I tsk, shaking my head. “You really don’t know? A sly weasel like you suspected nothing?”
“What are you talking about? If this is about Shkelzen’s behavior—”
I cross the room in three strides, my hand shackling his neck.
The tendons yield and snap. His face reddens, hands clawing at my wrist.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” I growl, tightening my grip, “so fucking long. The only thing I dream about is watching the light leave your eyes.”
Leaning in, I shove him back onto the gurney. He thrashes in my hold, completely at my mercy.
“Don’t worry. I’m not letting you die this way. Too messy,” I whisper, loosening my grip. I seal his lips with medical tape. His screams turn into muffled whispers. “Much better.”
It’ll be a nightmare in autopsy—prints around his bruised neck. Too obvious. As much as I want him to suffer just like my parents and Beatrice did, I need him dead more, and this needs to look clean.
Sofia’s already prepping—hands steady and efficient, but with a rare, haunted look in her eyes.
She winks when she catches me staring and flashes five large-gauge syringes filled to the brim with one thing.
Air.
“Not a doctor. The literature’s confusing.” I take the first syringe and stare at the needle. “Coronary artery. Cerebral? Veins? No clue what any of that means.”
Shifting closer, I hold him still as Sofia fastens his arms and legs to the gurney with bedsheets.
“Some websites say half a milliliter kills. Others say fifty. Honestly, who knows? But everyone seems to agree that a hundred milliliters of air is fatal.”
I grip his chin and force the trembling man to look at me. “So this is one fifty, a little extra for the man who’s changed my life.”
Heat rushes to my face as I cock my head. “Not so scary anymore, Berisha? People like you only lord over the weak, like a family of five from twenty years ago. Was too much of a pussy to do it yourself. Had to send your minions.”
His brows furrow, confusion obvious in his mumbling.
“What? Not ringing a bell? Here’s a clue.” I lean in and whisper, “The Lestes.”
Berisha freezes.
Fury simmers into a boil inside my veins.
Rule one: Look them in the eyes.
“My name is Kian Leste,” I rasp. “Your extirpation all those years ago wasn’t thorough enough.”
I slide the needle into the IV port and slowly depress the plunger. Edon thrashes, muffled screams ripping out of his throat.
Sofia slaps him hard across his face. My gaze snaps to hers, and I see tears in her eyes.
Rule two: Tell them their sins.
“You killed our parents and our sister. My grandfather…I’m sure you offed him too. For what? Power? A seat in The Six?” I fist his shirt and hand the IV to Sofia, who takes over and inserts the second syringe.
Damn hospitals for not carrying larger gauges. Not expeditious enough.
“You forged the evidence, didn’t you? My grandfather’s alleged wrongdoings. You wanted to take out the ruling Albanian family and become the top man.”
Berisha’s eyes widen in pain.
Sofia stabs in the third syringe.
