Morally Ambiguous: A Dark Mafia Romance (Morally Questionable Book 4)

by Veronica Lancet

Opening my computer, I turn it to him.

  "I think you've noticed that this compound is a little differently structured."

  He nods, studying the layout.

  "There's a reason for it," I lean back in my chair, not relishing the fact that I have to make my weakness public, "I have some episodes... crises if you will, and I become extremely unpredictable."

  He raises an eyebrow questioningly.

  A few buttons and I replay one of my episodes from last year, when I'd finished off half the staff. Not my greatest moment, but the attack had been so sudden, I hadn't been able to see it coming, least of all control it.

  Seth watches attentively, studying my movements. I already know what he's seeing. A creature wearing the skin of a man, but that is neither. I'd watched the tape enough times to know just how much damage I'd caused as I'd cut everyone to pieces.

  I hear screams in the video and I know it must be the moment I start washing the hallway walls in blood, breaking absolutely everything in my path.

  Seth is silent when the video ends, slowly raising his head to meet my gaze.

  "As you can see, I'm not exactly a walk in the park. In fact, it usually takes about ten people's efforts to immobilize me, and even that is not without casualties. You, on the other hand, have the skill I need."

  "You want me to kill you?" He asks and I shrug.

  "If it comes to that. I certainly want you to stop me before it gets too far. Usually I recover after a while but..." I trail off. "For some time now my episodes have been worse and worse, some lasting for days. If I don't come out of one..."

  "I understand," he states.

  "I must warn you, though. For all your skill, which is great by the way, awesome match," I praise him with a smile, trying to alleviate some of the doom in the air, "I won't go down easy. How long have you trained for?"

  "Fourteen years," he replies.

  "I have more than two decades of experience," I simply state so he can see what he's getting into.

  "But you're..." He frowns at me, since we're about the same age.

  "Yes. The earliest kill that I remember was when I was eight. Might have killed before." I shrug, almost certain I'd killed before.

  No one suddenly wakes up with a thirst for blood without having been conditioned to it. And I'm becoming increasingly sure that whatever Miles did to me must have damaged something inside of me.

  "So you see, I'm not going to be that easy to take down. Which is why I'd like to train you until you become familiar with my moves."

  Seth nods, intrigued.

  "There is one more thing," I add, "and probably the most important one. Never, and I mean never let me harm Sisi. I'd rather you kill me before I even set my sights on her."

  She might be able to ground me for now, but I never want to take any risks with her safety. I'd rather be dead than know I'd done anything to her in one of my rages. Because knowing the usual results, I can only imagine the state I'd leave her in.

  "Your girlfriend?" Seth asks, and my lips pull up in a smile.

  "Yes, my girlfriend. You are to protect her at all times. She is your charge. I come second."

  He tilts his head, looking at me intently before typing something.

  "Does she know that?"

  "No, she does not. And we'll keep it like that." I smile ruefully.

  Sisi might hate me, but for the first time I find that I'd rather preserve someone's life than take it.

  I spend some time going over everything with Seth, wanting to make sure things will be perfect in case something happens.

  By the end of the evening, I am already tired.

  I've been getting more and more tired.

  Weary might be a better word for this tiredness that seems to seep into my bones and strip everything from me.

  It's funny how a few months ago I would have been fine just going through life like I've always done, recklessly and carelessly, even the rush of killing fading over time.

  Now there's her...

  And her presence in my life has just shown me how pathetic I've been before. The thought that I may not have too much longer would have delighted me in the past. After all, why would anyone wants to live if nothing ever brought joy, with the simple act of living being a burden? Now, for the first time, dying makes me scared. Because then she'd be gone.

  I wouldn't see, touch, or smell her.

  "Maxim," I dial his number, "find me the best psychiatrist in the city."

  I'm grasping at straws, but I have to try it.

  For her.

  My last resort is Miles, but it's taken me nine years to get here. Who knows when I'll find him? And with how fast my condition is advancing, I'm afraid I won't make it.

