Page 95 of Orion Ruined

All this time, I didn’t see it: she was living at Orion’s on borrowed clothes and borrowed time. She didn’t have any certainty with us, and we messed her around at our end of the deal. I know we did. We focused on spending time with her, fucking her, and satisfying our wants, completely forgetting about the video. Goddammit, she kept secrets from us for no reason other than statistics. My genius baby girl.

And even leaving the way she did, she wrote me a note. Gave me another piece of my puzzle.

Naturally, I followed up the information. The New York Times photograph from October 5th, about the same time as Natasha and I started seeing each other, does indeed show her striped sneakers in the corner. She was there. That was hard to take.

I called a meeting that very same day. I nearly died at their hands, but I’m still the head of the Delgados and something must be done to stop Milan. And those responsible for the death of my father. Orion begged me not to do anything stupid but he knew I wouldn’t listen. I do stupid things all the time.

Instead of arriving at the agreed time, I got there a few hours early to teach them a lesson. Nobody messes with Kai Typhon Delgado and lives. The four people who jumped me got what they deserved. I didn’t give them an easy death, though. I made sure the four-finger ring on my fist turned them into pulp. And then, I made it known I was there.

Once all of them gathered, in silence, they realized who was missing. Their eyes opened wider, and they listened. Huh. It was easy for them to listen once they saw I was back to my murderous self.

First, I told them about the Irish. And how the Slavs tricked them. Everything made sense to them, including why our profits were low. Rage and disgust were among the main emotions on show as I was talking, but I didn’t stop there. I moved on to the second reason why I came back.

“I know who killed my father.”

My words resulted in an eerie silence. Everyone held their breath, waiting on me to expose the culprit. All of them except Natasha, who stepped behind the bar to make herself a drink.

When I showed them the photograph from the day my father died, I asked them to see if they could make out anything familiar. They all passed it around and as they saw it, their eyes landed on the bar, and on the person standing there, drinking and looking anxious.

She knew I knew. The ring around her was closing.

“This is all bullshit, Kai! How do we know you don’t work for Milan the Dog?” Natasha asked tightly.

“Are those your sneakers, Natasha?” I asked, utterly calm. Although everyone knows the weather around me is usually this calm before a real Typhon comes on. Such an apt middle name they gave me.

She tried to defend herself. “So what if I was there that day? Other people were too!”

I told her I knew that the leak in the brakes was meant for me, and that was fine. I wasn’t mad about that. What really incensed me was that she went to Milan the Dog to complain about the mistake she made. A mistake. Killing my father was just a mistake to her. Anyway, it meant that she’d been working with the Slavs all along.

“And here I was feeling guilty about what happened to you when you joined the Delgados,” I scoffed.

“I was gangraped by everyone in here!” she screamed in anguish. A fake, theatrical performance that looked good on her. Which got me triggered. The only time I lost my nerve.

“You knew what you were getting yourself into. You knew! And you were fine! I wasn’t!” I yelled.

She flung a bottle of rum across the room at me, scarcely missing the heads of a few others, and ran. I nodded at Niko and his brother to get her since they were closest to the bar. She still managed to get away, but there’s no place she can hide that I won’t find her. I had a different priority that day.

Finally, I told the others about the idea of joining forces with the Vitalis and Cartes against the Slavs. Whereas before I wasn’t sure about this, I now stand one hundred percent behind the idea.

Some of my esteemed mafia members spat when I mentioned the names of our arch nemeses but I continued nevertheless.

“…If we want to fuck pussies, make money, and ride, we can do that. But not without joining the Vitalis and Cartes. Together, we can eradicate the Slavs. Which is our number-one priority at the moment.”

Silence fell while I was giving my speech, knowing perfectly well most of them were afraid to do anything more than spit.

“I won’t mention you fuckers wanting to kill me because those that tried are no longer among us, God rest their souls. You all know me as someone who’s reactive. I don’t think. I do. Well, now, I’ve had time to think. And this makes sense. I’ve already spoken to Logan Vitali and Orion Carte.”

I stopped there and observed them, waiting for a reaction before I continued.

Niko piped up. “Who destroyed our bar last month and put Jeff in hospital with broken legs? Who kidnapped your girl? If it was them, how do you expect us not to retaliate?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t be surprised to find out it was the Slavs. Milan the Dog wants her. She’s some sort of genius, that you pricks were gonna gangbang.” I change the tone from accusatory to professional. “There’ll be a meeting at some point between the heads of the three families to see what we can do. But be aware, Milan the Dog has snitches everywhere. And he’s been killing us, slowly and methodically.”

Their nodding heads gave me the approval I needed. Though maybe half of them were hoping I get killed in the process.

Once that was over, and life went back to normal, my favorite pastime was to ride past the house Maisy was staying in. I daydreamed over the idea of being an ordinary man, coming back from work, going home to my girl. I lived an alternate reality where I got both the girl and the life I wanted.

And it wasn’t only me. The three of us safeguarded the perimeter of the house daily. The only person coming in and going out of their place was the piece-of-shit drug dealer. We monitored Maisy’s whereabouts closely, but she stayed in. She smoked weed. She did nothing. She was becoming a pothead. Without money, clothes, a phone, anything really, she was becoming nobody. Maybe that was her plan.

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