When I glance back, the phantom is gone. No footsteps. No shadows. Nothing left behind. Only a trace of bergamot lingers in the air.
The passenger door clicks open a few minutes later, and in slides Sofia. “The bastard’s fast. Getaway car ready, plates stripped. Avoids cameras. No visuals. What did he give you?”
“The world, apparently. You do the honors.”
She grins, tears into the envelope, and pulls out a stack of papers.
A gasp rips from her throat as she reads them. Wide-eyed, she hands them to me.
Transfer of Power: Anderson Holdings to Lleshi Shipping Company
Cosigned: Vincenzo Caruso, Ernest Kong, Juan Alvarez, Adam O’Callaghan, Sergei Ivanov
Official seals in red wax. Frayed papers. Notarized decades ago.
Then the photos—the first ones are black and white. My grandfather, in a tux, stands with five equally well-dressed gentlemen, the Statue of Liberty as the backdrop. Then, colored photos—familiar faces from childhood, family, friends.
And finally, one of a tall man with kind eyes and dark hair smiling proudly at the camera.
Our dad.
“What?” I breathe, unable to believe what I’m seeing. The papers scorch my hands. Grief, fury, and betrayal knife my chest as I put together the story I was never told before.
Grandfather’s land deeds, stock purchases, bank statements with obscene zeros all under my family’s name.
My parents never lied. We were rich a long time ago.
Puzzle pieces fit together—the fear in my parents’ eyes, the constant moving, the different spelling of our last name, Leste, from the original Albanian version, Lleshi. Then there was Carlos Alvarez warning me there were no coincidences before he died at the crematory.
Dad always told us Grandpa had lost his fortune before the Vietnam War, but there were no records of him. No photos except one of him holding Dad as a baby.
This is why.
We were the family who took the Andersons’ place in The Sixth.
We were part of them—The Association.
And somehow, we were ousted.
Thesame dark blood runs inside me as in these men I’ve sworn to destroy. A laugh tears from my throat—deranged and mocking—fate has one fucked-up sense of humor. It’s a full circle, my family starting the uncontrollable monster, trying to escape its wrath, and finally me, turning into the very people I hate—remorseless, apathetic murderers—to end it.
A small slip of paper flutters onto my lap.
I lift it to the light, my vision blurring at the edges.
It’s dated twenty years ago and written in the same vivid ink and script I saw in the crematory records.
Punishment:Extirpation of the Lleshi Family, Strike from The Sixth
Offenses:Betrayal of The Association, Embezzlement, and Coup.
Status:Family line eliminated except for Lestes off-branch—distant cousins.
Current Target:Family of five—two adults, one infant, one son, one daughter.
One signature. One I’m very familiar with.
Edon Berisha, incumbent member of The Sixth, executor of this task for his Rite.
