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That, too, was on me. My fault.
I should have let Celia remain just a memory, but I couldn't. When she came to me, I couldn't resist her.
I could never resist her.
Even though I knew I shouldn't, I spoke with Millar and was filled in on the plans to get Celia a new identity and new location until Sergei was taken down. It would never be entirely safe for her, but once Sergei and his family went down, she'd be able to re-establish contact with her family. Until then?
She'd have to become lost to us all.
Millar took care of everything, promising not to talk to me about her until after it was done. I didn’t know where she'd go, and I didn’t know what her name was.
I felt sick about it, but it was for the best. She'd been hurt enough for one lifetime. First it was the loss of her father, then her mother's disability, then Spencer abusing her and Graham all those years. Finally, me taking advantage of my power over her to get what I wanted. Sergei's abduction and her rape was too much.
I had to let her go, no matter how much it hurt.
George came home about a week later and went to a special room I'd had hastily constructed with everything he'd need to recover over the coming weeks. A special chair that raised and lowered so he could get in easily. A bathtub that had an easy access. I hired an occupational therapist for him, who would get him back into as good a working shape as possible, given the damage to his nerves.
Four weeks passed, and then five.
Six weeks after I rescued Celia from Sergei's warehouse, I entered the space with my crew, weapons at their sides.
For two weeks, I’d planned the op, meeting with Sergei's competitors, finding my way into their good graces. I'd established a relationship with a man who wanted to take over some of Sergei's business in Boston.
I'd agreed, in a meeting with Sergei's capo, to store his shipments of guns at my warehouse on the waterfront and we were going to pick them up – or so the story went.
When we walked in, the guards checked us out but our weapons were expected because we were transporting the guns and needed protection. I was unarmed and went up to Sergei, shaking his hand.
"It is good you finally came around to my way of thinking about this matter," he said coolly.
"What choice did I have?" I replied, smiling.
"There was no choice, I agree. I hear your little bird was plucked and flew to a better nest. It is sad. I love a happy ending but there are other birds."
"There are."
"Yes, there are many pretty birds and they are very sweet," Sergei said, then waved at the boxes of guns. "But money is sweeter."
I nodded, not letting on how I really felt, smiling like Celia meant nothing to me.
Of course, Sergei knew she meant something to me – a lot. Enough that he could manipulate me to get what he wanted.
"So, you take my guns, and hold them until I have a buyer. You get a cut, I get them out of my warehouse."
At that moment, two more armed men entered. They were a few of the lower-level guards from one of Sergei's competitors, who I'd promised could take over the gun-running biz in Boston once I took Sergei down. It had taken a great deal of finesse to get them to trust me, but they finally did, having as much hatred for Sergei as I did, but for different reasons.
"What the fuck is this?" Sergei glanced at the men.
"Some backup," I said. "Just in case I needed them." I gestured to the men, who were dressed in swat gear. They stood at the ready. The lead man nodded at me. His name was Alexei – the son of one of the Russians in Boston who had fallen at Sergei's hands but he was wearing a mask that covered the bottom of his face so Sergei didn't recognize him.
"We're here with a truck, ready to go," Alexei said, holding his hand up to calm Sergei.
Sergei looked wary, but then he relented. "Be my guest." Sergei pointed to the boxes of guns. "I'll let you know when my buyer is coming to pick up."
"You heard the man," I said to Alexei and his man. "Take them."
That was the signal. Both men turned their weapons on Sergei's guards, who fell to the ground in a hail of automatic gunfire. I watched Sergei, who was cool as a cucumber. The only sign he was upset was the muscle pulsing in his jaw. He turned to me, reaching for his weapon, but I was faster, kicking away his hand before he could draw his weapon. Then I punched him in the head, easily knocking him to the ground. I knelt over him and took the weapon from his holster.
"This," I said holding the gun to his chin. "This is for Celia."
