𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 |𝟏𝟖+

55 || All Roads Lead To You

"He doesn't like Russians at all." At his somber tone, I reach for my phone and navigate to the folder I'd compiled, full of information on any and every Italian.

Studying our enemies was a necessity.

I navigate to the one named Ademaro.

There I find Silvio, his wife and their three children. They're the perfect family. He's the perfect father.

Shame, they'll be anything but when I'm done with them.

"What do you want me to do?" Dima asks, his tone hushed.

Mine's firm. "Inform the others, we leave for America tonight."

𝔚𝔚𝔚
Adrik

"She's dead."

I have yet to catch sight of his face, but I spot the rise of his shoulders, the drop of the fork in his hand and the way he stands, so sudden and serious as he excuses himself from the dinner table.

"What?" Disbelief coats his fear stricken voice.

I drive forward, it's nothing but a few feet in distance but enough to catch the lights flicker on as he appears through the window of his office. 

"This is all your fault." My voice is calm and quiet. Nothing but a murmur as I watch from behind the wheel. Waiting. "You let my sister go instead of handing her over to me. You let her live and she used it to kidnap your daughter."

"It was my daughter for your sister." The older man shakes his head, as though my words are nothing but a lie. "You were the one who suddenly refused."

His statement takes me back to a simpler time. A time where I'd landed in America, planned to kidnap his daughter in exchange for my sister.

I'd planned three run ins with Sabrina Ademaro, used her sheltered naivety to my advantage. I'd done it for my sister's life. She threatened what I was planning, and so, I wanted to end it.

Things took a turn the day I sent men to Silvio's jet. And everything changed when I met Celina Ademaro.

She was the biggest complication I'd ever faced, and the only one I couldn't bear getting rid of.

"If Celina's dead..." Voice cracking, his words are so unsettling, I can do nothing but rub my chest as the thought feels catastrophic. "It's your fault. You let it happen."

His accusation ebbs at my composure. My hands tighten around the steering wheel and I watch him move to the lockbox behind his desk and punch in the pin.

Four clicks, three consecutive, the last a millisecond later.

Eleven thirteen.

Her birthday.

He pulls a gun from the safe and tucks it behind his back. "She was safe with me-"

I hang up.

The seed's been planted, I didn't need to stick around for his incessant whining.