  "Don't be sad." Vanya's lips are down-turned as she takes me in. "I don't like it when you're sad," she says, swinging her feet off the bed and coming to my side.

  "I'm not sad, V. I can't be sad, remember?" I attempt a smile for her benefit.

  "You are. I can feel it," she takes my hand and brings it to her chest. Her gesture is endearing, so I allow it for a moment.

  But as I blink, I see my hand lodged into her chest cavity, blood pouring down my knuckles.

  "What..." I draw back as if burned.

  There's a gaping hole in Vanya's chest, her heart missing as blood keeps gushing out.

  "Help me," she whispers, her eye dangling in its socket. "Help..."

  I take a step back, all the while shaking my head.

  It's not real. It's never real.

  My back hits the wall and I fall down. Vanya's form keeps on approaching, even more blood pooling at her feet.

  "Help me, brother. Don't let me die," she keeps muttering, her voice a haunting melody that sounds like a screech in my ears.

  I shut my eyes, counting to ten, imagining the soft sound of a pendulum as it calms my mind. I do it until there's no more sound.

  Taking a deep breath, I open my eyes to come face to face with Vanya. She's right in front of me, her features distorted, her flesh rotten.

  "You failed me," she whispers, the iris of the dangling eye moving as she gazes around. "You failed me," she continues to say until she starts yelling in my ear.

  "No..." I whisper, "I didn't."

  But she doesn't stop. The sound is deafening as I feel myself slipping. Without even thinking, I fish my phone from my pocket, quickly calling her.

  "Vlad?" she answers on the first ring, and I breathe out, relieved. "Are you there?" She asks, her voice the cure I needed.

  I watch in awe as Vanya's receding form becomes smaller and smaller until she disappears, as if in thin air.

  Hell, if I were more superstitious I'd say she's a ghost and Sisi's holiness is driving her away.

  As it stands, I'm well aware that the disease is in my brain. My mind is the one infected with whatever's been plaguing me.

  "Sisi," I breathe out, my body trembling with unreleased tension.

  "How come you called? I wasn't expecting you until midnight." She says and I soak in her voice, closing my eyes and imagining she's next to me.

  "Can't I miss you?" I ask on an amused tone, not wanting to betray the state I'm in.

  She might know some of my secrets, but she's not prepared for all of them.

  "Are you bored? Is that why you're calling?"

  "Sisiiii," I groan.

  "I'll see you tonight," she tells me in a soft voice, "I miss you too, but I have to go."

  She hangs up.

  I hold the phone to my ear just a little longer, wishing I could put her voice on a loop. The demons are coming again, and this time they won't settle for anything less than my sanity.

  The appointment with the psychiatrist set, I don't tell Sisi about my intentions, not wanting to give her any hope where there is none.

  Over the years I'd gone to different specialists, and I'd allowed them to probe and prod until it had gotten to a point where I hadn't cared anymore. I'd been reconciled with my rather fast-approaching mortality, a
nd I was fine with it.

  Sure, I regretted the knowledge I would never manage to acquire, the experiments I'd never run, and simply the world I wasn't going to experience. But it had been pretty simple to convince myself that with my already muted senses, there wasn't really any joy in it anyway. Interesting was the most feeling I could muster, but even that was an overestimation.

  But more than anything, I knew that no one would miss me. Maybe Bianca would put an epitaph on my tombstone, but she's not any more capable of deeper emotion than I am.

  In the end, no one would mourn.

  Promptly forgotten.

  Never loved.

  Lately I've noticed a melancholy getting to me. For the first time I'm actually pondering things of a spiritual nature, wondering if maybe it's not too late for me.

  It is too late.

  I'm a fool for even hoping things might be different. I guess Sisi's arrival in my life has done a number on me. Feeling something other than boredom can wake even a dead man from his slumber.

  And I've certainly been waken. Now I just have to figure out a way to stay awake.

  Looking at my watch, I realize it's time for the showdown.

