'𝙃𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝘿𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙚 𝘿𝙖𝙡𝙚.'
They weren't suppose to. It was illegal, they're parents enemies. He was suppose to hate every fibre of his being, he thought he did at first. That stupid laugh, that unruly...
Joey never thought about how he would die. Elio thought about it all the time.
Gunshots starting a domino effect of students ducking for cover. No one believed they would use the drills they had, but it ended up in shrills of fear. Elio grabbed Joey's waist, pulling him under the counter, accompanied by Billy. Dust raining from the rooftops. "Stay on the floor till we tell you to move!'' one yelled, they were all armed with machine guns. Elio pushed back, his rings cutting into his skin. "Don't do anything!" there was a shot and a thud, Elio winced. His hands shook, he ran one through his hair. Glancing at him, Joey connected their pinkies. Elio's face tinted rose, as did Joey's. A guy with a buzzcut, the only American of the bunch of terrorists, passed them each with a picture. Joey glanced at Elio, who was studying the man.
"They're looking for Donohue,'' Billy hushed, besides Joey.
Elio interlinked his whole hand with Joey's, which tensed from the coolness of his rings. "No shit, they missed him by,'' Elio glanced at Joey's watch, he stared at it.
"Seventeen,'' Joey filled in, he couldn't help himself.
The boys stood as the main terrorist picked them out one by one. "Bradberry, Jonathan.''
Snuffy timidly stepped out. The crowd pushing him in the open.
"Your father is Stephen Bradberry? Chairman of the first empire bank of New York,'' a man dressed in black and a tiny ponytail spoke, reading from a file.
Snuffy glanced at the paper then back at him, "Yes.''
"And Vice chairman of the republican party,'' his accent drowned in Spanish.
"Yes.''
Snuffy stepped back, taking a pump of his asthma pump.
"Giles Henry the third,'' the man spoke out. Elio glanced at Joey, who stepped closer to him.
"Yes,'' Hank called out, from behind Snuffy.
The man called for him to come here, interrogating him as he did for Snuffy.
The room dead silent, how could you dare to speak if there were a gun armed at your throat?
"Trotta, Joseph,'' the man called out. Joey stepped, Elio clutched his hand.
"Don't leave me,'' Elio whispered into his ear. Joey shook his head, his ankh faintly reflecting the sunlight. He dropped Elio's hand.
Joey strutted to their captor. He looked sized Joey. "Your father Albert Trotta of New York City?"
