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These past few days have been running like a well-oiled machine. Blakely has been really understanding, which I must say, I’m surprised. Despite our sexual encounters, she doesn’t trust me. And I understand that. I lost her once, but she lost me as well. My state at the time was pitiful, and I can’t imagine how she felt.
The sofa sinks beneath Scott’s weight.
“Brother, you can’t keep going like this. It’s been three months, alcohol won’t be the solution,” he says.
I look at him through my drunken eyes.
“Fuck off.” I lift the bottle and drink directly from it. “Ye don’ understand. I had her, and poof, I lost her in the blink of an eye.”
“I know, brother, but she’d never want you to be in this state.”
“Ye thin’? I thin’ she’d want me deed.” I take another sip of the whisky. “I cannae. I need her. I cannae breathe. It’s like she took my heart and left with it.” I look around for my phone.
“What are you doing? And why is your accent always so thick when you drink?” he asks, shaking his head.
“My phone. I need my phone. She needs to ken.” I look at him with pleading eyes. “She needs to ken I love her. That I’ll never betray her like that and that it was to keep her safe.”
His eyes are filled with sadness. “I know, brother. I know. But with the threats we’ve received against her–”
I cut him off. “I ken.”
Eight years. Eight fucking years with the feeling of not being able to breathe without her. And every person who tries to take her away from me again will die.
Hunched behind a bush, I can feel the rough bark scratching my skin as I scan the area for any sign of the person who stabbed Blake. For days now, I’ve been meticulously tracking his every move, waiting for the perfect moment to make my move. Andrea Bianchi. That’s his name.
The street is lit up like a ghostly pathway by the bright full moon. I didn’t reveal my intentions to anyone and kept quiet about what I was up to. This is between him and me. What is mine was violated, and he will pay for every single touch.
I hear a cacophony of laughter and chatter coming from the pub, and suddenly the door swings open. I observe him walking towards his car, the tip of the cigarette glowing orange in the dim light.
Placing my mask over my face, I move slowly, trying to avoid drawing attention to myself. The street is deserted. Without hesitation, I grab my gun from my holster and press it firmly against the back of his head.
“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” I say, reaching for my knife in case he is foolish enough to move a single hair.
“Stronza. Who are you?” he asks, with his heavy accent.
“I think you’re asking the wrong question there. But you’ll know soon enough,” I say with a sly grin. He makes a move in an attempt to disarm me, but I’m already anticipating it and manage to thwart his efforts. With a swift motion, I strike him on the head, causing him to crumple to the ground, and then wrap my arm tightly around his throat.
With an iron grip, I hold him tightly, feeling his frantic attempts to break free, but my hold only grows stronger with each attempt. His eyes bulge out of their sockets as he gasps for air, and his face turns an alarming shade of red. I lean in close to his ear, my voice low and menacing. “Next time, think twice before messing with what’s mine.”
He gurgles out a response, “Who...who are you?”
I chuckle darkly. “Oh, you'll find out soon enough.” I feel his body go limp as I squeeze harder, the sound of his gasping breaths fading away.
“Sleep,” I murmur. Once I safely stow away my gun and knife, I scan the area to ensure that no one is watching before binding his arms behind his back and hoisting him into the boot of my car - a challenging feat. The guy is heavy. I wipe the sweat from my forehead once I’m done with him.
As the engine hums to life, I pull out my phone and type out Scott’s number.
“Aidan, what’s up, man?”
“Meet me at the den.” I leave it at that and don’t provide any additional information. The den is what you could call our interrogatory space. Even though no one ever comes out alive.
As I begin driving, the sudden vibration of my phone catches my attention, signalling a new message.
Unknown number
You may want to see this. Kore.
Attached to the message is a video. I click play, trying to focus on the road at the same time. What the fuck is that? The video shows three people talking to each other. One of them is completely masked, and the other one is hidden by the darkness of the room. I can barely see his face. But the last one. I can clearly see the last one.
