by A. C. Bextor
“It’s time, Ciro,” Vlad patiently announces. “For you and me to come to terms.”
Ciro’s expression falls prey to fear. Turning only his head, he circles the room, eying each guest in turn. Once his gaze reaches mine, I show no expression. Mike, Wren, Calloy, and all Ciro has threatened before keep me from giving anything away.
No one else says a word.
“You need to sit,” Vlad orders again, taking a seat in his chair before patiently waiting for Ciro to obey.
Xavier takes a step toward Vlad’s direction, unadulterated rage crossing his face. When he reaches for the gun resting in his holster, Ciro lifts his hand in the air, wordlessly ordering him to stop.
Tilting his head to the side, Ciro commands, “Leave him, Xavier. I’ll do as Vlad asks. For now.”
Ciro sits.
I move my gaze to Killian. The old man is pale, standing off to the side with his mouth open. A blowing feather could take my grandfather down. He doesn’t look afraid for Ciro but concerned for Vlad. Killian’s focus bounces between him and Vory. His eyebrows are furrowed and he refuses to look away.
I’ve missed something. Something colossal. Important.
Shit.
“What is it you need, Zalesky? Is it money? You want my territory? Product? Tell me how to end this”—a stunning smile claims his lips— “feud.”
“Your death will be all that’s necessary,” Vlad returns, deadpan and confident. “But if you’re willing to negotiate, I’ll settle for the truth. And an apology.”
Neither of those options is one that Ciro will consider. He isn’t capable of compromise. Not in any true way, and not unless it behooves him to do so.
“The truth?” Ciro snaps, his eyes darting from Vlad to Vory.
Vory gives Ciro a cunning glance. He shakes his head at my uncle only once, his eyes narrowed to slits and his posture painfully rigid.
Fuck yes. I’ve missed something.
“The truth is I didn’t give that order,” Ciro claims, “so you bringing me here to request an apology is preposterous. I owe you nothing.”
Vlad studies Ciro’s declaration. Ciro has always reveled in Vlad’s misery. My uncle is many things, but a liar in the face of glory? Never.
He’s telling the truth. This is what I’ve missed.
When the back door opens, Abram steps to the side but stays near the exit. My eyebrows furrow with confusion as Elevent and two men wearing black cuts step into the room. I recognize one as Leglas, the man who answered the door at Saint’s club.
Ciro, sensing relief, smiles smugly. “Since when do we invite outsiders into our business dealings?”
Elevent grins, but it’s not genuine. He’s pissed. The talk he and Ciro had weeks ago did not go the way Ciro had hoped.
“I’m not here for you, old man,” Elevent verbally retaliates. “I’m just here for the show.”
“Vlad,” Ciro tersely addresses. “What the fuck is going on?”
Leaning his back against the wall, Elevent explains, but does it while aiming his casual gaze at Vlad. “I’m bettin’ on the Russians. The Irish have a chance, but Ciro?” He turns his gaze to the man who saved his live, then ruined it shortly after. “You lose. And it’s about fuckin’ time.”
When Ciro stands, Xavier takes action. He starts in Vlad’s direction but is stopped midstep as Rueon tangles a serrated wire around Xavier’s neck. Ciro’s large tattooed soldier succumbs quickly, draping his fingers around the jagged edge as he fights for air.
Rueon, much younger and stronger than his prey, keeps the noose tight with precision and expertise. Blood drips from Xavier’s neck onto his hand and down his wrist before his eyes go wide.
Ciro panics, looking around the room, searching for his men. Abruptly, he calls for Calloy, but he remains unmoving other than the slight shake of his head as he denies Ciro help.
The blast of a gunshot comes without warning and Ciro drops to the floor, holding his knee and cursing.
“I said sit,” Vlad growls, calmly holding the smoking handgun. “Now get your ass in the chair and do as I’ve told you.”
Ciro’s face is red. The vein in his temple protrudes as he utters more profanities, cursing through his pain. Turning his gaze to mine, his eyes plead for help. Going against all I’ve been brought up to believe in helping others, I say and do nothing.
