CHAPTER FOURTEEN #5
“Dima,” grandpa says, “not so aggressively.”
I stab one more time imagining the man screaming in pain instead of hurting Natalia.
“Sorry,” I reply and place my blade flat onto the countertop.
“It’s okay, is something bothering you?” He asks and sets his knife down beside me.
I shake my head.
“You sure?” He prods and wipes his bloody hands on his apron.
I nod. “I’m sure.”
“You know you can tell me anything, my son.” His brows furrow and his eyes squint. He’s concerned.
I don’t want my grandpa to worry, so I say nothing. I’ll keep my mouth shut about everything—like I’ve been warned to.
“Dima, are you ok?” Grandpa asks.
His voice forces me to focus on the present moment.
Volk shudders on the chair, desperately trying to free himself from the restraints he knows tether him to his fate.
“I’m good. We can do this together, like old times,” I reply.
“Like old times, my boy.” Grandpa smiles and ruffles his fingers through my hair.
“What is this sentimental bullshit? Just get it fucking over with. End my life. We all know that’s why we’re here. You’ve already taken my son from me,” Volk says.
This fucker can’t keep his mouth shut. He really thinks if he provokes us enough that we’ll lose our shit and give him an easy death. An easy way out. Not happening, motherfucker.
I laugh at his pathetic efforts.
You’re thinking the same thing, aren’t you.
I can tell by the look on your face, Grandpa.
You have the same need as me, the same sense of morality.
The same need for justice. Not the kind where the bad guys go to jail and live a life of comfort.
Old Biblical justice, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth kind of justice. That—that’s in my blood.
A lightbulb fucking moment just hit me like a bullet from a sniper rifle, with pure unaided accuracy.
I’m nothing like Volk. The blood on my hands is never innocent, the blood on my hands is dark, tainted, evil.
I only kill those who deserve it. My hands are never dirty.
I cleanse the world of demons. I have my grandpa’s blood running through my veins, and that makes me pure.
I won’t walk the fiery pits of Hell. I’ll soar to heaven with my Little Sparrow.
Maybe God has sent me to live in this vessel on a mission. I’m a fucking angel on Earth.
I know I’m a psycho, but I do believe he sent me here to do his work. Does that make me sane or insane?
Fuck knows.
I don’t know.
Who is fuck, because he doesn’t know anything, he’s just as confused as I am.
I laugh at my rapidly changing opinion on God, on religion, and on my own existence. But right now, my name is karma, and karma is about to fuck shit up ... for Volk.
I look at Nikolai and feel nothing but admiration for my girl. Her aim was phenomenal.
Back to Volk, Dima.
“Guess which hand the coin is in, guess correctly and the restraints come off. You’ll still die but maybe it’ll be a little more fun.” Grandpa offers Volk a deal.
“I’m not playing your games,” Volk replies and shakes his head.
“Pick a hand.” My grandpa repeats.
“You think I don’t know who you are Levin? I know who you are. I know The Ropes. I know what you did, what your people do. I know Nik got an easier death than what you’ll deal me. I know I’m not leaving this place alive.” He closes his eyes and refuses to look at my grandpa.
“That’s not how this works, you piece of shit,” I say and force his eyelids open with my fingers.
Volk spits and it misses my shirt by inches.
“That’s not a nice way to treat your favorite son now, is it, father?” I ask sarcastically and slap his face multiple times. Each slap increases in force until I see the anger growing in his face. I want his fuse to blow.
“The man who’s so used to be in control is being controlled like a puppet.
A helpless little lamb. Baar, baar, Mikhail sheep so much for being the Big Bad Wolf, with the color of your cheeks you’re more like Little Red Riding Hood.
” I laugh at how ridiculous I sound as I mock him with childish remarks.
It’s rather fitting since he’s a father I wouldn’t wish upon any child. He’s likely the reason Nikolai was so fucking demented.
I know I’m getting to him as his nails dig into the chair he’s strapped to.
Grandpa shakes his head, but he can’t help but laugh too.
“Pick a coin, you little red bitch!” I demand.
Grandpa keeps his fists clenched and smiles.
