Chapter 35
The sun had risen and set without the intrusion of a red dress.
Natalia did not appear at the estate. She did not intercept my convoy. She did not breach the perimeter. My security detail reported zero sightings of the woman who had haunted my past. This was a tactical victory, a silence I should have relished.
Yet, the silence in the master bedroom was filled with a different kind of irritation.
Click. Loop. Pull.
The rhythmic sound of a crochet hook battling yarn grated against my nerves.
I stood by the window, looking out at the darkened grounds of the estate. The storm had passed, leaving behind a humid, heavy stillness. I turned slowly, my gaze landing on the figure occupying the center of the bed.
Aleesha was sitting cross-legged, surrounded by her usual chaos of pink pillows and plush toys. But in her hands, she held something that violated the color palette of our existence.
Blue.
It was a vibrant, offensive shade of azure.
She was humming, her tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth in that ridiculous display of concentration she utilized for everything from "hacking" computers to tying her shoelaces.
I walked toward the bed. My shadow fell over her work.
"What is that?" I asked.
Aleesha looked up, beaming. She held up the object. It was a lopsided, bulbous creation with two long ears and a pom-pom tail.
"It's a bunny!" she announced proudly. "Mr. Blue! He is Mr. Fluffles' cousin from the sea!"
"And what is the purpose of Mr. Blue?" I asked, though a cold, sinking feeling in my gut told me I already knew the answer.
"It's for Eli!" she chirped, going back to her stitching. "He was so nice to me at the arcade. And he bought me fries when you... uh... extracted me. And he texted to check on me during the blackout! So, I am making him a thank-you bunny. Everyone loves bunnies."
Eli.
The name was a shard of glass in my throat.
The Citrus Boy. The Clerk. The "Friend."
I watched her fingers move, weaving the blue yarn. She was investing time, effort, and affection into a gift for another man. A man who was not her husband. A man who was a civilian nobody.
"He does not want a bunny," I stated coldly.
Aleesha paused. "What? Of course he does! Who doesn't want a hand-made, slightly crooked bunny?"
"Men do not desire crochet," I said, my voice dropping an octave. "He is being nice to you because he wants something. It is a transaction, Aleesha. Civilians do not offer kindness without an ulterior motive. He is bluffing friendship to gain access."
Aleesha frowned. She lowered the hook and the half-finished blue carcass.
"Gabby," she sighed, looking at me with a pitying expression that made my blood boil. "You are overthinking it. Again."
"I am analyzing the data," I corrected. "I know how men think."
"You know how scary men think," she countered gently. "But Eli is just... Eli. He likes coding and dogs. He isn't plotting to steal the crown jewels."
She picked up the yarn again.
"Sometimes," she murmured, focusing on a particularly difficult stitch, "it is better to trust people without thinking about if they will hurt you. If you always think people are bad, your brain gets all knotty. Like this yarn. Trusting gives you peace of mind."
I stared at her.
Trust gives you peace of mind.
It was the statement of a lamb walking willingly into a slaughterhouse. It was the philosophy of prey.
She is nineteen. She has lived in a bubble of yellow houses, leaky roofs, and parents who pray before dinner. She has never seen a man bleed out on a concrete floor. She has never looked into the eyes of a betrayer. She has never experienced the true, unvarnished cruelty of the world I govern.
She thinks the world is made of sugar and good intentions. She doesn't realize that the only reason she can sit there and knit blue bunnies is because monsters like me stand at the gates, devouring the threats before they can touch her.
She finished the last loop. She tied it off and snipped the yarn with a small pair of safety scissors.
"Done!" She squeezed the blue bunny. "He is squishy!"
She hopped off the bed, her pink pajamas fluttering. She stuffed the blue abomination into her bag—ready to be delivered tomorrow.
"Time for night rituals!" she announced, marching toward the bathroom.
I watched her go.
She has no idea.
I waited.
She brushed her teeth. She washed her face. She came back, smelling of mint and innocence.
I lay down on the bed, on my back, staring at the ceiling.
She climbed in beside me. She didn't stay on her side. Of course not. She rolled over, wrapping her arm around my waist, resting her head on my shoulder, burying her face in the crook of my neck.
"Goodnight, Gabby," she whispered, her breath warm against my skin. "I love you."
I didn't answer.
I never answer. To say it back would be a lie. To acknowledge it would be a weakness.
"Goodnight," I murmured.
I lay there, feeling her heartbeat slow down. I felt her breathing deepen. I felt her body relax into sleep, secure in the knowledge that her husband was a "Logistician" who grumbled about blue bunnies but kept her safe.
I waited.
One hour.
Two hours.
Three hours.
The digital clock on the nightstand read 2:00 AM.
Aleesha was in deep REM sleep. She let out a soft snore.
I carefully, surgically, extricated myself from her grip. I slid out of bed.
I walked to the closet. I changed out of the pajamas.
I put on a black suit. A black shirt. Black leather gloves.
I checked my reflection in the mirror. The domestic facade was gone. The "Gabby" who ate apple pie was gone.
Gabriel Muratori, the Capo dei Capi, stared back.
I walked out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar so I could hear if she woke. I walked down the hall, down the stairs, and out into the night.
The black SUV was waiting.
??
The warehouse was located in the industrial district, a decaying corpse of a building made of corrugated iron and rust. It smelled of oil, damp concrete, and fear.
I walked inside. The heavy metal doors groaned shut behind me, sealing out the world of law and order.
In the center of the vast, empty space, a single lightbulb hung from a wire, casting a stark, yellow circle of light.
