeated itself.

And like that, just like that, I fell off that cliff, and I knew, no, I was sure, that this time,

there is no coming back.

**FLASHBACKS**

I looked at the gun in my hand, at how my fingers are tightly wrapped around its grip. I gulped as the cold reached out from the metal and spread throughout my palm before it engulfed every cell in my body, freezing me cold from the inside.

This is wrong.. Isn't it?

But that's what dad always does. Doesn't that make it right?

I didn't know. I didn't understand.

My gaze drifted from the weapon in my hand and landed on the boy facing me. His clothes still soaked with blood, red blood, blood I caused. Blood I should be proud I spilled, at least that's what dad says.

The boy pressed his eyes shut as if trying to escape this reality, to run away and block it all.

I still did nothing. I just stood there, my body slightly shaking, a gun in my trembling hand, and my eyes on him not once wavering as I tried to figure out what's right from what's wrong.

Few second ticked before he pried his eyes open again.

Green eyes stared back at me, tears no longer falling, almost as if he realized that he can't escape, not when my father had him shackled to this chair for years. His gaze didn't waver and I was no longer able to see the fear in them, as if he finally came to terms with the fact that he can't, he can't run away from the inevitable.

For the very first time, he didn't look scared.

As if he didn't care he is going to die, it's almost as if -- he wanted to die.

But - this, this is wrong. This can't be right.

I dropped my hand down and took a step backward, "I ca- I can't."

I heard the harsh breath that dad blew out. I felt him inching closer. Hands on my shoulder, he turned me around so I can face him. He looked back at me, "You have to." He said. I shook my head, "I can't."

His jaw clenched, "Yes you can, don't you want to make dad proud?"

I slowly nodded my head. I wanted to make dad proud.

"But - but you said we only hurt bad people." I tried to say.

He nodded his head, "And what makes you think he is not bad?"