38. Saxon
38
SAXON
S ome people are worth saving. The ones who remind you there’s still something good left in this broken, filthy world. The kind who don’t deserve the hell they’re forced to endure.
And then there are the others.
The ones you don’t just want to stop—you want to annihilate. You want to rip them apart piece by piece, grind their legacy into the dirt, and leave nothing but silence in their wake.
The Albanian mafia? They’re not just in the latter category. They’re the goddamn definition of it.
They’re a sickness. They creep into the cracks, into the places no one wants to look, and rot everything from the inside out. They don’t just take lives—they erase them. People disappear into the void they create, swallowed whole by their greed, their cruelty, their need to prove they’re untouchable.
And for nine months, I’ve sat in their shadows, biting my tongue, playing the part of the nobody. Nine months of watching their filth fester has felt like I’m swallowing glass every single day.
Nine months of my life, buried in this. Nine months of knowing I can’t make a single mistake because the second they sniff me out, it’s over.
And now, because of two women I don’t even know, it’s all at risk.
I hate them for it. For making me choose. For forcing my hand. I hate that they’re now faces I can’t unsee, people I can’t forget, because if I don’t act, if I don’t stop this, they’re dead. And I don’t know if I can live with that.
But I also hate the Albanians more than I hate myself, more than I hate this entire godforsaken operation.
I’ve seen what they do. I’ve seen what they are. They don’t just hurt people—they ruin them. They strip them down to nothing and laugh while they do it. And it makes my blood boil in a way that I can’t explain, in a way that scares me.
Because it’s not just about justice anymore.
It’s personal.
They remind me of him. My old man. The bastard who used his fists and his words to tear apart anyone too small to fight back. I swore a long time ago I’d never become him, that I’d be better. But what the hell does better even mean? Wearing a badge? Following rules that don’t stop monsters like Kadri?
What I really want—what I need —is to destroy them. Not just take them down. Destroy them.
I want to hear them beg. I want to see them realize, too late, that no one’s coming to save them. That all their power, their money, their connections—they mean nothing now.
Because when I’m done with them, there won’t be anything left.
And maybe that makes me a monster too. Maybe the lines I thought I wouldn’t cross disappeared a long time ago. But I don’t care. Not anymore.
There are some people you save because they deserve a chance.
And then there are the others.
The ones you drag into the light, kicking and screaming, until there’s nowhere left for them to hide.
The Albanian mafia?
They’re the others.
And I’m going to make them wish they’d never crossed the borders into this city.
The wind howls through the empty shipping yard, biting and cold, but it’s nothing compared to the storm brewing in my chest. I sit on the edge of a rusted container, staring out over the dark water, my jaw clenched so tight it feels like my teeth might crack.
I grind my teeth, the sharp metallic taste of rage sitting heavy on my tongue. Lucky’s text burns in my pocket, but I haven’t answered him. I don’t want to hear his voice, don’t want to feel his desperation crawling under my skin like it has any right to be there.
I pull the burner phone out, staring at the screen.
“Anything?”
The message glares back at me like an accusation. Lucky doesn’t get it. He’s all heart, no head. Always has been. Even back in school, he’d throw himself into the fire if it meant pulling someone else out. Me? I learned early on that no one was worth saving.
My grip tightens around the phone, and for a second, I imagine snapping it in half, letting the pieces fall to the ground like the useless scraps they are.
But that won’t solve anything.
I shove the phone back into my pocket and glare at the water below. I can’t stop thinking about the two women. Two names. Two lives. And for what? For Kadri to make a point? To remind everyone in this city that he’s untouchable? That he deserves a place at the table? It doesn’t matter. What matters is they’re gone, and Lucky thinks it’s my job to fix it.
Like hell it is.
Nine months. Nine months I’ve spent digging into Kadri’s operation, tracking his shipments, mapping his networks. I’ve been patient—methodical—building a case so airtight even his money won’t save him. I’ve watched these men do unspeakable things, knowing I couldn’t stop them—not yet. Not until I had enough to bury them all.
And now Lucky wants me to throw it all away. For what? A gamble?
My chest tightens, my breath coming in sharp and fast.
But even as the anger rises, the truth claws its way through. It doesn’t matter how much I tell myself I don’t care. I do. And I hate that I do.
I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove I’m not like the man who raised me. My father was a drunk and a coward, the kind of man who used his fists to make himself feel bigger. My mother? She just...let it happen. Watched him take everything from us and never fought back.
The memory churns inside me, sour and bitter. I was thirteen when I finally stood up to him. One punch, two ribs broken, and the sickening sound of his laugh as he told me I’d never be anything but a piece of shit like him.
I swore then I’d never let myself become him. I’d do something that mattered.
But the world doesn’t care about good intentions. You think wearing a badge makes you a hero? It doesn’t. It’s just a license to do the dirty work no one else has the stomach for. And me? I’ve got plenty of stomach for it.
I take a deep breath, the air freezing in my lungs, and pull the phone out again. The screen lights up, another message from Lucky waiting.
“We’re running out of time. Meet me at the docks.”
The docks. Of course. Lucky’s probably pacing in some dark corner, that wide-eyed, desperate look plastered on his face. He doesn’t understand what I’ve done to get this far, what I’ve had to become to survive it. He doesn’t know what it’s like to look a man in the eye, knowing you’re going to burn his whole world down—and knowing you’ll enjoy it.
But I do.
I know what it’s like to hold power in your hands, to feel the weight of someone else’s fate and decide what to do with it. And right now, Lucky’s asking me to throw all of that away for two women who mean nothing to me.
I rub a hand over my face, the stubble scraping against my palm. My head tells me to stay the course, to finish what I started. Kadri’s empire is hanging by a thread, and one wrong move will send it scattering into the abyss, undoing everything I’ve worked for.
But my gut? My gut says to find those women and make sure Kadri knows exactly who he’s messing with.
I jump down from the container, my boots hitting the pavement with a dull thud. The cold wraps around me, biting into my skin, but I don’t care.
Lucky’s waiting, and deep down, I already know what I’m going to do.
This isn’t about them. It’s not about Lucky or the badge or even the case. This is about me. About proving that no matter how far I go, no matter how much dirt I have to drag myself through, I’ll never be like my father.
Nine months of work.
Two lives.
I crack my knuckles, the sound sharp and satisfying in the still air.
Kadri doesn’t know it yet, but his time is up.