Beneath it sat a wooden chair.
And bound to that chair, wrists zip-tied behind his back, ankles secured to the legs, was a young man.
He was blindfolded with a strip of thick black cloth. He was shaking. Not violently, but with the subtle, terrifying tremors of a man who knows he has been swallowed by a nightmare.
I walked toward him. My footsteps echoed on the concrete. Click. Click. Click.
I stopped five feet away.
I didn't speak. I just watched him.
He was wearing the same clothes he had worn at the arcade. A hoodie. Jeans. Sneakers. The uniform of a nobody.
I could kill him in an instant. A single bullet to the brainstem. Clean. Efficient.
But efficiency was not the objective tonight.
Tonight, the objective was suffering. Tonight, the objective was to teach a lesson about boundaries.
I crouched down, bringing my face level with his blindfolded one. I could hear his ragged breathing. I could smell his sweat—sour, acrid panic.
"Is... is someone there?" Eli whispered, his voice cracking. "Please... I don't have any money. Take the car. Take my wallet."
I didn't say a word.
I stood up, straightening my posture. I adjusted my cuffs.
I raised a single gloved finger to the shadows in the corner.
My men emerged.
Two of them. Large, silent brutes. They were dragging two figures between them.
A man and a woman. Both in their fifties. Both gagged. Both weeping.
Eli's parents.
They were thrown to the floor in front of Eli's chair. They scrambled, trying to crawl, but their hands were bound. They looked up at me with eyes wide with incomprehensible terror.
I signaled again.
One of my men stepped forward and ripped the blindfold off Eli's face.
Eli blinked, his eyes adjusting to the harsh light. He looked around wildly.
He saw me.
He froze. Recognition dawned slowly. The husband. The tall, scary guy from the arcade. The Logistician.
Then, he looked down.
"Mom? Dad?"
His scream tore through the warehouse. "MOM! DAD!"
He thrashed in the chair, the zip-ties cutting into his wrists. "WHAT IS THIS?! WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
I stepped forward. I stood between him and his parents.
I reached into my jacket and pulled out a knife. It was a karambit, the curved blade gleaming under the bulb.
I twirled it calmly between my fingers. Spin. Catch. Spin. Catch.
"You seem confused, Elijah," I said. My voice was low, smooth, devoid of anger. It was the voice of a judge delivering a sentence.
Eli looked up at me, tears streaming down his face. "You... you're Aleesha's husband. Why? Why are you doing this?!"
I stopped twirling the knife. I pointed the tip at his chest.
"You encroached," I stated.
"What?"
"Aleesha," I said the name slowly. "She is married. She belongs to a house. She belongs to a name. And yet, you text her. You buy her fries. You offer her rides. You touch her thigh with yours."
Eli's face went pale. "We... we're just friends! I swear! She's just a friend! I didn't mean anything—"
"I do not care what you meant," I interrupted. "I care about what you did. You stepped into a territory that is marked. You ignored the fence."
I looked down at his parents. They were sobbing into their gags, pleading with their eyes.
"If a woman is married," I continued, lecturing him as if he were a slow child, "you back the fuck off."
"I will!" Eli sobbed. "I promise! I'll never talk to her again! I'll block her! Just let them go! Please! They didn't do anything!"
I stared at him with boredom.
"Promises are words," I said. "Words are wind. I require... permanence."
I turned my back on Eli.
I walked toward his parents.
"NO! NO PLEASE!" Eli screamed. "KILL ME! KILL ME INSTEAD! PLEASE!"
I ignored him.
I looked at the father. He was shaking his head, tears dripping onto the dirty floor.
I didn't hesitate. I didn't gloat.
I simply moved.
The blade flashed.
It was quick. Surgical.
The father slumped.
The mother screamed behind her gag, a muffled, horrific sound.
I silenced her next.
It took ten seconds.
I stood up. I wiped the blade on the father's shirt.
I turned back to Eli.
He wasn't screaming anymore. He was staring at the bodies of his parents, his mouth open in a silent, shattered wail. His mind had broken. I could see it in his eyes. The light had gone out, replaced by a dark, swirling madness.
I walked over to him. I leaned down, bringing my face close to his.
"You did this," I whispered.
He looked at me, trembling so hard the chair rattled against the floor.
"You killed them," I said, planting the seed. "You invited this. Your choices led to this outcome."
I stood up.
"Clean it up," I ordered my men. "Leave the weapon with his prints. Call the authorities in an hour."
I looked at Eli one last time.
He was muttering to himself now, rocking back and forth against the restraints. No no no no no...
He wouldn't be going to a morgue. He wouldn't be going to a regular prison.
He would be going to a psychiatric facility for the criminally insane. He would spend the rest of his life in a padded room, screaming about a man in a black suit who killed his parents.
And no one would believe him.
I walked out of the warehouse.
I got back into the SUV.
I took off the gloves. I checked my suit for any specks of blood. Pristine.
I drove back to the mansion. I walked up the stairs. I changed back into my pajamas.
I climbed back into bed.
Aleesha was still sleeping, exactly where I had left her.
I lay down. I pulled her close, wrapping my arm around her waist.
She stirred. "Gabby?" she mumbled sleepily.
"I am here," I whispered.
"Did you sleep well?"
"Yes," I lied.
She snuggled into my chest, right over the tattoo. "I love you," she murmured, drifting back off.
I kissed the top of her head.
The blue bunny was in her bag, ready to be delivered to a man who no longer existed.
"Goodnight, Aleesha," I said.
And I finally closed my eyes, the peace of absolute control settling over me.