Part 2
I put fear in my eyes, just enough so as not to seem forced.
"You can give up, just say so and we'll stop," Giorgio says, analyzing me. "I imagine you're sleepy and hungry, Leonardo was cruel, I bet."
Yes, he was, but since I realized what he was planning, I imagined we'd get here. In a bargain.
"I-I can't give up," I say softly.
"If that's the case, then let's proceed," Giovanni says with a malicious smile.
Giorgio rummages through the drawer under the table and pulls out a blowtorch and a knife.
I look at them wide-eyed; it doesn't surprise me that they do this, psychological torture is their tool of the trade.
"You can choose," Giovanni says.
"You're not serious," I exclaim incredulously, breaking the charade.
"She's doubting us," Giorgio laughs, and that irritates me. “But you’re right, Elena, we won’t hurt you, but he will.”
The door opens and Edgar enters, devastated, but with a maniacal look on his face.
I clench my hands into fists, take a deep breath, and try to clear my mind.
“He didn’t even hesitate when we said you were going to pass the final test, he offered to torture you quickly,” says Giorgio.
Edgar runs his hand over the knife and stops.
“I don’t like an audience,” he says in a hoarse voice.
I see the boys exchange glances for a moment before leaving the room, leaving me alone with this madman.
“I missed you, doll,” he says and finally picks up the knife.
I know no one will save me until I surrender, I’m alone.
Edgar approaches and places the knife against my neck.
“Are you going to scream for me?” he asks, looking into my eyes.
"No, but I'll propose a deal," I say, putting into practice the training I did with Bruno, Vitório, and Luca.
Edgar listens calmly; he believes me when I offer him freedom because one day I also gave freedom to his family.
It's not difficult for someone who has nothing to cling to a thread of hope when they see it.
And when I said he would see his family, it was like handing him the keys to paradise.
He removes a hairpin from my hair while pretending to pull my head back.
In seconds, I release the handcuff from my left hand; Edgar shields me from the mirror in front of me.
When I finally release both hands, my posture changes.
Edgar takes a moment to realize what I'm going to do.
I grab the wrist where he's holding the knife and twist it towards his own body; because he's weak, this becomes incredibly easy.
I take advantage of his imbalance, lifting the chair so that the handcuffs on my ankles fall to the floor.
"Finally, this position was ruining my back," I complain, dissatisfied.
Edgar is on the floor, holding the wound on his abdomen, and has thrown the knife away.
“Are you really that stupid? Did you really think I’d let you go?” I ask, slowly picking up the knife from the floor.
“You’re not like them,” he says, and I agree.
“You’re right, I’m not,” I say, stopping in front of him. “I’m worse than them.”
I hold his thinning hair between my fingers and tilt his head back.
“See you in hell,” I say before slitting his throat in one go.
I leave him writhing in his own blood and then look in the mirror.
“I outsmarted Lorenzo with the administrative issues, the twins with the psychological torture, and I played with Edgar as I learned with the boys, and I believe killing Edgar counts as Leonardo’s lesson,” I count on my fingers.
And I sit down at the table.
“Well, only Sandro is left,” I say calmly.
It takes half a minute for the door to open and a man to enter.
He leads me to the shooting range and my feet freeze.
There are three targets, and in front of each one is one of my brothers.
Vicente, Luca, and Leonardo.
Sandro is near a table with weapons.
“Simple challenge: hit a vital point on the targets behind them without hitting our brothers,” Sandro explains calmly.
My fingers tremble with adrenaline; I still have Edgar's blood on my hands and I'm exhausted.
“One bullet per target, if you miss, you're out,” he says and walks away.
I analyze the situation; my brothers are very close to the targets, which doesn't allow me to change the angle, since I can still hit them.
I observe the available weapons and decide to take a small pistol, easier to fold if necessary.
I calmly calculate the distance and try to visualize hypothetical situations.
They are all tragic.
I look at the gun's magazine to confirm one thing. They are real bullets.
I look at Sandro with a surprised expression, but he just smiles.
Then I stop and stare at him more closely; if he created this test, it means he has a way of hitting the target.
I look at my brothers and then at the weapons table; I see a rifle and smile.
I switch weapons and look around; there's a hill about five kilometers away with a perfect view of the shooting range.
I walk out with the rifle in hand, and Sandro follows me, telling everyone to hold their positions.
It takes a little longer, but I reach the top of the hill, my legs trembling and my chest burning with every breath.
I point the rifle at the shooting range and can't help but smile.
My brothers look like ants from here, but with the telescopic sight I can see the distance between them and the targets.
I take ten minutes, without rushing, to calculate the wind direction based on each of their positions.
I take a deep breath and calm myself before cocking the rifle. The first shot rings loudly in my ear, but I only look through the scope when the bullet passes through the target behind Vicente.
"One less target," Sandro says upon receiving confirmation.
I change the direction of the rifle and fire, and I do this until I hit the head of the last paper target.
"Three perfect shots," Sandro says with a smile.
Sweat drips from my forehead and I disarm the rifle to descend. The hill again.
When I finally reach the warehouse, all my family members are there at the entrance.
My knees are about to give way, but I'll be ready for whatever comes.
It's Lorenzo who greets me.
He meets me halfway down the path, his face cold and expressionless.
"Welcome to the mafia, Sorella," he says firmly, extending his hand to me.
I look into his eyes and then I know it's over.
"You can call me socia, fratello," I say, accepting his hand.