Page 20 of Witch's Promise

And there it was. The real reason for his father's visit. Sean should have known it wouldn't be as simple as paying respects to his mother.

"I'm not playing at anything," Sean said, struggling to keep his voice even. "I'm living my life, Dad. My own life, not the one you mapped out for me."

"You have a duty, Sean. A legacy to uphold. How long do you think you can run from that?"

The words hit Sean like physical blows, each one dredging up memories he'd tried so hard to bury. The first time his father had put a gun in his hands. The cold sweat that had broken out on his skin when he'd realized what he was expected to do. The nightmares that still plagued him, faces of the people whose lives he'd ended in the name of "family duty."

"I'm not running," Sean said, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm choosing a different path. One that doesn't involve murder and extortion."

"You think it's that simple? That you can just walk away from who you are, from what our family has built?"

Sean's hands clenched into fists at his sides. He could feel the anger building, a familiar heat in his chest that threatened to consume him. "What we've built?" he spat. "You mean the empire of blood and fear you've created? The lives you've destroyed? Yeah, I think I can walk away from that."

For a moment, something flashed in his father’s eyes - hurt, maybe, or disappointment. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the cold mask Sean knew all too well.

"You know about the organization's financial troubles," Viktor said. It wasn't a question.

Sean's blood ran cold. How the hell did his father know that he knew? Had Katelyn been compromised? Shit, had he put her in danger?

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sean lied, hating how easily the deception came to him even now.

Viktor's smile was razor-sharp. "Come now, Sean. We both know that's not true. You've always been too curious for yourown good. It's time to stop these games and come back. The organization needs you. I need you."

The words hit Sean like a sucker punch to the gut. How many times had he longed to hear his father say he needed him? But not like this. Never like this.

"No," Sean said, the word ringing out in the quiet clearing. "I'm not coming back. I'm not going to be your puppet, your weapon. Find someone else to do your dirty work."

"Someone else? Like Riley?”

"If he's so great, why do you need me?" Sean challenged.

"Because you're my son," his father said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "This is your birthright, Sean. Your destiny."

Sean laughed, the sound harsh and bitter. "Destiny? Is that what we're calling it now? Tell me something, Dad. Was it Mom's 'destiny' to die young? Was it her 'birthright' to be collateral damage in your grand plans?"

The words hung in the air between them, sharp and accusatory. His father’s face went pale, then flushed with anger.

"Watch your mouth, boy," he growled. "You don't know what you're talking about."

But Sean was beyond caring about consequences now. The dam had broken, and years of suspicion and resentment came flooding out.

"Then tell me," he demanded. "Tell me how Mom really died. Because I don't buy the heart attack story. Not anymore."

His father’s hand shot out, gripping Sean's arm with bruising force. "Enough," he hissed. "Your mother's death was a tragedy, nothing more. Don't you dare try to turn it into something it wasn't."

Sean wrenched his arm free, taking a step back. "You're lying," he said, his voice shaking with a mixture of angerand grief. "You've always been lying. About Mom, about the organization, about everything."

"You want the truth, Sean?" His father said, his voice low and dangerous. "The truth is, the world is a harsh, unforgiving place. I've done what I had to do to protect this family, to give you a future. If you're too weak to accept that, then maybe you're right. Maybe you don't belong in this organization after all."

The words hit Sean like a physical blow, reopening old wounds he'd thought long healed. He wanted to scream, to rage, to demand answers to questions he'd been asking himself for years. But what was the point? His father would never give him the truth, not really.

"I'm leaving," Sean said, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. "Don't follow me. Don't try to contact me. Just leave me alone."

As he turned to go, his father called out, "You can't run forever, Sean. Sooner or later, you'll have to face who you really are."

Sean's hand clenched around his motorcycle keys, the metal biting into his palm. He was one step away from freedom, from putting this whole fucked up conversation behind him. But something in his father's tone made him pause, a hint of smugness that set alarm bells ringing in his head.

Slowly, Sean turned back, eyeing his father warily. "What are you talking about?"

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