The splitting headache is the least of my problems when I stare at the woman lying on her stomach on the bed.
A galaxy of bruises covers her hips, arms, thighs, arse, and even around the snake tattoo on her spine.
Fuck.
I spring awake as memories of last night trickle back in. What the fuck have I done? If it weren’t for the steady rise and fall of her back, I would think I’d killed her or something.
Bloody hell.
I shouldn’t have touched her when I was drunk. The reason I don’t get drunk isn’t only because I lose my inhibitions, but also because I can’t control myself. There’s no stop or even pause button in that state.
Not that I’ve ever had those buttons when it comes to Rai. Every time I recalled the decision I made, I fucked her more, owned her more, and was nothing short of a madman.
I can’t believe I took her on the floor over and over like a fucking animal. She’s already too fragile and easily bruises by a simple touch. How could I let my beast side take complete control of me like that?
I reach out a finger to touch a strand of her hair but stop at the last second, my hand clenching into a fist. Do I even have the right to touch her anymore?
“Fuck,” I whisper, running a hand through my hair as I spring to my feet.
It’s all over now.
I take a quick shower, then change into black trousers and a white shirt. Rai is still fast asleep on her stomach. She probably won’t wake up for some time due to exhaustion.
Sitting at her desk, I grab a pen and write until my knuckles hurt. She’s always said left-handed people like me have horrible handwriting, and I guess it’s true. But instead of writing a generic email or text, I’d rather leave one last personal touch behind.
I place the letter on the pillow, then brush my lips against her forehead, letting them linger there for a second too long.
“Mmmm…Kyle?” she mumbles in her sleep.
If she wakes up now, she’ll probably strangle me. I would deserve it, but I can’t die before I end it once and for all.
So I slide the covers up to her chin and close the door of our room for the last time.
If I had wanted to kill Rolan before, it wouldn’t have been hard.
He’s basically inviting snipers to buildings across from his clubs so they can finish him off.
The reason I haven’t done that is because he needed to suffer, and he needed to suffer more than Mom and Dad did.
It wouldn’t have been revenge if he didn’t face his sins. It wouldn’t have been satisfying if I didn’t have him writhing in his own blood at my feet, begging me to save him like Ma begged that time.
But the circumstances are different from when I first started.
He got Rai involved.
If those Albanians still had her, she would’ve lost her life by now. And that’s Rolan’s final strike. That’s the bullet with his name on it.
I might not have been able to prevent my parents’ death, but I’ll protect Rai even if it’s the last thing I do.
If I finish Rolan, the entire war with the Irish will end. Flame said most of the higher-ups on Rolan’s side think going against the Russians and the Italians is madness. Now that the Japanese and the Triads are bound to join too, it’s a pure suicide mission.
Rolan, being a dictator, killed anyone who was against him in the organization. He’s holding them with fear, and as soon as he’s gone, peace will return.
Rai will be safe.
I stare through my lenses at the man who’s sitting in a lounge area in the midst of the Irish’s club. He’s older now, in his sixties with completely white hair, but pure evil still lurks in his eyes.
My phone vibrates and I retrieve it without breaking eye contact with him. I can’t shoot now, anyway. There are too many people buzzing around him, bringing him reports and whatnot. I need a clear shot at him because a miss would compromise my position.
My lips part when I make out the name flashing on the screen.
Godfather.
It’s the first time he’s called me in ten years. I thought he wouldn’t have my new number, even though I kept his old one.
I swallow as I answer, “Hello?”
“What the fuck are you doing, punk?”
My finger remains still at the trigger. Godfather might be in his forties, but he still sounds as authoritative as when I was five years old and clung to him every step of the way.
“Popping some heads,” I joke, because that’s the only way I know how to talk to him after all these years.
“Heard you got shot.”
“Meh. Shots can’t kill me. Not in this lifetime.”
“Heard you got married.”
“Kind of, but it’s…over.” My voice lowers before I go back to joking. “Not everyone is made for married life like you, Godfather. Some are just complete bastards who drive their wives to the point of no return.”
“Be serious. What type of mess have you gotten yourself into this time?”
“Good old revenge.” I pause. “Remember the people I told you killed my parents? I found one of them. I still don’t know who the arsehole Russian who betrayed Mum is, but I don’t have time for that now, so I will just settle for my fucker uncle.”
“Then what? Do you think you’ll be relieved or that your parents will come back to life?”
“No, but it will feel fucking fantastic.”
“Kyle…”
“And it will keep that wife I drove to the point of no return safe.”
“Where are you?”
“In the place where the grand finale will happen.”
“Where exactly?”
“Why are you asking?”
“I’m here.”
I pause. “Here where?”
“In the States. Come meet me.”
“Why…why would you want to meet me after everything that happened? I thought you hated me.”
“I hated what you did, but I never hated you, Kyle. You were the son I had before I knew what fatherhood meant, and that didn’t change even after I had my own children.”
I gulp, then clear my throat. “You’re being sappy, Godfather.”
“And you’re being reckless again. Come meet me. Now.”
“Hold on, let me finish—”
I cut off when movement sounds from behind me. I spring to my feet, but it’s too late. Something fires in my shoulder. At first, I think it’s a gunshot, but no blood comes out. The phone clatters to the ground, the screen breaking.
Staggering backward, I fall to my knees and stare up at the fucker who shot me. His bleached hair sticks out in all directions as he blows on his gun, the one with anesthesia in it. “I told you it can be powerful, Kyle.”
Fuck.
Peter approaches me until he’s staring down at me. “You’re not supposed to kill Rolan. That’s not what the boss wants yet.”
“I-Igor put you up to this?” I croak, barely able to keep my eyes open.
Peter yanks the rifle from my hand as easily as taking candy from a baby. “Boss said I’m to make sure to keep you on track, and that’s what I’ve been doing all along. I’m the one who pushed Rai after she overheard your plan.”
This fucker.
I’m going to slice his throat.
No, actually, I’m going to carve his heart out with a blunt knife so it hurts more.
“I went to the length of shutting her up, and what did you do? You’ve been going against everything we’ve worked for. You can’t do that. That’s betrayal to Boss, and I can’t allow it. It’s time you disappear once and for all. You’re not even Russian, so you shouldn’t have been a part of the brotherhood in the first place, you filthy Irish.”
He swings the rifle and hits me across the head. My body hits the ground with a thud.
The last image that comes to mind is Rai’s face and her soft smile.
At least my letter can serve as a goodbye.