“Ciro, must I put another bullet in you for you to do as you’re told?” Vlad questions as an annoyed father would as his own still stands at his side.
Vory doesn’t appear proud of what Vlad’s done. If anything, he’s nervous, if the amount of sweat lingering over his brow is a fair tell.
An eerie and sinking feeling stirs my gut.
“Now, where we were we?” Vlad queries. “Oh yes.”
“You’re fucking crazy,” Ciro scolds as spit flies from him mouth and, like Vory, he starts to sweat. Not from fear but from pain.
Ciro’s not scared, which attests to his degree of crazy. But he should be scared. Right now, he should be absolutely terrified.
“Maybe I am crazy, but to be fair, you knew this already.”
“She was an easy mark,” Ciro brags, and I suck in a breath. “Your whore sister begged for those men to have her.”
The man is facing a loaded weapon in the hands of his longtime rival and he has the audacity to antagonize.
So stupid.
From my side, Elevent gives off a single syllable laugh. My eyes narrow and I turn my head. Cocking an eyebrow, he shrugs a shoulder, feigning boredom.
Another gunshot blasts, this time clipping the uninjured knee of Ciro. My uncle howls in pain, gasping for breath and rocking back with surprise.
Vlad stands, walking a few steps closer to where Ciro groans in agonized pain.
“Say that again,” Vlad urges.
Facing the barrel of his enemy’s gun, Ciro hisses, “I didn’t give the fucking order to kill her, you lunatic.”
Vory, like the rest of us, has remained silent the entire time, but finally he speaks. “Vlad, stop this nonsense. Just finish him, for God’s sake. This isn’t how we do business.”
“You son of a bitch!” Ciro bellows at Vory. Then the room spins with a new truth, a truth I’m not sure I’d believe unless confirmed. “You fucking ordered Faina dead!” Ciro accuses, looking beyond Vlad to his father. Laughing maniacally, Ciro continues, “Tell him, Vory. Tell your son what you told me.”
Vory swallows hard as Vlad rocks, then turns in place. When Ciro makes a move from the cement floor to grab the gun from Vlad’s grasp, Gleb steps forward. Without much effort, my uncle’s arm is broken. The sound of a limb snapping echoes between them.
My gut wrenches at the sight and sound.
Vlad pays no attention, his focus aimed solely and maliciously on his father.
“Did you?” Vlad seethes. “Is what this animal says true?”
Not unlike Ciro, Vlad’s father enjoys his truth.
“Faina made you weak,” Vory hisses. “She was why I couldn’t trust you to do what you needed to do here. You let her come and go as she fucking pleased. The result of that was—”
“You didn’t,” Vlad interrupts, pleading for his father’s denial. “Tell me you didn’t do this.”
“We’re done here, Vlad. Finish this so we may go,” Vory urgently presses as if he hasn’t broken Vlad in two. “We have family matters to discuss, and we’re not doing it in front of others.”
“We have no more business,” Vlad denies. “We never do again.”
With that last declaration, Vlad aims the gun at Vory.
Killian gasps.
Ciro begins to choke.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice even Elevent shifts in position for what’s to come. Standing straight, he releases his arms from his chest and makes a move toward his own gun.
“You won’t do it, son. Put the weapon down,” Vory observes, sounding bored.
Vlad’s back tenses. “No?”
“You’ve always b
een dramatic. Safe to assume your dead sister taught you that as well?”
“No,” Vlad denies. “My dead father did.”
Vlad pulls back the hammer of the gun before firing off a deliberate round. The sound of its blast, then the body of a once powerful but now dead man hitting the floor, will never be forgotten.
The room falls silent, all eyes turning to my uncle. His arm lies limply at one side, blood pouring from his gaping leg wounds. His skin is pale, his breathing already shallow. He’s losing too much blood.
Elevent is the first to break the silence. “And you people call us fuckin’ savages. Fuck me, but I’ll never bet against the Russians now.”
“Elevent,” I clip, hoping to deter him from saying more.
