Page 105 of Cruel Knots

Gabriel Morelli, the seventy-year-old patriarch of the family, is seated at the head of the table with his four sons surrounding him. Their faces are grim as they discuss the consequences of their failed attempt to kill me and my family.

“They say the present leader of the Volkov clan is a beast,” one of his sons whispers in an anxious tone. He seems to be the youngest among his brothers and looks barely twenty. “They say people die just by staring at him for too long.”

“That’s nonsense,” Morelli Sr. grunts.

“Did any of our men survive?” the son retorts. “There were over a hundred men sent to destroy them. Not a single one returned to tell us what happened. We just have to assume they’re all dead.”

You’re right about that, I think with satisfaction.

“The Volkov clan is legendary,” Gabriel says. “Even my father and grandfather were wary of them and made sure not to entangle themselves in their business.” A heavy sigh leaves him. “I made the mistake of getting too greedy at the promises that Baldwin kid made.” He hangs his head and covers his face.

It’s too late for regrets, old man, I want to tell him. The leader of the Volkov clan is here to avenge the attack on his pack.

“We haven’t heard from them,” says the second son. He seems to be in his thirties. “No calls. No messages. Absolutely fucking nothing! I have never faced a situation like this.”

“That’s their way,” says the old man. “They’re known to cut your throats in your sleep.”

“Shit,” the youngest son curses. “We’ve got to do something. We can’t wait around for them to come slit our fucking throats!”

“Do you want to be our messenger of peace?” says the third son who seems to be the oldest among them. His face is twisted in a sarcastic scowl.

“Are you crazy?” the youngest man blurts. “I’m not going near them.”

“Get the whiskey,” Gabriel says with a tired look on his face. “There’s no use in speculating. It’ll be either us or our wives or our children that die at their hands. We might even lose a good portion of our manpower. We’ll never know how they’ll pay us back in the end.”

“So, that’s your solution, Papa?” the youngest son scoffs. “We just drink to forget our troubles?” He fails to suppress the fear in his voice despite being loud-mouthed.

“It’ll be easier when the big bad wolf comes to snap our necks,” says one of the sons grimly.

My gaze shifts to the small bar in the corner of the room. Every liquor in those crystal decanters is already laced with a special venom.

The eldest son goes to fetch the liquor and comes back to the table with a bottle of bourbon. I wait as they pour themselves generous amounts of the drink.

Leon wanted to be the one to punish the Morelli family but he needs a break. He’s already spending too much time making our traitorous soldiers pay for their treachery.

I have another reason for coming out tonight. It’d become too suffocating to stay confined in the manor lately. Since this mission wouldn’t require me to show my face, I decided to do it my way. Among us brothers, Leon is the best shadow but I’m not too far off the mark.

I watch as Gabriel and his three sons selfishly toast to their own health and prosperity. They sip their drinks eagerly, not detecting a hint of the special poison I’d mixed into the liquor.

It takes about five minutes for the poison’s effect to show on Morelli Sr.’s face.

Gabriel and his sons clutch their throats, coughing hard and rough, struggling to draw breath against their parched throats. It takes them a minute to realize they’re all wheezing and coughing the same way.

Their struggles increase. Their fingers claw at their throats as they fight to breathe.

They try to scream for help but their closed-up windpipes don’t allow a whisper to leave their mouths. One by one, they topple off their chairs and wriggle on the floor like the worms they are.

This is the reason the Morelli family never gained any power in this region. They’re greedy and don’t heed common advice when it comes to dealing with people far more powerful than them.

I walk out of my hiding spot.

Shock blooms on their faces. My sudden appearance must’ve seemed like some sort of demonic apparition. The thick scars lining my face add to their ideas of me being a beast or a demon.

Gabriel’s youngest son fishes for the cross hanging from a gold chain at his neck. He clutches it tight, his eyes widening comically.

I walk closer to him, enjoying his fear. Reaching him, I kneel beside him and smile.

The stench of urine wafts into my nostrils. It’s a moment before I realize he’s pissed himself.

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