“One, two, three, shots to the head,” Cecilia said.
“Four, five, six, now you’re dead.” Anton replied.
“Seven, eight, nine, you’ll be fine.” She smiled.
“Until I knife you while you dine.” He finished.
Cecilia smirked, draping a slender leg over the edge of the dock.
“You’re sick,” Anton said, laughing. He smeared blood across his pants.
She shrugged. “Maybe, but I’m not the one disposing of my father’s body.”
Anton grinned. “Angelo always wanted to be buried in the lake.”
“I think he meant after his heart stopped beating,” she said as Angelo’s last exhale surfaced with a burble.