Page 78 of A Life Chosen

Rayan walked slowly toward him, closing the distance between them until they stood facing each other on the sidewalk. Mathias straightened up, flicked hiscigarette to the ground, and crushed it beneath a polished brown loafer. He pulled off his sunglasses and folded them into his breast pocket.

Their eyes met. Rayan was an open book; he was done hiding. But Mathias was closed to him, his gaze hard and impassive.

“Walk with me.” It was a statement, not a question.

Rayan nodded. This was not the place. He wanted to be far from his work and the bustling streets filled with people. He would head to his apartment, a short distance from the office.

Inclining his head, Rayan gestured toward the main road. “This way.”

It was almost five, and groups of high school students were gathered around shop fronts in their uniforms, men in polos and slacks slipping out from offices on their way home to their families. They walked in silence, Mathias remaining several steps behind as Rayan navigated his way through the crowd of pedestrians.

Rounding a corner, Rayan pointed up at the balcony on the second floor of an old block of apartments. “I’m up there.”

Mathias said nothing as they passed through the front gate and inside to the stairs, his feet making even thumps as he followed Rayan up the two-flight climb. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up. With every step, he readied himself for the cold muzzle of Mathias’s gun against his head, preparing for the split second of surprise before his brains splattered along the corridor. That was how Rayan would have done it—unexpected, from behind, so he wouldn’t have to see the man’s face.

They reached Rayan’s scuffed front door with green paint peeling around the apartment number. He pulled out his keys, let Mathias inside, and closed the door behind them. Mathias walked past him, his footsteps echoing around the sparsely furnished living room.

Besides the faded couch and a small table and chairs, Rayan hadn’t felt compelled to find anything to fill the space. What was the point when eventually, inevitably, he would once again have to start over.

His former capo circled the room, studying it, as though looking for something. Then he came to a stop and stared at Rayan standing by the door. “Should have known Mulroney would roll over on you,” Mathias said finally.

Rayan had gone to Deacon Mulroney, master forger, the family’s go-to contact for falsified documents and IDs. It had been simple enough to get an EU passport, dropping his surname in favor of his mother’s maiden name, giving Rayan access to an entire continent in which to disappear. He’d picked Cyprus on a whim, for the weather mostly, hoping to purge a lifetime of Canadian winters from hisbones—drawn also to its isolation and its fractured history. The people here, like him, were not unaccustomed to hardship.

Everything he’d brought with him fit into a backpack. Despite the years that had passed, it was surprisingly easy to toss the rest, displacement a state so familiar it almost came as a reassurance. In his haste, his mind fogged with grief, he’d been unable to find his mother’s book. But he’d already lost so much of himself—what was one more thing? One more tether linking him to a painful past.

Rayan stood unmoving, trying to take in what had happened in such a short time. How often had he caught himself imagining that voice, that face, and now, Mathias was standing in his living room. Yet his presence brought with it a heavy finality.

“How’d you narrow it down to here?” Rayan asked.

“Interpol. Disappointingly corruptible.”

Family connections ran deep within law enforcement. Perhaps, in the back of his mind, Rayan had understood the futility of his efforts—planned it that way even, so Mathias could find him if he wanted. He had simply assumed he wouldn’t. Again, a miscalculation.

“I’m impressed, Rayan,” he said flatly. “Look how far you’ve made it from Quebec.”

Rayan swallowed, caught in Mathias’s unrelenting stare, unsure what to say. “I shouldn’t have left like that.” It slipped from his mouth, but as soon as the words were out, he knew how true they were. Rayan looked at him, searching for resonance, for understanding. “But since Junior, the shooting… everything felt wrong about that life.”

“Everything,” Mathias repeated with a clinical coldness.

Rayan blinked. The man stepped forward so quickly he didn’t see it coming, his fist bunching the fabric of Rayan’s shirt. “I am that life,” he hissed, eyes flashing.

Rayan’s heart thundered in his chest, a fear he thought he’d outrun staring him in the face. “When we first met, I thought you’d kill me,” he murmured. “Guess we’ve come full circle.”

A pained expression crossed Mathias’s face. “What?”

“Why else would you be here?”

Rayan saw the hurt intermingle with surprise before the curtain came back down. Mathias dropped his hand and pulled away.

“I know what you’re capable of,” Rayan said quietly. “Others have paid for less.”

“You have no idea what I’m capable of,” he snarled, advancing.

Rayan drew back.

“You think—” Mathias stopped, jaw clenched. “I’m here to clip you?”

Rayan’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as a dark-red drop appeared beneath Mathias’s nose. “You’re bleeding.”

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