“The left, the fucking left. You fucking insane mudak.” Volk snarls and coughs in frustration.
I chuckle at how easily the prick broke. I knew exposing myself and allowing my relentless inner psycho to raise his head would cause him to cave.
Sometimes, being delusional and unhinged is my superpower.
People don’t know what to do. They bend at my will.
I always get what I want, and right now I want this piece of shit to suffer for every second, every minute, every hour, every day, every week, every month, every year, I’ve already spent without a real mother.
For a life I’ve had to live when I never wanted to live at all.
Being born from evil, raised by evil, believing I was evil this entire time, but now I know I’m far from evil.
I’m a good man. A solid man. A man with morals, strong beliefs.
Some people deserve to die and this creature more than deserves death.
Fuck, Dima, get out of your fucking psycho brain. Let me go.
Shut the fuck up then, stop talking to me. You’re distracting me from what really matters right now.
This is important, Dima.
You matter. I matter. We matter.
Together. We all matter.
We wouldn’t have survived without each other.
You’ve needed me by your side, as much as I’ve needed you.
I need my Little Sparrow, not my psycho.
You embraced your psycho a long time ago, Dima ... remember you embraced it.
Okay, I fucking get it. I need you; you need me, we need each other. Now let me get back to the fucking murdering.
I slap myself hard in the face.
When all of this is over I really fucking need therapy, and not a fake therapist, a real fucking therapist.
Ah, but remember, Dima ... everyone has trauma therapy can’t fix.
I fucking know that—now shut the fuck up!
I slap myself again.
“Dima, Dima, Dima.” Grandpa repeats my name.
I blink rapidly, not sure how to respond.
“Unlock the restraints.” He instructs and points to my right hand.
I look down and see I’m holding the keys to the cuffs Volk, or should I say, Mikhail is restrained with. I realize I must’ve drifted from reality, because I have no recollection of how the keys are in my hand, but they are.
I do as my grandpa says without questioning why we’re freeing Volk from the chair.
“You had a coin in each hand, Lev,” Volk says to my grandpa. “This was your plan all along.”
My grandpa laughs. “You chose to play.”
“I had no choice.” He wipes sweat from his brow, conflict warring in his eyes.
“You had a choice. We all have choices in this life. You chose to violate my daughter. And today, we ... my grandson and I, we choose your fate ... your end.”
“I won’t go without a fight. More of my men will be here soon. I’m not alone. I have an army, an empire who adore my son. They’ll want to avenge his death, and if you take me out, you’ll have the rest of the brotherhood to deal with. I own this world.”
“Your men are nothing. The Ropes are a real brotherhood, an honorable brotherhood. You hid in the shadows long enough. Did you never question why I didn’t come for you?
Why I didn’t find you?” Grandpa asks and steps toward Volk while running his fingers up and down the cool steel of the blade, the handle firmly in his hand.
“No one dared speak out against me.” He answers as if having men fear him is something to be proud of.
“It would’ve been easy to find you. But for the love of my daughter, the promise I made to her when her mother told me she’d died ... I vowed to keep her son safe. To care for him.
I knew if you knew about Dmitry, you’d want my grandson.
This war would’ve taken place many years ago.
I refused to let him be dragged into your dark world.
He didn’t need a rapist as a father. Look at the monsters you turned Nikolai and Vlad into.
I made the right choice to protect my boy and keep him away from you.
” Grandpa says as disdain washes across his face.
“I wouldn’t say you’ve done a good job at protecting him from anything, Lev.” A visible muscle thrums across Volk’s jaw and he clenches his teeth.
You fucking know taunting my grandpa is a dumb move, yet you’re doing it anyway. You want an easy death, don’t you? Fucking son of suka!
I slam my hand down hard on the table. “My grandpa made me the man I am. I fear nothing because of him. I don’t fear you or men like you, because you’re not a man, you’re a teeny-tiny little mouse who won’t stop fucking squeaking.
And soon, your squeak will become a squeal, but not the kind of squeal disgusting pieces of shit like you enjoy .
