The music playing on the radio is nothing more than static to me now, but I don’t bother trying to focus on it. Not with the pounding of my pulse in my ears.
I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty, and I never have been, yet there’s an odd kind of pressure that comes with the lead-up.
More prepared than I could ever hope to be, I’m not worried about the outcome. I’m just waiting to finally feel that satisfaction, and as much as I don’t salivate at the thought of killing, I’m damn well going to savour this one.
Pulling up to the hideout, it’s smaller than I expected for someone like Vito. It’s just an old warehouse tucked behind other bigger, more impressive ones. Some of the windows are cracked or entirely busted out, and the exterior steel panels are rusted from age. It’s a shitty hole to die in, but he deserves nothing short of it.
With the car in park several paces away, I kill the engine and reach for the passenger seat before clutching the cold metal of the pistol I’ve had with me for quite some time. In a way, it’s like an old friend that has stuck by me through the worst days, along with the highs. It's been just as patient as I have.
Once I walk into that place, there’s no turning back.
Vito is going to die, and I’m going to make sure he knows exactly who put him in the ground.
Stepping out, the cool night air surrounds me, not quite cutting through my jacket, concealing me and the gun. My boots don’t make a sound, hidden by the hum of the city outskirts.
Everything is still. Almost agonizingly quiet. But that’s about to change real fast.
I know Vito doesn’t like to linger in one place for too long, which is why I need to be quick and to the point. He’s likely already preparing to leave by now with whatever prize he might have. Knowing him, he probably has his hands in far too many dealings right now. Trafficking, exploitation, covert arrangements…none of it is surprising from him.
But after tonight, all of that stops.
The side door hidden behind a small fleet of delivery vans that surely haven’t moved anything legitimate in ages is cracked open, leaving me with the perfect in. Idiot amateur.
I slip in silently, sticking to the shadows as that familiar hum of adrenaline floods through me. Finally. This is it.
Once I step into the main room, hand already on my pistol, I see him.
Vito.
Despite keeping an eye on him all this time, seeing him in person, rather than the grainy video feed, is almost strange. He looks older than I remember, heavier around the middle, with his hair starting to thin at his temples.
He stands there with his back to me, phone pressed to his ear.
“…I already told you…If Yuri wants her, he’ll have to pay double. I need to know within the next twenty minutes—”
I don’t wait.
Fast, silent, and efficient, I lift the pistol and cut the space, clutching at his collar before turning him around. The barrel presses against his forehead, right between the eyes.
“Miss me?”
Immediately, Vito’s skin pales as his expression falls. His cell clatters to the ground, shattering the screen on impact.
He stares at me for a long moment, letting that recognition and pure terror fill his eyes.
God…if only I could bottle that reaction.
“W-wyatt?” He croaks, more like he’s gazing into the face of a reaper as his mind tries to catch up. “How…you’re supposed to be dead…”
“Supposed to be…yes. But I’m clearly not,” I utter, shoving him back against the wall, causing him to stumble. “You believed it just like everyone else.”
Vito gapes at me, hands trembling as he holds them up in a poor attempt to placate. His breath thins as I shove the barrel harder against his skin.
Seeing the raw fear in his eyes, I already know he’s prepared to plead and beg.
As he should. His life is in my hands now, and I don’t plan on being gentle with it.
“I spent years planning your death. Years building something you and the others could never touch. Years making sure that cancers like you can’t ruin anything again.”
