Page 186 of Morally Corrupt

"I thought you deserve to know why I did what I did. I won't excuse my behavior in any way... But I want you to know why Ihadto help my brother." He takes a deep breath. "It's something that I haven't told anyone before, and you may end up hating me even more after." He laughs nervously.

"So tell me." I prompt him. I honestly doubt there's anything that could make me see what had happened with different eyes, but I'm willing to listen to him.

"I guess I should start with who my father was..."

***

I was wrong. The entire time Marcel told me his story I sat there listening, not even moving a finger.

It had all been...too much.

At some point I had to wonder if he was describing a horror movie. Surely there weren't any people like that in the world. And yet, the more he talked, the more I had to calm myself, not show any reaction.

It was his story... and I could see it affected him reliving it like this.

Then he finally mentioned how his phobia of touch had developed. How he'd made the mistake of showing weakness. And then everything had spiraled so out of control he'd had to make multiple deals with the devil in order to keep everyone he loved safe.

When he was finished, I could only stare at him.

"So now you know... I never wanted to betray you. Hell, you were probably my only genuine friend. But I had to. I owed it to my brother. And what he did to me..." He shakes his head.

"I'm sorry." That's all that comes out of my mouth. What else can I say, really?

"I understand if you won't forgive me. But I wanted you to have some closure. And more than anything, I wanted to let you know that I do value you as a friend."

He stands up to leave.

"I'm sorry." He says once more, before closing the door behind him.

I don’t know how to react to what he just dumped on me. How does someone even process that?

But I suppose there will be time for that later.

For now, I must plan how to get my wife back.

54

BIANCA

THREE MONTHS LATER

I'm carefully cleaning my gun when my phone rings. I spare a glance and see that it's a message from Vlad.

I've told him that I don't want to know what's happening in New York, but he's continued to send me links to different articles relating to the ongoing mafia war. It's not surprising that with tensions rising high, the situation has gotten out of control, and hysteria has hit the streets. For all my reluctance to keep up with the times, I always cave in and check the articles.

It's my damn curiosity.

At least Vlad has kept to himself any news of Adrian.

I can't say it's been easy so far. I think about him at least once every hour. But day by day, the pain of being separated from him has become more bearable.

The moment I'd landed in Moscow, I'd gone to the apartment Vlad had helped set up for me. I'd then spent a couple of days just walking around, familiarizing myself with the new city.

Vlad had put me in contact with the Andropov family, one of Russia's most prominent crime families, and had recommended me for my skills. I'd gone for a meeting with their Pakhan, and we'd found ourselves establishing a comfortable partnership.

Of course, as any suspicious Russian leader, he'd tested me first, and it hadn't been entirely pleasant.

He'd sent me on an endurance mission to assassinate a renowned political figure. It had taken me two weeks to complete the task, but he'd been more than impressed with my results. He'd offered me an exclusivity contract on the spot. He'd initially wanted five years. I'd talked him down to one. I don't want to just settle. The world is my oyster at this point, right?

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