Chapter 25 The Next Adventure #2
Even Tatiana doesn't seem to know what to do or say. She dares not even get too close. None of us does.
"What am I meant to feel?" Nicolae asks, holding the knife flat on both cupped palms, as if he's about to offer it up to someone in a ritual.
"Should I be angry that my vengeance has been stolen?
Relieved that he is dead? His throat was cut last, you know.
The blood—his testicles were removed first. They left his eyeballs so he could watch them do it.
Then they cut his eyes out. And then they gave him the… what is it called?"
"A Columbian Necktie," Sophia supplies.
"Yes, yes," Nicolae murmurs. "Columbian Necktie." A long pause. "He is truly dead."
"Feels a little…anticlimactic, to be honest," Solomon says. "All that, hunted and chased all over the fuckin' world? Gunfights, sleepless nights, fuckin'…all the hell we went through because of that fucking man. And we get a goddamn envelope with some goddamn pictures?”
Nicolae nods. "I agree. It is…" he curses in three languages. "It is damnably anticlimactic."
"I am glad." This comes, unexpectedly, from Naomi, in a firm, confident voice.
Everyone stares at her. Nicolae turns his gaze onto her very, very slowly. "Please explain, Naomi."
Tall, quiet, willowy Naomi, who has been through so much pain, kneels in front of Nicolae, covers the knife and his hands with hers. "You would never have known peace if you had been the one to kill him."
Nicolae's head jerks up at this. "I disagree most intensely. It is what I have lived for."
“Exactly.” A pause. “You have tried to move on, Nico," Naomi says in her soft, sweet voice. "You have tried to let go. To frame it as justice and not revenge."
Nico nods. "I…yes. You are right, in this. I have."
"But you haven’t been able to, have you?"
"How could I, when the monster still roamed this earth? What peace could I know when the man who murdered my wife and infant children was still free and alive?" His voice cracks, breaks. "Tati…Tati?"
Tatiana falls to her knees in front of him—Naomi slides aside to make room. "I'm here, love."
"I thought—I thought I had let go."
She cups his face and kisses his cheeks and his mouth and his eyes. "I know. I know."
"But I couldn't," he whispers. "The hate. The hate…"
Tatiana's thumbs sweep under his eyes. "Do you think I did not feel it in you, my love?
Do you think I did not know when you woke up from a nightmare?
Do you think I did not know what the dreams were of?
I love you, Nicolae. I love you despite the hate you bore for him.
But I feel as Naomi does. I am glad you were not the one to murder that man.
Now you are truly free. His blood is not on your hands.
It is not on your conscience. This is…I know you may not see it yet, but this is the best thing that could have happened. "
He just nods slowly—acknowledgment rather than agreement, I believe.
For a long, silent beat, he stares at the knife on his upturned palms. Then, by infinitesimal degrees, he tilts his hands away, down; the knife rolls, rolls, and clatters to the ground at his feet.
His head hangs. His shoulders shake. Tatiana frames his face and kisses his forehead.
Scoots away, glances around at the men, his brothers. Her meaning is clear: go to him.
They surround him, a brawny ring of arms wrapping around him, clinging to him as he breaks.
When he has recovered, scrubbing his face, he pushes free of the group of men and picks up the photograph of Pugli dead on the autopsy table.
He stares at it for a long time. His fingers slip under his sleeve and touch his tattooed brand.
"Once you're in, there's no going back," he whispers.
"Loyalty to the brotherhood above all." A razor-sharp pause; his voice hardens.
"Never take a life." The change in order changes everything, coming from him.
He straightens, staring at the photograph.
Draws a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out slowly, eyes closed.
When he opens them again, his gaze is clear and strong.
He gathers the photographs and the letter, stuffs them all back into the envelope, and hands it to me. "The case is officially closed."
I accept the envelope, finding it hard to wrap my head around the news. "Yes, so it is. The world is a better place, now that he is gone from it."
Nicolae nods. "Yes, so it is," he says, echoing my words. "I think…I think I must rest."
