The Blood Debt

Chapter 26

Roman

I stare down at the photo in my hand, not sure what I'm supposed to feel. The photo's one of many the Ghost supplied as part of his surveillance on Ayla. It's been taken from inside a car outside a Lower Manhattan preschool the kid goes to.

Noah. I like it. It's got a nice ring to it.

When I look at the photo I know what I have to do; I know what my duty is, but what I feel... that's where things get complicated. I wasn't raised in a family that was much into feelings. Growing up with the parents we had, we were taught that emotions were weaknesses that were designed to be exploited - leveraged in an opponent's hands, so pretty soon we learned to stop feeling.

My eyes drift distractedly to the kid's face. My mind's a million miles away. He looks so much like me it's freaky and my thoughts wander.

Does it bug her that she gave birth to my kid clone?

He's got the same glint of mischief in his hazel eyes that used to drive my mom nuts. It makes me wonder what he's like. But that's where the similarities probably end because unlike me, he's looking up at his mom like she's his whole world.

I don't know the first thing about parenting. I'm the Blade, a man mobbed up to the point that my reputation for ruthlessness has even managed to surpass my fathers, and that's fuckin' sayin' something... brokering arms deals, mapping out trade routes, moving Black Rock across the world is what I do... raising a kid is something I know nothing about. It's not like I had the best role models as parents. My old man's idea of parenting was giving me a Glock 43 for my tenth birthday, while my mom acted like motherhood was a obligation she'd been hired to fulfill; looking at how I turned out, clearly their style of parenting ain't exactly what I'm looking to emulate - not if I want the kid to turn out half-normal.

But none of that changes the fact that at 33 I have a kid from the only woman I ever loved; a woman who was smart enough to run from me the first chance she got, and not even raising my kid on her own was reason enough for her to look back.

It's mid-morning when I let myself into Ayla's apartment. I've spent weeks watching her, getting to know her routines. I know what time she leaves for work, what time she gets home, the hours the kid goes to preschool. I know that most days she works two schools and has a two-hour gap around midday. It's the only time the kid isn't in the apartment; the only chance I'll have to speak to her alone. I know I'm going to scare the shit out of her but I can't do this anywhere else and frankly I want her fucking scared. I'm annoyed as fuck and she's about to remember what it feels like to be on wrong side of the Blade. I gave Ayla her freedom all those years ago not because I wanted to, but because what I did was wrong. The second I found out she was adopted, I needed to cut her loose, but I didn't. I convinced myself that things were too far gone. It was easier than facing the truth. The truth that I was too far gone. But what she did, it trumps my deceit. We created a whole fuckin' kid together that she went and had right under my fucking nose.

Today Ayla's gets to remember the Roman nobody likes.

Today I get to remind her that I'm not some two-bit putz that's going to share custody, and do every other weekend with her.

Today she gets to remember that she doesn't get to keep the kid and have her freedom too.

The kid, Noah, ensures all bets are off. Our agreement is no longer valid. If the kid's mine, he carries my surname; he lives under my roof; he knows me as his father.

It feels like a fuckin' shoebox inside. There's one living area, a tiny kitchen and a short hallway that leads to a bedroom and a bathroom. I look into the bedroom, noticing there's only one bed.