Page 112 of Under Control

“My father deserved what you did to him. I won’t deny it. But he was still my father, and you will pay for what you did.”

Aram’s jaw ticks, and for the first time, there’s fear in his eyes.

He should be afraid. I’m done with the Armenians, done with Aram, done with all the baggage and history of my family dragging me down.

I want to be like Karine. Free from all that shit.

“Wait.” It’s the one voice that might make me pause. I look over as Arsen pushes through the crowd toward me. The men murmur, but none of them get in his way. “Don’t.”

“Get the fuck back, boy,” Aram snaps at his son. “You foolish idiot.”

“This isn’t how it should go,” Arsen says, ignoring his father. “For once, we should end things the right way.”

“How’s that?” I ask him, genuinely curious.

He stands at my side. There’s a moment of stunned silence among the gathered men. I press the barrel of my gun tighter to Aram’s head, a vicious smile breaking across my face.

Half the lieutenants lower their guns immediately.

Like they never planned on using them from the start.

Aram’s face turns red with rage as he stares at his son standing at my side. “That’s how they fucking found us,” he snarls. “You sold me out. You, my own fucking son. You traitor. You worthless prick.”

“All my life, you treated me like I was nothing more than flesh. I was flesh for you to beat, flesh for you to carve, flesh for you to mold in your own likeness. Remember the burnings? Remember the beatings? I remember them all, Father.”

The last few remaining Armenian lieutenants holding out their guns finally let them drop once it’s clear what is going to happen.

Aram doesn’t see it though. He’s focused on his son, and he’s livid with rage, a bright fury, his face turning pink then purple. “I should never have let you live, you worthless little shit,” he roars. “I should have killed you a long time ago. You were never good enough. You were never strong enough. I always knew?—”

“Do it,” Arsen says.

“Gladly.”

I pull the trigger. The gun barks and Aram’s skull explodes in a shower of bone fragments and brain matter. His blood stains the men unlucky enough to be standing near him.

Aram Sarkissian falls to the ground, no longer a threat, no longer a problem, just a corpse now.

I shoot Aram one more time in the chest before looking at the assembled Armenians.

“The war’s done,” I tell them, daring any of them to disagree. “Your leader’s dead. The rest of this shit is up to you people. I don’t give a damn what you decide, but if I see any of you near Philadelphia again, I will come back, and I will burn this place to the fucking ground.”

“You think we’re going to let this go?” one of the men speaks up. He’s older, graying hair, face grizzled and scarred. “You think?—”

I put a bullet in his head. Blood sprays onto the wall behind him, and he falls down to my feet. I look at the remaining Armenians.

“Anyone else?” I ask.

None of them move.

“I’ll handle it from here,” Arsen tells me. There’s already a visible shift in the group as several of the men move to his side, leaving a few others alone on the other half of the alleyway.

Battle lines drawing up.

But not my fucking problem.

“Good luck,” I tell him and walk through the crowd. I’m practically humming with joy and the rush of victory. I killed my enemy with one surgical strike, and now dozens of lives will be spared.

And I’m aware that this is in part thanks to Karine.

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