Avenge :Romanian Mob Chronicles(98)

“Are amends possible?” I asked, my voice sharper than I’d intended.

He shrugged as best he could. “I don’t know. I’ve rarely—never—offered them. And never accepted them.”

“So what’s different about the person you failed? Why do you want to make amends?”

“That person was never able to achieve their true potential. My cowardice robbed them of the chance. I can’t take that back, but I can own up to what I didn’t do.”

“And were you this person, would you accept your amends?” I asked.

“No,” he said flatly.

He was so certain, so completely, unerringly sure, that I was surprised at his vehemence.

“Not ever?” I asked.

He looked at me again, his eyes completely clear, flat with the hardness that had probably allowed him to survive as long as he had. “Never,” he said. “That has never been possible for me. Doing so would have meant my demise, the death of my family, my clan. I couldn’t afford it.”

“So forgiveness is a luxury?” I said.

“One of the only luxuries. Grudges take work. They must be tended, nursed, carefully groomed so that they survive but don’t grow out of control. How decadent it must be to let them go, to loosen your grip and let them slide through your fingers…”

He trailed off, turned his eyes back to me.

“What if you’re not ready to let go? What if you want to hold on to them?” I asked, my voice breathy, muted against the pounding of my heart.

“Then hold them,” he said simply. “But always remember what holding them prevents you from picking up.”











Lily





When I finally got home, closed and dead-bolted the door and then slid the chain across it, I felt like I could breathe again. The tension drained, but oh so slowly, and my stomach fluttered so violently I thought I would lose what little I had eaten that day. The memory of Christoph Junior’s eyes on me, the sound of his questions, so even-toned but so full with threat I’d thought I might wither under the weight of his scrutiny. But I hadn’t, thanks in no small part to Anton.

His presence had been a buffer, had left me secure in the knowledge that at least while he was there, Christoph Junior would do me no harm.

But now I was alone and that certainty was weakening.

There was no doubt about it; Christoph Junior knew what I’d seen, knew I knew of him and his lover. All that remained was to determine what he planned to do about it. Common sense would have kept me from ever returning to that house, would probably have me moving to another city completely, but I couldn’t, not with my work unfinished. There was Braden to think about.

My vengeance.

Anton.

I sank against the door at that thought, my mind unwilling to let me nurse the lie. I wanted my vengeance, needed to care for Braden, but Anton was the one who would keep me here.

One day, a few kisses and caresses, the feeling of his warm skin under my hands as he pounded into my body, was enough to change me, change my focus, make me act even more irrationally than the small part of me that I’d managed to keep intact accused me of having done already.

I pushed away from the door, went through the motions of settling in as my mind raced. I wasn’t leaving. That wasn’t an option, not even a possibility. I wasn’t giving up on my plan. And I wasn’t giving up Anton.

So where did that leave me?

Thinking of the surprisingly frank conversation with Christoph Senior didn’t clarify matters. I wanted to disregard everything he’d said, but I couldn’t.

I slipped off my shoes and scrubs and thought harder, pushing aside everything but the information I had discovered today. Christoph Junior’s preferences were secret, probably for very good reason, but they did give me information that might be helpful.

Perhaps I could let the news slip, undermine them from the inside. That was promising, but I couldn’t be certain the news would get back to Christoph Senior. He had few visitors, and there was a strong possibility no one would utter such a thing to his face.

Maybe I could tell him myself. Let it come up in conversation naturally. I nodded, though no one was there to see me. The idea was promising. If I did it myself, I could use just the right tone, make sure there was enough implication that Christoph Senior would have no choice but dig further.

But then what?

So he’d find out his son was gay. Over the weeks, Christoph had been more reflective, seemed to be making peace with his death. Would that piece of information change that peace? Would it even approach the type of suffering I needed to inflict, cause even a fraction of the pain he had caused me?

I stopped nodding and frowned.