  I tighten the tie around my neck and I head to the meeting room.

  With so many things about Miles and Project Humanitas coming to light, I'd started thinking more in depth about it and a few glaring issues had arisen.

  Most importantly, how is it that Miles and his partner had been able to approach both Misha and Giovanni Lastra? And they had earned their trust, too. So I'd started mapping out all the events, particularly leading up to Misha's coup.

  I remember father had put him in charge of the New Jersey travel routes, and he'd been commuting between states to attend meetings and settle with providers. Was it during one of those trips that he met Miles?

  The missing piece is the unknown partner. Without him, it's simply an endless puzzle, since he could have easily been the liaison between them.

  But since now I have Miles' full name, I plan to set a small trap. I'd summoned all seconds-in-command tonight for a short meeting, hoping to summon a syndicate summit soon.

  Not that I've been in good terms with any of the other pakhans, but they need me more than I need them, after all, New York is one of the biggest hubs on the East Coast. Knowing that, all evidence is pointing towards someone who'd stand to gain something from Misha's leadership, and so every pakhan on the East Coast falls under suspicion.

  Now I'll just need to get them talking, and what best way than hold a summit? I just need everyone together in the same place. I'll provide them with everything they desire—alcohol, drugs and women—and I'm just going to hope their tongues loosen up enough.

  I'd try torture, but even I am not that reckless to get the entire East Coast on my back. Well... half maybe, just not all of them.

  And since everyone has a bone to pick with me, I'll have to be inventive with this invitation.

  Exiting the room, I meet Seth.

  "Ready?" He nods, swinging the big backpack on his back. He's carrying a few interesting items that should make this party merrier.

  "Then let the show begin," I wink at him.

  About ten men are all waiting for me in the conference room, all gathered around the round table.

  "Gentlemen," I greet them with open arms.

  Seth takes his spot in the back as I walk around, shaking hands with everyone and kissing their cheeks.

  One last kiss. Who said I'm not generous?

  As I'm taking my seat at the top of the table, Maxim gives me a nod, closing the doors and locking us inside.

  The men don't even notice that small detail, their attention focused wholly on me now.

  "Say, Kuznetsov, why did you call us here?" One asks, and I have to squint my eyes at him, his name escaping me for the moment.

  "Sorry, but who are you?" I ask, relishing the way outrage spreads over his features.

  "What?" he sputters, looking offended.

  Some of the other men are stifling a laughter. Alas, a name is just a name, just like a grave is a grave.

  I tilt my head to the right and I make a small motion to Seth. Opening the back, he hands it to me to make my choice.

  Pursing my lips, I browse the items, ultimately settling on a machete. As soon as I draw it out of the back, I hear the gasps behind me, the men no doubt scrambling for their weapons.

  Alas, their guns have been confiscated so they likely only have some puny knives.

  Turning towards them, I test the sharpness of the blade against my finger, blood pouring instantly.

  Bringing it to my mouth, I smile as I lick the red liquid.

  "So, gentlemen, where was I?" I beam at them, jumping on the table and carefully choosing the first target.

  The man who'd spoken first is also the first one to fly for the door. Ah, of course the loudest are the loudest for a reason.

  Two big steps and I jump right in front of him, swinging the machete to an angle, his head falling effortlessly to the ground.

  "Damn, but it's sharp," I note just when someone tries to tackle me from behind.

  I duck, his small knife hitting the air just as I roll on the floor, nabbing his knee. He falls down just as two more come towards me. Not wasting any time, I cut his head in one swift motion, turning around to deal with the newcomers.

  A cut here, a cut there and two more heads are rolling on the floor. Adrenaline is rushing through my veins, my blood pumping hard as my pupils dilate at the sight of blood.

  Oh, it's on.

  The rest is a blur of movements, body parts and guts spilled on the floor, the entire room painted in red as blood flows freely.

  The machete becomes an extended arm as I cut and wade through the dead bodies, enjoying the feel of the flesh giving in to my sharp blade.

