3. Levi
LEVI
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING
Ican feel my father’s ghost frowning down at me as I hold the swollen, bloodied, and pleading gaze of a man whose name I’m told is ‘Derek’, bound and gagged before me. Two of Astor’s other men hold him in place where he kneels as Astor looms behind me like the devil on my shoulder.
Is this what my father did?
Is this who he was when he wasn’t at home?
The thought makes my stomach churn, and it takes everything in me for my hand not to tremble as I raise my gun to the man’s forehead.
Astor’s hand is a paternal reassurance on my shoulder.
“I know it’s hard the first time. Better to make it quick. You’re only prolonging the agony for both of you.”
When I continue to hesitate, Astor sighs.
“You fear he does not deserve death?”
At my silence, he continues, hand sliding off my shoulder to turn away. I hear the soft click and scrape of his Ferragamo Gancini loafers against the wet cement floor.
“The fact that you do not find betrayal to be punishable by death is concerning, but I understand you are young. You will soon learn that there is no greater sin than that of betrayal. In all its forms... But if I tell you precisely how this man has betrayed me, I’m fairly certain it will pacify your conscience. ”
Derek’s eyes flare wider with, somehow, even greater fear; muffled words made unintelligible by the cloth and tape stuffing his mouth.
My eyes lift to the men holding him in place.
Their faces wear twin expressions of indifference.
If you were to guess what they were doing by their faces alone, one might think they were standing in line at the DMV.
Astor returns to my side.
“He’s been moonlighting with a rival gang that doesn’t seem to share my same predilections towards integrity. And he’s been syphoning my fucking clients—more specifically the women and their daughters—and selling them into sexual slavery. I take it you understand what this means?”
Derek shouts and cries through his gag. Astor silences him with nothing more than a look. His resonant voice is deceptively calm.
“If you don’t stop screaming, I will personally torture you to death. Do you understand?”
Derek’s eyes squeeze shut as he whimpers and nods, trembling.
“Did you violate them, too?”
Derek shakes his head fervently, but even my eighteen-year-old self can tell he’s lying. As morally black as my employer may be, I’ve witnessed the code of conduct that he abides by—which includes not killing on a whim or without moral imperative.
Astor’s gaze gradually returns to mine. He doesn’t need to ask if this revelation has inspired a change of heart.
Derek recognizes the moment my indecision comes to an end because he begins to scream and panic in earnest, fighting against the grip of the men towering over him.
Click goes the hammer of the gun despite my stubborn, illogical conscience and the electricity coursing through me that makes me want to vomit.
How many men did my father kill?
At my side, Astor inserts the fancy-looking noise-cancelling earplugs that perpetually dangle around his neck.
BANG.
My ears ring in protest as I stare into the neat little hole at the center of Derek’s forehead, courtesy of the petite nine millimeter bullet.
Only the slightest amount of brain matter gores the delicate edges.
His body hits the cement with a heavy wet smack to reveal the wall of the warehouse behind him.
Bile roars up my gut, driving me to the nearest vertical column where my stomach can purge.
Hunched over with one hand planted on the beam for support, Astor’s loafers appear in my peripheral vision, followed by one of the dark silk handkerchiefs he keeps neatly folded in the front pocket of his finely tailored suits.
He pats my back as I imagine my father would have as I wipe my mouth.
“I’m proud of you.”
Those words strike a disharmonious chord inside of me.
The gun in my hand makes my palm tingle with the urge to use it on this man who has taken it upon himself to step into the role of my father figure even though he’s only a little over a decade older than me. Even though, without him, my mother and I would be rendered homeless.
However, this man is not my father.
My father, for all his flaws and wickedness, would have sooner killed himself if it meant preventing me from following in his footsteps.
Emotion burns through me like a ravenous inferno.
After a few breaths, I straighten to face him. The look in his eyes, unlike the two men dragging away Derek’s corpse, is not one of indifference, but compassion.
