Up until now, I kind of had the idea that his parents were ghosts. He mentioned that they died, and I thought that was the end of it.

“I was five,” he continues with a distant voice. He’s staring at me, but he’s seeing straight through me. “My mother was killed when she attempted to take me and leave. Then, my father was shot in the back. Both happened in front of my eyes.”

The weight of his words strikes me in one brutal blow. It’s not only about his parents’ tragic deaths, but also about the way he calmly spoke about witnessing their murder when he was only five.

There are no emotions whatsoever behind his voice, as if he’s numbed himself to those feelings.

“I don’t recall their faces anymore—their alive faces, at least. The only thing I remember of my parents is their vacant eyes and their blood. That’s been my driving force ever since I was a boy, but that’s not the worst of it. Remember the organization I told you about? It's not a school for killers, it’s a fucking torture chamber called The Pit. Since we were able to kill, we were forced to carry out hits for money or for our superiors.”

I’m stunned into silence as I piece together what he’s told me. Not only did he lose his parents as a boy, he was also made into a killer. All of this happened to him while he was just a child.

No wonder he became the ruthless machine he is today.

No wonder he doesn’t hesitate when he kills.

His own life was finished a long time ago, so he finds it fair to step on others and murder them.

“That’s how far I’ve come, and I won’t stop until those who reduced my parents into vacant eyes pay.”

“And I assume they have something to do with the Irish?”

“Everything to do with the Irish.”

“Who from the Irish?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“You already told me the story, so you might as well tell me the perpetrators.”

“No. It’s my revenge.”

“Then at least tell me this. What does the brotherhood have to do with your revenge?”

“Everything.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“Of course I do!”

“All that concerns you is that I’m after both the Irish and the Russians, so it’s better to get rid of me now.” He motions with his head at the weapon in my hand. “Just a single shot of that gun will do the job, or would you rather Vladimir do the honors?”

“Stop provoking me. You think I wouldn’t do it?”

“I’m pretty sure you’d do it. After all, you poisoned me. Way to go, Princess. I’m proud of you.”

“Stop saying things like that.”

“Like what? That I’m proud of you?”

“Yes. I don’t want you to be proud of me.”

“Well, I am. I told you that, once cornered, you need to hurt, bite, and kill your way out, and that’s exactly what you did.” He coughs, blood dripping down his chin and soaking the collar of his shirt further. “You’ve come so far since Nikolai passed away. You didn’t let his or your parents’ deaths affect you. You just held your head high and forged ahead.”

Frustrated, angry tears gather in my eyes, but I inhale deeply, refusing to let them out so he won’t see how much his words affect me.

Not only by what he just told me, but the entire story about his parents and his upbringing.

No matter how much it rips my heart into pieces, I have a duty and I can’t carry on with that duty if I’m this tangled up in his emotions, if I feel them as if they were my own.

“Who knew we would find ourselves in this situation?” I ask slowly.

“What situation?”

“Me holding a gun and you tortured.”

“Our marriage started in a bloodbath, did you really expect it to end any differently?”

A pained sigh leaves the depths of my soul. “Were you really always ready for death?”

He nods once then winces. “I’ve been ready for thirty years. The time I lived until now has been a ticking timer until I get my revenge.”

“Then what?”

“Huh?”

“After revenge, what were you planning to do?”

He shrugs as if that’s not important. “Go back to England and take on contracts. That sort of thing.”

“Then go.”

“What?”

I place the gun on the ground and remain hunched down to undo the ropes at his ankles, then release his wrists and torso. Kyle doesn’t move, even when he is completely free.

After I’m finished, I step away from him, but I’m not far enough to stop feeling his presence or smelling him.

His signature clean scent fills my nostrils, but it’s now accompanied by the stench of blood, strong and poignant.

“What do you mean by go?”

I suck in a sharp breath so I can speak with a sliver of calm. “I’m giving you the only way out.”

“What way?”

“Forget about revenge and just leave. Go back to England or wherever you want to go. Just don’t show your face around here again. I’ll make everyone believe you are not made for the Bratva and that we amicably split up.” He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “You can go through the back door over there where there are no guards.”

Kyle staggers to his feet and steps toward me.

I step back, my voice turning harsh, like Dedushka’s when he issued orders. “If I see you again, I’ll kill you.”

Not waiting for his reply, I gather the gun from the ground, turn around, and march toward the front door.

My legs are heavy, screaming at me to stop and face him again, to take one last look, one last touch.

One last kiss.

Walk away. It’s done, Rai. Just walk the fuck away.

Dedushka once told me sacrifices need to be made for the family and that not all of them would be easy; in fact, many would hurt. He said there’s no honor without pain.

Now I understand exactly what he means.

As soon as the door closes behind me with a slow click, I brace myself against the wall for support. My chin trembles and my legs are about to fail me.

I’m breathing so violently, as if I’m about to stop any second now. That’s when I hear it—the sound of something breaking in my chest.