Page 58 of Before Broken Vows
"That's why we're not killing him," I say. "At least not right away."
I check my watch—9:18 PM. Time's ticking.
I check my phone—no messages from Stassi. I wonder if she's sleeping, if she's as restless as I am. All these years, I imagined a thousand scenarios where I'd see her again. Not one of them involved a son. Not one prepared me for the storm raging inside me, the terror at what I might lose, and a desperate hunger to see his face.
"There," Dimitri says suddenly, sitting up straight. "Table near the window. Blue jacket."
I snap to attention, eyes narrowing on the man sitting alone with his back to the wall. Even from here, I can see the scars—three jagged lines running from temple to jaw on his right cheek.
The Hawk.
He's younger than I expected. Mid-thirties maybe, with short dark hair and a lean build. The kind of man you'd pass on the street without a second glance if not for those distinctive scars.
"Got him," I say into the radio. "Blue jacket, seated at the window table."
I feel the familiar calm settling over me, the clarity that comes in these moments. "Everyone hold position. We wait for him to leave, then follow."
Dimitri checks his gun, then tucks it back under his jacket. "What if he has company when he leaves?"
"We adjust," I say. "But according to Kostas, he always leaves alone."
"I still think?—"
"Yes, I know what you think," I cut him off. "But we're doing this my way. Clean. Controlled. No mess."
Dimitri holds up his hands in mock surrender. "You're the boss tonight."
Ten minutes pass in tense silence. I watch The Hawk through the restaurant window, noting how he's not paranoid, not even cautious given his routine. Finally, he stands and heads for the door.
"He's moving," I say into the radio. "Dio, be ready to pull in behind us. Rest of you, maintain distance, be ready to follow him."
The Hawk steps out onto the sidewalk, pausing to light a cigarette. The flame illuminates his face briefly—those scars livid against his skin—before he turns and starts walking north.
"He's not driving?" Dimitri asks.
"Doesn't look that way," I say and grab the radio. "He's walking. Dio, follow us in the van. The rest of us are going for a stroll."
Dimitri looks at me as I open the driver side door. "Let's go."
We start walking slowly, keep pace with The Hawk who's about half a block ahead of us. The night is clear, streets busy but not crowded.
"You know, does he look familiar to you?" I ask Dimitri as I glance around, observing some of our men across the street walking with us as well.
He shakes his head. "No, why? You recognize him?"
"Kind of. Maybe? I don't know."
We walk for another minute and then Dimitri taps me on the arm.
"What's your play now? We follow him home, have a drink with him? Light a cigar?"
"Don’t be a smartass. We wait until he's somewhere quiet but still public enough that suicide isn't his first option," I say. "Then we have a conversation."
"And if he doesn't want to talk?"
I turn to look at my brother. "Everyone talks eventually."
The Hawk turns off the main street, heading down a quieter avenue lined with closed shops and a few late-night cafes.