  When all the heads have fallen, I can't help myself as I start tearing the bodies apart, using the machete to cut them in tiny pieces.

  Blood. More blood. So much blood until I'm drowning in it, laughter bubbling in my throat as my hands grab at the viscous liquid, draping it over my body like a sheet. I feel it coating my skin, flowing down my limbs until it's covering me like an armor.

  From blood to blood.

  Until it ends.

  I don't know how much later I open my eyes, clarity returning in my gaze. I'm lying on my back on the table, my clothes shredded, blood everywhere. Moving around a little, I realize nothing hurts, so it's not my blood.

  "You're ok?" Seth's robotic voice asks from the corner.

  He's relatively clean considering the mess around.

  "Now, yes," I groan, getting up and taking in my work of art. "Did I damage any of the heads?" I ask, hoping at least those would be intact.

  "No. I managed to collect them while you were busy." He replies with a straight face, pointing under the table where all ten heads are lined up in a row.

  "Clean cut." I whistle, amazed at the skill I'd displayed.

  Calling Maxim inside, I tell him to catalogue the heads and send them as gifts to their respective bosses.

  With the invitations done, I only need to wait for my guests to come.

  Ah, who said letting loose every now and then wasn't fun?

  "Tell me more about your childhood," Dr. Reese prompts me and I'm almost tempted to roll my eye at him. But I'd promised myself I'd make an effort.

  "I thought I told you, doc. Bloody," I joke, "lots of blood."

  He sighs, placing his notepad down.

  "Vlad, this isn't helping either of us. You came here with a problem, and you're not going to solve it if you're not going to be honest with me. I'm here to help you," he says in his fatherly voice.

  "This was a mistake." I mutter, rising from my seat and heading for the door.

  "Maybe you don't want help," he comments and I stop, my hand on the handle.

  My mind conjures up Sisi's face, the thought of having more time with her making me still.

  I do want this
.

  "I don't remember my childhood. Or much of it," I turn back, casually sitting on the couch.

  "Good, that's a start. What is the first thing you remember?"

  Killing a doctor.

  "I was kidnapped when I was three with my twin sister. I don't remember any of the years spent in captivity," I start, detaching myself. "My sister, Vanya, died there," I say, watching her huddled in a corner, her eyes tear streaked. "I didn't." I shrug.

  "Do you think your sister's death might have something to do with you blocking out the memories?" he asks in a gentle voice.

  "I don't know." I answer truthfully. "Maybe. I still..." I take a deep breath, gazing down at the seat next to me where Vanya suddenly appears. "I still see her." I admit, and her face scrunches up in horror, her mouth opening to yell in my ear. It takes everything in me not to cover my ears, or wince every time she does a higher note.

  "Is she here? Now?"

  I slowly turn my head towards the doctor and I nod.

  "Interesting. You were probably very traumatized by her death since she was your twin."

  I nod. "I spent years thinking she was still alive. And when I found out..."

  "What happened?"

  "It triggered something in me. I wasn't fine before either, but it exacerbated whatever was in my brain. I started having black outs... very violent black outs."

  Dr. Reese nods thoughtfully, jotting things down on his notepad.

  "It could be a symptom of PTSD. Do you have any idea what happened to you during those years in captivity?"

  I stare at him for a moment, debating whether I should show him or not. In the end, I stand up, unbuttoning my shirt and prying it open so he can see my chest.

  "Impressive," he chuckles at the sight of my tattoos.

  "Look closer," I say. He leans forward, his glasses on, his mouth open as he realizes what the tattoos are hiding.

  "Can I?" He asks as he raises his hand. I nod, and using his fingertips he traces some of the scars, frowning. "These are surgical," he states.

  "Yes. I'd wager a guess that this happened to me in captivity," I add drily. "Doctors did full exams on me and they couldn't find any issues."

  I spend some more time going over my blackouts, keeping out the murderous details, but giving him enough to know I am dangerous.