.. you’ll squeal like the pig you are when I get justice for my mother. ”
“It’s in your hands, Dima. This is a gift for both of us.
I want you to have this closure. I see you’re more than capable.
I’m proud of you, my boy.” My grandpa’s words hit me and I know it’s time.
I don’t want to give Volk any more time on this earth, any more time for his men to interfere.
No more lives need to be lost. He’s not worth it. Pawel is waiting to be laid to rest.
And with that thought I pace forward, my serrated blade in hand and I ram my mother’s rapist back toward the floor. He stumbles and hits the ground.
I want to drive the knife home, but I don’t. Instead, I grip his shirt and pull him back to his feet forcing him to face me.
“You’re a madman. But not so mad that you’d leave yourself a real orphan.
You don’t have the balls to do it. Your grandpa won’t live forever, and without me, you’ll have no one but the whore out there, because she is a whore, Dmitry, and she will leave you when a better man comes along.
Admit it. Admit you’re more like your father than you care to admit, Dmitry Zorin.
” His Adam’s apple bobs and he swallows hard as sweat beads on his brow.
“My name is Dmitry Rushlakov ... no ... it’s Dmitry Karatov.” I spit, grit my teeth, and grip onto the handle of my blade until my knuckles turn white.
“Naming yourself after a whore. I’m ashamed.” He shakes his head and grips hold of my arms. One hand clenches hold of his shirt, the other grips my blade and points upward toward his chin, almost impaling him.
I pull him forward into my chest, then slam him into the wall.
Mikhail gasps. I repeatedly slam his head into the wall.
“Dmitry,” he whispers, almost afraid now.
I smirk and move my face closer to his. I take a step backward and run the end of my blade slowly down his chest, barely touching him. “Every beat of your heart, is a beat closer to death, and yours—”
I laugh at the thought of what is to come.
“—yours is beating its final rhythm. Erratic, scared, a heart that knows it has limited time left in this world. A world you created, and this same world is the one that’s taking you out of it.
That’s right, Mikhail. I’m the world you created—I’m the fucking world you should fear.
Because this is my world. And in my world, I’m the judge, the jury, and the fucking executioner. ”
“You don’t have to do this, Dima, please son.” He begs for his pathetic life.
“You’re done. Don’t you ever call me, Dima,” I spit. “Your empire ends here. With you.”
I stab hard and fast through his chest and slide my blade down the center until he splits open like a pig, exactly how grandpa taught me.
I ball my fist and punch through his ribs with the blade still in my hand.
As I pull my hand back out of his chest he blinks rapidly and sweat mixes with his blood.
“Dmitry, please, no.” He whimpers and gasps.
I push back inside his chest with my blade and carve out his heart, exactly as I swore I would.
He stares up at me, his eyes wide open and he gasps at the sight of his heart in my hand, as beat by beat I squeeze it, gradually getting harder until I crush it in my hand the same way I’d crushed the hearts of animals with Kristov Jhons my old childhood best friend.
It was one thing Grandpa disapproved of, he prided himself on treating animals with respect, but Kristov was just as sadistic as I was.
And Mikhail is one animal I’d never respect, and one animal whose heart, grandpa, approves of being crushed.
The color drains from his face as his life leaves his earthly meat sack. We all know he’s descending straight to Hell.
“Your mother would be so proud of you, Dima,” Grandpa says and wraps his arms around me, squeezing me tightly as though I’m six-years-old again.
I cling to him, wanting him to hold me longer.
I’m a grown man, begging for his grandpa to not let him go.
I’m desperately clinging to the man who has been my constant.
I’ll never know what having loving parents feels like.
I’ll never know what it’s like to have a mother or a father.
But I know I’m loved. I have my grandpa and my Little Sparrow.
Natalia walks in and without saying a word she joins our embrace.
I can’t hold back anymore, and tears bring relief that it’s finally over.
The three of us smile as we walk out of the warehouse feeling satisfied that we’ve ended an empire of brutality, an empire of darkness.
That we’ve avenged the deaths of my mother and brother, and that my girl finally has her own justice.
I can only hope this brings the closure we all desire to move on with our lives.