Mason’s breath hitched, and he gripped the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Please, Max. I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand,” he stammered.
Bored and unconvinced, I looked at Mikhail, and he pulled the trigger once more. An empty click filled the silence.
“Three,” I said, ignoring his plea.
“Fuck, man,” Mason blurted out, desperation lacing his tone.
I raised an eyebrow but didn’t signal for Mikhail to stop. His finger hovered over the trigger, the tension in the room thickening.
“Four.”
“It was Valentina! I swear, it was Valentina! She told me the Americans would pay me a lot of money to track the shipments for them.”
Christ.I swear, that woman was in everyone’s goddamn business.
“And how does Valentina know about the opium shipments?”
“Her husband was working with the Americans—that’s how she knew! They’ve been skimming off the top for years.”
No one had noticed, because Cillian was the one who handled business with the Americans. That meant he’d known about the shipments the entire time.
“Do they pay her too?” I asked.
He nodded. “It’s all she has left. Liam has her inheritance.”
No, he doesn’t. I do.When he signed over the marina, he was also signing over problems I didn’t have time to deal with. Like Valentina.
The pieces began to fit together in my mind. Valentina was always manipulating the situation to her advantage. Her connections with the Americans threatened everything I’d built. The entire reason I’d started working for Liam in the first place was to take over the marina.
Mikhail’s gun was still in position, and Mason’s eyes were wild with fire.
“Please—I’m telling you the truth! She’s been undermining you, using the Americans to keep her position safe. She needs the money to pay for her mother’s condition.”
I nodded slowly. I believed him. “But she’s not the one who’s undermining me,” I said coldly. Sure, she couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut, but she wasn’t the one who’d stolen from me.
The room was silent except for the distant hum from outside the door and the occasional creak of the old wood floors. Every second felt like an eternity as I weighed up my options. The cold steel of Mikhail’s gun caught the light as he held it still, his finger tensed on the trigger. He was waiting. I think he enjoyed this. He was always ready to act impulsively, without hesitation.
Mason’s pleas continued.
Mikhail’s eyes met mine, a silent question hanging between us.
Rosalie’s face flashed in my mind. She’d call me a monster if she knew what I was about to do. Trying to be a better man for her was starting to make me look weak. I wanted to be someone she could look up to. I wanted to be gentle with her, patient—someone worthy of her love and trust. But in this world, my world, being better often translated to being weaker, and Mason wasn’t the only one who’d begun to see it that way.
Mercy, kindness—qualities I thought might redeem me—were seen as a weakness to be exploited. Mason had gambled with his life, betting on my desire to change ... but change, I was learning, came at a steep price.
Mason’s voice was now desperate. He was sweating profusely, eyes darting between me and Mikhail, searching for any sign of mercy.
He found none.
Mason had made his choice, and now I had to make mine.
“Thank you for your honesty, Mason,” I said. I nodded slightly toward Mikhail, signaling for him to shoot.
Mikhail’s finger tightened on the trigger. There was a sharp crack that echoed off the walls. Mason’s body jerked once, violently, before slumping forward, lifeless.
I stared at the body on the floor, waiting for the wave of remorse that never came. I wanted to feel sorry, to feel something, but the numbness was strong.
Reaching into my pocket, I took out a cigarette and placed it between my lips. The click of the lighter shattered the stillness in the room.
