Forbidden Vows (Dark Redemption #4)

One

“How did you get out, Lenny?” I ask the scumbag who’s currently tied to a chair in the deliberately well-soundproofed basement of a derelict building on the edge of our territory.

I’ve always preferred walking the blurred edges of our patch.

The places where syndicate dominion is never clear-cut.

The boundaries where turf wars erupt but the authorities can never be totally sure which faction might be responsible for the atrocities that play out there.

Areas rife with crime because no single organization rules it like they do the interior.

It was a practicality I learned young, when the man I was forced to work for was as likely to dob me in as he was to keep me around.

Being crafty kept me alive and out of custody in the days when I still thought those things were worth something.

But this nasty piece of pedophile crap, I set up myself.

He was already on my shit list - or should I say hit list - after he tried to stuff his puny dick into me when I was a kid.

I should have offed him when I had the chance, but I opted to let the authorities do their job, knowing things would be far worse for him if he were incarcerated.

Kiddie fiddlers don’t do well in prison, and I considered that his just karma.

And there is no way Lenny the pedo should have gotten out with all the irrefutable proof I made sure was found.

But here he is, and the fact he’s walking around free to continue his particular filthy brand of crime has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end, because it should not have been possible, even in the most corrupt circles.

Despite being in a considerably compromised position, Lenny is smug and unrepentant. Something else that raises my hackles. It’s like he thinks he’s Teflon. “Well, I guess some bigwig out there has some appreciation for my particular skills.”

Yeah, that’s what worries me, because Lenny is not the first. Recently, there seems to be a worrying glut of undesirables weaseling out of lock-up. The kind of low-life that even the organized criminal underworld has a hard time stomaching.

Lenny’s ‘skill’, as he calls it, is in identifying young, vulnerable kids, either in schools or on the streets, and ascertaining which ones won’t be missed, so he can pluck them, trial the merchandise, then sell them to the highest bidder.

Befriending them, feeding them, making them think someone cares, that someone is looking out for them.

All before he gets them hooked on drugs to keep them dependent and compliant, then trading them like they’re a commodity. Like they’re objects, not people.

I guess you could say that’s a trigger of mine.

“Who got you off?” I repeat, circling him as I try to keep my fury in check.

Idiot just laughs. A laugh that turns into a wheeze when I swing around with a roundhouse kick to his gut.

“How about I start with those fingers that have been in all kinds of places they shouldn’t have been?” I ask like I’m making conversation. “Will that help you talk?”

Lenny glares. It’s almost like he thinks I won’t do it.

He’s about to learn differently.

Minutes later, his screams are muffled by the acoustic foam on the walls that resembles a giant eggbox.

“So?” I pause. “Are you feeling a little more forthcoming yet? You gonna tell me who paid big bucks to get a sicko like you let off? Because there’s no way anyone did it just for the hell of it.”

“Fuck you!” Lenny spits, but I step back before his bloody phlegm can hit me.

“Ah-ah-ah.” Shaking my head, I press the tip of my knife just under his eyeball, flat against his skin. “You tried that once, Lenny. Didn’t go so well for you if I remember correctly.”

My MMA training was a surprise to him, and I left him with balls so bruised I doubt he was able to use them for a good long time. He sure as hell didn’t come near me again.

A single bead of blood drips down his cheek like a tear as I do my best to curb my anger. I need answers before I end this sick fuck. Fortunately, patience is one of my few virtues.

“How about I cut off that dirty little dick of yours and stuff it up your ass? Do you think that’ll jog your memory?”

We go back and forth for a while, and infuriatingly, nothing I do loosens this asshole’s tongue. I really don’t think Lenny here has that high of a pain threshold, so I’m sadly forced to accept that he really doesn’t know the identity of his mystery benefactor.

The knowledge is more unsettling than getting a name.

For months now, some faceless entity has been at work in the background.

Against us all; not just the Cosa Nostra.

The Bratva and the Irish mob have both been hit too, and someone is trying hard to undermine our alliances.

Intercepting shipments, paying nobodies to encroach on our territories, getting our businesses raided.

So far, our partnerships have remained tight, but it feels like a deliberate attempt to divide and conquer.

“You know, Lenny. You’re boring me now. It’s clear getting you banged to rights didn’t work, so I guess the only alternative is to cut off your balls and choke you with them.”

Lenny attempts a feeble laugh. I know he’s trying to rile me, but the poor schmuk actually thinks I’m joking.

He finds out I’m not, the hard way. Lesson learned. Not that he’ll need another one.

Pulling off my rubber gloves, I throw them in a bucket and burn them along with various extraneous body parts before I tap out a message for the clean-up team to take Lenny for a visit to the pig farm upstate.

Then I shrug into my suit jacket, thankful I’m wearing a black shirt that doesn’t show the blood, since this is not how I was planning to spend my day.

Then, donning a pair of sunglasses, I walk out into the bright summer sunshine.

Planned or not, this is my life.

I didn’t want it, and I didn’t ask for it, but it’s mine, nevertheless.

A violent, thankless, bleak reality which I live with a careless disregard that has made me surprisingly lethal.

When you’ve nothing left to lose, it hardens you. Makes you dangerous. Has you taking chances others won’t. And conversely, that makes you more difficult to kill. Though I wouldn’t care if death took me.

I’ve made my peace with the devil, because God sure as hell never did me any favors. And sometimes the sweet void of oblivion beckons with the promise of peace I’ve never truly known.

As I walk down the street, my vision is caught by a flash of white-blonde hair, and I feel a jolt in my chest. Even after all these years, my eyes follow automatically. It’s like a reflex action; something so ingrained I don’t even question it anymore. It simply is.

As is the disappointment I feel when the woman turns slightly and I realize it’s not her. The only woman I ever loved. The one who was ripped away from me just like every other person in my life I’ve ever loved.

I guess it proves I’m still human after all.

That I haven’t turned into the ruthless killing machine Vito Rossi tried to make me.

That I still have a heart.

And despite everything, that heart still beats for one woman.

Aspen.