Every inch of me revolts at the idea of being there when she isn’t.
The thought of closing my eyes without her around terrifies the fuck out of me.
“We’re taking a left, yeah?” Damien’s eyes shine in the dark like a madman's. He’s been my companion in my mission to wipe out everyone I suspect.
This time, we expanded our options to Boston because the leader of the Albanians here, Roel, is the cousin of the motherfucker we killed a few months ago in New York.
As the new Pakhan of the New York Bratva, the most reckless thing to do is starting wars or stepping on other factions’ toes. There was an inauguration ceremony two days ago that the whole organized crime world attended, but I barely showed my face.
I don’t give a fuck about the position.
I’m only using the power it gave me to figure out who’s behind that bombing, and I need to know exactly why it happened.
“Do whatever the fuck you want. Just don’t get in my way.” I don’t wait for Damien’s reply as I walk toward the building.
Viktor advised me to cover my tracks, but fuck that. I want them to see me coming and scramble like rats. My guard curses low from behind me, then runs to cover me as the men inside filter out like ants.
All I see are people who need to be dead. Every last fucking one of them. I won’t stop until they’re all buried six feet under like she is.
I raise my gun and shoot anyone who comes into view. My movements appear collected, but they follow no rhyme or rhythm.
A bullet grazes my bicep, sending my arm flying sideways. I switch the gun to my other hand and continue firing away. My jacket saturates with blood before it drips on the concrete, but I don’t feel the pain.
I feel nothing but fucking rage now.
If Sasha were here, she’d kill anyone who attempted to hurt me. If she were to see this wound, she’d fawn over me with affection and concern. For the first time in my life, I felt like my well-being mattered and that I meant the world to someone else.
And now, that someone who made me the center of her world has disappeared, turning mine into an abyss.
Damien laughs like a maniac as he kills everyone in his path, their blood soaking him in no time since he likes to do it up close and personal.
A car revs behind us, and I spin around and shoot all four tires. It swerves and hits the side of the building, and then it’s a full-on shoot-out. My men cover me and manage to kill the ones in the car except for the one we’re here for.
Viktor pushes a bulky man with a buzz cut to his knees in front of me. Damien’s guards and my other ones are busy eliminating the rest of the Albanians, but I couldn’t give a fuck about them now.
The only one who matters is this motherfucker right here. His name is Roel and he’s a dead man, but not before he tells me what I need to know.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he spits out in a heavy accent. “We have allies who will come after you and the whole fucking brotherhood, Morozov. You don’t have any idea how much fucking chaos you’re starting.”
“Apparently, you don’t either or you wouldn’t have fucked with me.” I retrieve my phone, then scroll to a picture that I’ve been staring at whenever I need something to ground me.
It’s Sasha during my last birthday party. Maksim took countless photos that night and sent them to everyone. In this one, she’s laughing with Yuri. I cut him out and only kept her.
I look at her carefree expression through a red haze. Literally. My glasses are splashed with blood, and I can’t be bothered to clean them.
“Who ordered the hit on this person?” I ask calmly, apathetically even.
Roel stares at the picture, and there’s no change in his expression. I’ll give him that. But there is a flicker of recognition in his eyes.
He knows exactly why the fuck I’m here.
“I’ve never seen her in my life.”
“I didn’t say she was a she.” I thrust the phone in his face. “Why was she killed?”
“I don’t know,” he mumbles against the screen.
“Very well.” I pocket my phone. “Viktor. Bring me some motherfuckers.”
I remove my jacket, throw it aside, and slowly roll my shirt sleeves to my elbows. The wound in my bicep has stopped bleeding, but not before it soaked my white shirt red.
Viktor and a few of my other guards push five Albanians in front of me beside Roel. They look at their leader with both fear and pleading.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he repeats from behind clenched teeth. “If you want something, torture me!”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I fetch my knife. “Besides, you’ll probably never talk, even if you’re tortured to within an inch of your life, and I’d rather not waste any effort.”
“You’re supposed to be the fucking Pakhan! This is madness.”
I grab one of his men, position him on his knees facing Roel, and hold the blade to his throat. “Who ordered the hit?”
“I don’t fucking know!”
I slice his throat in one motion. Blood splashes from his neck, bathing Roel and me. I don’t blink as I throw the sorry fuck aside while he gurgles and chokes on his own blood.
Roel curses while his other men look like they’re going to be sick.
I clean my glasses with my shirt, then clutch the second one and jam my knife at his throat. “Who ordered it?”
“I said I don’t fucking know!!” He’s screaming now, so close to losing control as the one in my hold trembles.
I stab him in the back of the neck, then in his throat and heart and chest, over and over, and fucking over. I do it long after he’s dead and mutilated, until someone actually throws up.
This time, I don’t bother cleaning my glasses and throw them on the corpse.
“You’re fucking crazy,” Roel whispers, his whole body shaking.
I haul the third man to his feet, then kick him in the shin as he screams and fruitlessly tries to fight my grip. “Who ordered it?”
Roel shakes his head, hesitantly this time.
I snap the third’s neck then shove him aside. “I can do this all night long. I’ll bring your wife and children, too. I’ll slaughter each and every one of them in front of your eyes. I’ll stab them so many times that you won’t recognize their fucking corpses. Just like I didn’t recognize her corpse.”
“Jesus fucking Christ!”
“Not the answer I need.” I clutch the fourth by the hair. He smells of vomit, and he’s pissed himself at watching his comrades being slaughtered.
He doesn’t even fight me and mumbles what sounds like a prayer in Albanian.
No God answers him as I slice his throat open.
“Viktor.” I wipe the blood from my face with the back of my hand. “Bring me Roel’s family.”
“Wait! Wait!” Roel breathes heavily, and the man beside him nearly faints with relief.
“After you murdered my cousin, I wanted to kill you with my bare hands, but that was impossible with my manpower.” He pants as if he’s coming down from running a marathon. “A few weeks ago, we met a man who said if I wanted to really hurt you, I should kill your girly guard. He told us to wait until he gives us the okay and an opening. That opening came a week ago when that guard was alone. He sent us the place’s coordinates and told us to wipe it and everyone inside of it out.”