Page 75 of Mason

The pretty term they use when they don’t want to say what it really is: industrialized horror. Girls stolen. Broken. Sold in parts.

Sienna didn’t die quickly. She didn’t even die whole. She was processed like inventory—reduced to flesh and figures. And at the top of the distribution chain? One name.

Altin Kadri.

I close my eyes. Feel that name sink its claws into my lungs. Then I exhale and let it go.

Because Kadri is dead now.

Not by my hand.

Not the way I wanted.

But dead.

A cafeteria tray laced with poison. An allergic reaction that locked his throat and crushed his heart in slow, suffocating spasms. A coward’s death.

Not the blood-soaked reckoning I envisioned. But death all the same.

I should be furious. I should be tearing down walls, demanding the name of the one who robbed me of my vengeance.

But I’m not.

Because revenge isn’t always about the kill. It’s about the ending.

And Kadri’s ending? It was pitiful. Small. Perfect.

No legacy. No empire. No last words.

Just a cold body in a federal prison, stripped of power and rotting in obscurity.

Now the Bureau scrambles to piece together what happened, spinning their wheels in an investigation no one truly cares about. Accident? Assassination? Who the fuck cares?

The world is better off. One less predator. One more nightmare buried.

If someone handed me the name of the killer, I’d give them a fucking medal.

But they won’t. Because some executions, like this one, aren’t meant to be solved.

Some monsters don’t belong behind bars. They need to disappear.

Kadri was erased.

But my war isn’t over.

Because vengeance like mine doesn’t die with the target. It lingers. Festers. Thrives.

And no amount of poison will cleanse what’s still out there.

I wanted to watch him break.

To hear him beg.

To carve justice into his flesh.

Instead, he choked on a mouthful of food, and I’m left holding the silence Sienna left behind.

Her voice still haunts me.

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