Page 95 of Absolution

We walk through the dimly lit restaurant. In a couple of hours this place will be bustling with people. Right now it’s silent, almost ghostly with its empty chairs and tables.

“His face had an interesting color last time I checked.”

Pulling open the door to the small room, we all stop and cock our heads, taking in the sight of Rusty’s swollen blue face.

“Rust—” begins Salvatore, then he shrugs and pulls out his gun from under his suit jacket. “Never mind.”

Rusty’s body jerks when Salvatore plants five bullets in his chest. The young man never regains consciousness.

“Cut him down and clean this shit up. I’ll come around to the back with the car.”

Salvatore disappears as Francesco and I look at each other and then at the blood that’s pooling on the floor, then we spring into action and do what we’ve done so many times before in our lives.

I pant way too heavily when we throw Rusty’s limp, plastic-wrapped body in the trunk, and I’m drenched in sweat. Fuck! If I can’t do this, I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t know anything else for fuck’s sake.

Salvatore side-eyes me as I hop in next to him in the front, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. I know what he’s thinking. He’s said it before. This isn’t the life for me anymore.

“Mr. Linden is home alone. Johnny and Adrian are making sure he isn’t leaving.”

“Good,” I growl. “Let’s get to it.”

“Are you up for it, Christiano?”

I give my uncle a dark glare. Even if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make sure to annihilate the one who threatened my woman. Even if it means she doesn’t want to see me again.

As the car speeds through the darkening streets, the thought gives me pause. Images of Kerry’s pale, determined face flash by before my eyes.

Don’t kill him.

Why the fuck not? I don’t understand. I’m not jealous. I know she’s not romantically interested in the little shit. Someone wrongs you, you end him. That’s what you do. That’s how I grew up. Revenge. Blood. Hate.

We come to an abrupt stop outside an apartment complex in one of the shadier parts of the city. Johnny and Adrian join us and the five of us travel in silence the thirteen floors up to the home of Evan Thomas Linden.

Cecilia’s innocent face haunts me. Kerry’s agony twists my guts. I kick the door open with ease and raise my gun.

“Evan!” I roar.

Two remain by the door as the rest of us advance through the dank two-bedroom apartment. The sound from a TV guides us toward the living room. It’s a mess. Beer cans everywhere, cartons from fast food covering the table, clothes strewn across every surface.

It’s more a sixth sense than an actual sound, or movement. I kick the couch, making it slide several feet to the side, and behind it crouches the fucker who hurt Kerry more than I ever did. Who hurt my offspring. My daughter.

I raise my gun. “Evan Linden.”

He screams, high-pitched, and holds his hands over his head. “Don’t shoot! Who— What is this? Who are you?”

I kick his chest. He falls on his back, gasping, clutching his side. “Dude!”

Putting a foot over his throat, I press until his eyes bulge. He flails, and tries to escape. I lean in and put the gun to his forehead, making him go completely still.

“You made the single biggest mistake of your life today, Evan, when you fucked Kerry over, when you let Richter’s men take her little baby. You see, you were right. She did fuck a Russo. Me. Cecilia is my daughter, and a Russo. You don’t hurt a Russo without consequences and I’m not the forgiving type.”

His eyes widen. “Please,” he hollers, saliva spraying from his mouth as tears begin to fall along his cheeks. “I had no choice. Please!”

“There’s always a choice,” I roar and press the gun harder into his flesh as his face contorts in pain.

My own words give me a stab of a flashback to what will soon be three years ago. There’s always a choice. I didn’t give Kerry a choice.

Kerry’s words ring in my ears as I stare down at the pathetic existence under my boot. A dark haze washes over me. Pure hate, today’s agony, Kerry from three years ago, Kerry fighting for her life in my hands, Kerry the mother of my child whom she had to birth alone in a foreign city, Kerry pleading for me to change. I glance over my shoulder, at my uncle who stands passive, watching the scene, then I remove the gun and slam my fist into Evan’s face. Blood sprays as I hit him again and again. I crush his nose, split his lips. His thick blond beard is soon streaked with red. When he stops screaming and his head lolls to the side, I force myself to stand, my knuckles sore, painted with his blood.

“Call. The. Cops,” I manage to grit out, still fighting the urge to beat him until he stops breathing.

“Christiano?” Salvatore sounds surprised.

“Don’t!” I snarl. “Ivan. Just do it.” I turn to the two men. “This is my call, and this is how it’s gonna be. We’ll make sure he never sets foot outside prison again. Pin the deaths of Richter’s men on him, whatever.”

Salvatore studies me a few more moments, then he nods at Ivan. “Do it.”

As I wash off my hands in a dirty little bathroom, my uncle regards me, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. “You must really love her.”

His words find their way straight into the deepest recesses of my heart. I do. I really do love her.

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