Marco

She was sprawled on the floor in a twisted position. Her ankle was probably sprained when she fell, when she was shot. My grandmother. The woman who raised me when my parents died.

Her eyes were still open, and her mouth parted just slightly, like she was about to say something. I wondered what it was she wanted to say. I had a strong need to know now.

“No, no—Nonna, no,” I choked out, dropping to my knees beside her, my hands cradling her face. “Stay with me, please. Please.”

Her skin… it was still warm. She wasn’t gone. She couldn’t possibly be. Only minutes ago she was smiling...