“Sayin’,” he continues with another shrug. “You know it’s true. This is some fucked-up shit.”
“I think we’re done here,” Abram urges, coming to stand at his boss’s side. “Vlad, you’re good?”
“Not yet. I want him kept alive and branded.”
“You don’t,” Abram argues. “This isn’t the means to only your end. This is for someone else.”
Someone else being me. I realize what Abram is saying when he turns in place and offers a reassuring look that’s both full of promise and remorse.
“Wren is dead, Vlad,” Ciro claims. “Even if you kill me, I still win.”
Vlad tears his gaze from my suffering uncle, bringing it directly to mine. The promise Ciro states so casually crushes my chest.
It can’t be.
“You’re lying,” Vlad seethes.
“He is lying,” Elevent touts. “Finish him, and then I can tell you Wren is. But I won’t do that until Ciro’s dead.”
Elevent’s knowing gaze travels across the room to meet Killian’s proud one. The old man doesn’t utter a word, only moves to stare at the floor where Vory lies not far from Xavier.
“Vlad, what do you want to do?” Abram interjects. “You must decide now.”
Vlad lowers his weapon, resting it as his side.
“You’ve done as I’ve asked, Liam. You’ve lived up to your word. Abram’s right. Ciro’s death is not mine to claim.”
My uncle scoffs but then moans in pain.
“Ciro, you’ve finally done it,” Killian chastises. “You deserve this.”
This time Ciro can’t respond. His eyes are beginning to roll and he’s losing consciousness as blood continues to spew from both legs.
“What about Wren?” Abram asks.
Elevent slowly comes to the center to stand near Vlad. This proves Elevent meant what he said; even he’s not stupid enough to fuck with this family.
“Where is she?” Vlad seethes.
“I got her. When I found out all this shit was goin’ down, I wasn’t sure which way it’d go. Ciro’s a fuck. She’s at Killian’s with her father.”
Wren is at Killian’s? With her father?
Vlad’s lips draw tight, hearing about a man who was once so clearly connected to his sister. Someone he obviously never knew about.
“Say that again,” Abram urges. “Who the fuck is Wren’s father?”
I can’t catch my breath. All this time he never shared he had a daughter. All these years he’s cared for me.
“You know, for a ballsy bunch, you people don’t do your homework,” Elevent claims.
He forced me to promise to stay out of the family business.
“You know who my sister was with?” Vlad asks, his voice broken.
He threw Wren and me together, knowing she’s the one person I’d turn my back on this family to save if the decision were to come to that.
“I knew Ciro was up to no good, so I had some of the boys pay some of our informants to find out what that was. You rich bitches aren’t the only ones with contacts.” He smiles and insists, “You each owe me about fifty K in payback, by the way.”
“Not now, Elevent,” Killian clips harshly.
“Old man, the girl’s uncle has a right to know this shit, and the time to tell him was when we knew.”
“Then fucking tell me!” Vlad bursts.
“Pete,” I murmur. Those in the room fall deathly silent around me, waiting for me to say more. “He insisted I meet her. He practically threw us together.”
Abram, the sharp-minded, experienced soldier that he is, realizes first, “Because he knew you’d do anything to protect her.”
“Pete Sandoval,” Vlad murmurs. “I don’t believe it.” Turning his confused gaze to Killian, a wash of relief blankets his features. “Is what Elevent says true?”
Killian doesn’t smile, keeping his expression shielded as if he’s not proud or regretful of his position.
“I have them. They’re safe, Vlad,” Killian promises. “But I think it’s best we go now. Your niece will be anxious to meet her uncle.”
Vlad’s relief is obvious, but it’s short-lived when he tenses and demands, “I want both Pete Sandoval and Wren brought to my home within the hour.”
Our Father, which art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy name.
The soon-to-be last shallow breath Ciro suffers to take wrenches my gut. I’m struggling with right and wrong, listening to each breath become less than the one before, more labored than the last. I’m being taunted by the acrid smell of smoke and gunpowder still lingering in the air. An unfamiliar sense of dread washes over me as I sit alone in a dank stairwell, coming to fully realize what I have to do.
