Bloodsoaked
Vital took a deep drag of his cigarette, and looked out towards the balcony. Night had fallen outside without any of them noticing. The glow of the neon ads floating on the dilapidated faces of the buildings surrounding them cast ghostly shadows across the room.
"I had a gun on me like always. And the motherfucker was dead before Ivan hit the ground but it didn't make a damn difference. All I could do was hold him in my arms while he bled out. I kept thinking that I was lucky the bullet had been small calibre, and remained inside him, instead of blowing his face off."
A dry laugh climbed out of his raw throat, sounding almost bloody. "What a crazy thing to think. But I was glad because it meant I got one last kiss, one last kiss before I had to leave him in that dark alley. My lovely menace, Ivan the Terrible, terror of São Paulo, dead at 24."
No one spoke for a long time. Ivo wouldn't know where to start. He was glad Vital wasn't looking at him.