The flames of my fury sputter.
“I want you to trust that this world is a better place without him...”
Wouldn’t it be a better place without you, too?
My finger absently caresses the trigger as Astor leans in, voice dropping to a murmur that only I can hear.
“But I will not deny that it corrupts the soul regardless. That it’s dangerous, and no matter how hard I try, I won’t always be there to protect you in dangerous situations.
And now that you’ve experienced a fraction of what is required of you, if you wish to take a different path in life, I will not stop you. ”
Astor’s words take a moment to fully register—to douse my rage in a shock of cold water.
“What?”
He studies me for a moment, piercing silver gaze further illuminated by the sun-drenched skin and dark hair framing it.
For the first time since I’ve known Astor, I watch his mask of calm slip. His hand comes up, scrubbing down his face.
“Walk with me.”
Astor leads me along a pier just as morning’s twilight surrenders to the triumphant rays of the sun. When we come to one of the weather-resistant aluminum benches, he takes a seat at one end, folding his thickly muscled arms across his chest as I settle beside him.
“You remind me of me.”
My brows knit together.
I don’t want to be anything like you.
As if Astor can read my mind, his gaze shifts from the abandoned marina’s sunrise to my face and chuckles. “Try not to look so insulted.”
Oh, fuck.
I may have just contemplated murdering this man, but I’m still terrified of him.
Still wary of this whole situation and silently wondering if he’s going to shoot me and shove my body into the water for the sharks to claim, because I hesitated to kill Derek and have a weak stomach for murder.
My expression must be comical because he bursts into sad, albeit hearty laughter.
Should I be reassured or run for my life?
When his laughter calms, he drapes one arm over the back of the bench.
“Your dad’s not around, is he?”
Fuck, why does that question still hurt so much?
The emotion suddenly stinging my eyes forces my gaze to return to the ocean.
“He would be if he could.”
Astor’s brow furrows; gives me a solemn nod.
I expect him to ask me to elaborate, but to my relief, he doesn’t.
“Growing up, I didn’t have a father. It took a long time for me to heal from that kind of resentment and abandonment. It wasn’t until I learned to love myself as a father should; instead of hating myself and the world around me...”
He shakes his head as if getting off track, but he has no idea how much those words resonate with me, even though my father loved me.
Just not enough to choose a safer career path, apparently.
“My point is that I wish I’d had someone to guide me down a different path. To give me an out. Growing up, my mother and I, despite her best efforts, were poor.”
He pauses for a moment, expression tightening, and I suddenly see the sadness radiating off of him. The loneliness. I’d guess he doesn’t confide in very many people.
“I grew up in a trailer with a broken front door and a fucking hole in the floor that the grass would grow through. My mother used to sleep with a knife in her hand.”
Astor’s gaze grows distant as a nostalgic grin tips his lips.
“She would keep a used paper target from the shooting range nailed to the front door with all the bullet holes in the head and the dick... Would steal nice clothes for us so we could at least look like we weren’t just trailer trash.
Most people I grew up with who were born in that trailer park died in that trailer park—including my mother, despite that knife she slept with, or the stolen gun in her drawer—and I refused to end up the same. Was willing to do anything to escape.”
He pauses again, and I find myself holding my breath.
Jesus, fuck.
You’d never guess any of this by looking at him. Learning this part of his origin waters the seed of begrudging respect I have for him.
Astor’s gaze eventually shifts back to me.
“I am under no delusion that I am anything but that, still. Trailer trash. There was a time, not that long ago, where I’d managed to escape but...”
Astor’s words drift, and I swear I see his eyes glisten before his gaze wanders from mine.
“Here I am... Just a thug with a little money and power, in a life path not dissimilar to the very people I tried so hard to get away from. The only difference is that now, I don’t have to steal my clothes, and I no longer live in squalor. ”
Several beats pass as he chews his cheek before he seems to reach a conclusion.
“I’m going to make you a deal.”