What the others have forced my hand to do.
The unfair reasons for what has to happen next are simple.
Ciro Palleshi, the man I thought I knew and trusted my entire life, never existed. Not truly. He’s a monster who’s lived his life stepping on the poor, spitting on the weak, and threatening the livelihood of all who surround him. He’s cheated, lied, tortured, maimed, and murdered. Ciro is a savage by the world’s very definition. The unapologetic stranger that he is to me now holds no love for anyone and possesses no soul to care.
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.
“Liam,” I hear him rasp. “Please, Liam. Come to me.”
With his arm broken and bullet holes through each leg, he calls for help.
Help. The irony is as hauntingly painful as it is harrowingly funny.
Where was my uncle when I needed his help after my parents’ death? I was a young man, lost amidst a world of uncontrolled criminals. I didn’t ask to be brought up in a prisoned palace—I just was.
Where was dear Ciro when I finally found a woman I knew I’d always love? Wren is everything to me. He knew. He knew I never wanted to live without her. Without needing me to say the words.
He fucking knew.
Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.
Grabbing the gun Vlad gave me, I stand from the last wooden step and round the corner to find Ciro just as I knew I would. He’s lying on the concrete floor, surrounded in a pool of his own blood. Those who stood against what was about to happen are the same. My uncle struggles to live among the already dead.
Xavier’s eyes are open, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. His mouth is gaping wide in surprise.
The once great threat Vory Zalesky lies near the front entrance with the blown-out back of his head to the floor, his face unrecognizable as blood and brains dry around him.
The chair Ciro fell from is tipped over near his feet. The once bright light coming in from the small windows near the ceiling has dimmed.
This fucking day is almost over.
But nothing will be finished until my part in this sad and tragic ending is complete.
“Thank God,” my dying uncle praises, his voice full of resounding hope. Holding his focus to mine best he can, he pleads, “Get me out of here, Liam. Call for help.”
“Ciro, I won’t do that,” I tell him, not recognizing the words as my own.
I’m a doctor of medicine. Leaving Ciro here to die, let alone at my hands,
goes against every oath, every promise, I’ve ever made to help the lives of others.
And because of him, this isn’t happening for the first time. I’ve lost others by his hand, or at least on his orders.
My conscience is still intact, though. I’ve helped those I could and eased the pain of those I couldn’t. Now, with Ciro’s death, I’ll never look over my shoulder again.
“Liam, nephew.” His words are lost to a whisper before he chokes on his own venomous spit of blood and violently coughs.
“You used me, Ciro. You used my career, a job I loved, as leverage. You threatened harm to a woman you knew I wanted to spend my life with. You blackmailed my entire existence to serve yours.”
“I did it all for the greater good,” he claims, rolling to his back and releasing a guttural moan of anguish and pain. “The Palleshi name.”
No regret. Never regret.
“Your place has always been with me,” he states.
“My place is with her.”
“Every lie I told, every act of terror I ordered, was for this family.”
Family. Another lie.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
For one last moment, I allow bitter rage to consume me. I let myself see Ciro, bared and raw. I no longer see him as the man he could’ve been, the man I’d always wished he was, but for the monster he really is.
Stepping closer, clutching the gun, I look down and study Ciro for what I know will be the last time. I won’t think of him again. I’ll forget how much he cost so many. I’ll forgive myself for allowing it. I’ll move on, living each day the way I’d always intended.
But he won’t.
“She’s a fucking Russian,” he hisses, lifting his head from the cold ground. Spittle of saliva and blood flies from his mouth as he seethes, “My blood mixing with that breed? I won’t let that happen.”
“You won’t let that happen?” I repeat with a sarcastic laugh.
“You’re not going to turn your back on your family. We both know you can’t. That’s not how I raised you.”
“No,” I tell him, then revel in the relief that bathes him. “You’re right. I’m not going to turn my back on you, Ciro.”
“Then get me out of here,” he orders.