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I’m writing a mafia book, or trying to, as a 14 year old and I need to know if I’m making it emotional enough.

“Papa! Papa! NO!”

Liana screamed outside.

Guivanni ran outside to see Vincent on the ground, Liana crying hysterically and cradling his head.

“Papa… don’t leave me… you can’t. Please, I need you. WAKE UP! PAPA PLEASE!”

She screamed and held him closer, as if it would bring him back. Blood pooled around him and she screamed until her voice went raw. Giovanni barked orders to the guards and had the one who shot dragged away to the training bay. 

He approached Liana as she sobbed, hunched over her father and holding his hand, she was whimpering Italian prayers. 

She looked up at Giovanni, scared and broken. “Help Papa…”

He checked Vincent’s pulse - nothing. “I’m sorry, amore mio, he’s gone…”

“No he isn’t! Don’t say that! He’s alive! He is! Papa didn’t do anything wrong! Why’d they have to shoot? Why?”

“I… I don’t know but they will pay, I promise. Let him rest now, Liana. He… he’s gone.”

He gently crouched beside her and grabbed her wrists, pulling her away as she trembled, screaming and sobbing as he pulled her away. 

“It’s gonna be okay, princepessa, we’ll figure this out,” he said softly, trying to soothe her.