Tatiana is at his side in an instant, tucking herself against him, propping him up, whispering to him in Croatian. He replies in kind, sounding weary and worn…but free.
"We must all rest. It has been a long fight for everyone.
" I look around the group. "I am proud of each and every one of you.
Of us. Of how we have grown—as individuals and as a group.
" I clear my throat, again feeling emotional.
"It feels disingenuous to include myself in that statement.
You grew—I hid. You have each taught me courage.
Resilience. Strength—mental, emotional strength.
When—" I clear my tight hot throat again, in vain.
"When I created the idea of this experiment, this group, I did so thinking that in helping each of you overcome your pasts, I would…
I would find redemption and rehabilitation for myself.
By proxy, I suppose. But I have discovered that it doesn't work that way.
You had to find it for yourselves. Not find—take.
Make. Create. And you did. Now I must follow your example.
So I must thank you." I look at each face in turn—Rev, Kane, Chance, Silas, Saxon, Solomon, Lash, who is now called Nicolae, Lorenzo, Myka, Anjalee, Annika, Naomi, Terra, Scarlett, who is now called Maria, Tatiana, and Inez, who is now called Sophia; and last, Brys.
"You've each shown me the way forward. We are no longer slaves to our pasts. We have no more enemies. No reason to hide. You are free from your oaths to me. Not to each other, but to me, to this place, this life. What comes next is up to you. But first, if you would indulge me one more time.”
I step forward and hold out my hand to Brys.
She takes it without hesitation.
"Follow me, please, everyone."
I led them up to the security floor. There are three floors above the security floor—Sophia's former quarters, which occupy one floor, and mine, which occupi two.
At least, that's how it used to be.
The crew, after the firefight here, rebuilt the Arrow quarters down below and now call it the Quiver. Appropriate enough. They knew I had additional work done on the floors above the club—after Sophia moved out with Lorenzo and into a rented apartment ten minutes away.
What they don't know is that I totally gutted and renovated all three floors.
There are full suites for each couple: two bedrooms with en suite bathrooms, a living area, and a gourmet kitchen, all designed around floor-to-ceiling electrochromatic windows.
There is now an additional common area on what was solely the security floor—I condensed the various rooms for servers, monitors, and such for security to make room for it.
Now, there are several individual seating areas for conversation around the perimeter, a central electric pass-through fireplace, a theater-sized projector screen with concert-grade surround sound, and a kitchen area.
The usual entertainment features abound—foosball, pool, a professional card table, gaming systems, and anything else I could think of.
The elevator is now programmed to the keycards as well as individual biometrics.
The crew looks around in confusion.
"What's this?" Solomon asks, glancing at me.
"The new common room." I let out a breath. "I…my hope was that you would all stay on, for a while at least. Maybe help me train a new crew of Broken Arrows."
"So, if there's a new crew going in down there, and this is our common room," Silas says, slowly, putting it all together, "then…where are our rooms?"
I grin. "So glad you asked, Silas." I indicate a pile of keycards on the mantel above the fireplace.
"The cards are numbered. On the three floors above, there are ten apartments.
Nine of them are identical except for position within the building.
" I sort through the pile until I find the one I want and show it to them, my grin widening, becoming a little arrogant.
"Seeing as I paid for it, I’ve reserved the corner suite on the top floor for myself.
It is a little bigger than the others. You know, because I'm the boss and all.”
"Apartments?" This is from Rev. "When you say 'apartments'…?"
I gesture at the keycards—heavy black metal inscribed with a scarlet numeral in the same font as the club name on the outside. "See for yourselves."
Brys is smiling as if this whole thing amuses her or something. She leans against me, watching the others excitedly grab keycards and head up to explore.
"C'mon," I tell her. "Let's go see the—my—our…" I swallow hard. "Not sure how to put it. I don't know—we haven't—"
Her lips touch mine, silencing me. "Our. The word you're looking for is 'our', Jakob."
"But…New York. BDI. Your life—“