32. Vinnie

32

VINNIE

W hen I first got to Europe, I was an ignorant young man of eighteen, but I knew one thing. No one could be trusted. Not even family. Especially family. I'd managed to take some money from my giant trust fund to live on, but I knew it wouldn't last forever, so I wasted no time getting new identification and then I did odd jobs throughout the EU as I traveled.

I wasn't completely honest with Savannah about why I went to the Buddhist temple.

It wasn't just to alleviate the guilt of leaving her and Mikey back in the States at the whim of the family. And it wasn't just to work through what my grandfather had done to me.

It was because I found myself involved in something far more sinister.

One fateful day, I ended up in a secluded alley in Prague, where a crooked wooden door creaked open to reveal an underground gambling den. There I met Misha—a man whose green eyes gleamed with dangerous amusement.

His real name was Mikhail, which threw me—the Slavic version of Michael. I thought of Mikey, who I'd left at home, and guilt overwhelmed me. When Misha offered me an opportunity to make a huge profit, part of me felt like I was talking to my brother, so I jumped in with both feet.

Misha was searching for a hidden treasure buried in the heart of Eastern Europe.

I was intrigued—and also desperate for some easy cash.

But it turned out not to be so easy. I dived into Misha's world, abandoning my odd jobs and my pursuit of quiet anonymity. He gave me a firearm but told me not to use it unless I had to defend myself.

A year passed. I lived in shadows and chased ghosts. Misha kept me busy while he sometimes disappeared for days at a time. His name notwithstanding, I didn't fully trust him, but I found myself enjoying the chase. Every time doubt crept in, Misha would return, always with a new clue, a new lead.

I got sucked in, and the whole thing became a game to me. Did I think we'd really find treasure? Maybe at the time I did. It gave me a creative outlet, something to do.

Until I realized it wasn't all that different from what I'd fled from at home.

I was becoming bound to a different kind of family. Not my mafia family, but an Eastern European underworld. Misha operated under different rules, but the principle was the same—secrets, power, betrayal.

I had to get out.

One cold night in Bucharest, I got my chance.

Misha told me he'd uncovered the final piece of the puzzle, located within the grip of a rival gang. We'd need to be quick. We'd need to be strong.

"Are you afraid?" Misha asked me.

"No," I lied through gritted teeth.

"Good," he said. "Fear will only lead to your demise."

The gang had set up their base in an old chateau. The stone structure was imposing as hell and full of foreboding darkness.

As we moved through the corridors, our footsteps muffled by the worn-out rugs, my heart pounded. The echoes of raucous laughter and clinking glasses reached us, growing louder with each step we took. Misha led the way. He was in his element. Danger was his drug.

Until he turned on me.

To this day I don't know why. Maybe because I presented a challenge to him. Maybe he decided he wanted all the loot for himself. Or maybe he was just batshit crazy.

But that night, I did something I swore I'd never do.

I took a life.

It was self-defense, but I still had to move quickly and quietly to avoid being caught.

I learned to travel during the night. Change my identity and appearance when necessary.

And I was done with crime.

Done.

Until now, of course.

If everything went according to my plan, Puzo should be dead.

He was a piece of shit, and the world won't mourn him.

But doing my grandfather's bidding doesn't give me the revenge I crave.

The vengeful vice I've been carrying around with me since that fateful day in his office, where he violated me in the worst way while I refused to scream out in pain.

Because fuck him.

Fuck him and fuck the world that allowed him to exist. I left that life behind, buried it deep under layers of pseudonyms, fake passports, and never-ending roads. But the ghosts were always there, whispering in my ear, reminding me of all that had been taken from me.

I existed in the shadows, a phantom flitting through Europe. I eked out a living doing odd jobs, never staying in one place for too long. As long as I remained a ghost, I was safe.

But I'm back now.

And I'll have my revenge.

I regard Raven. She's sleeping soundly.

It kills me to leave her, but she has no place in the world I have to inhabit.

I can't shake the anger coursing through my veins. Every time I close my eyes, I see Misha's face, smirking, laughing as he turned on me.

He's not laughing now.

Grandfather thinks I'm weak. Too weak to take Puzo out with a gun he provided.

That doesn't make me weak. It makes me smart.

Grandfather doesn't know who he's dealing with. But he will soon enough.

Vengeance isn't just a fleeting thought for me. It's my driving force, my vice. It consumes me, and I welcome it.

Every step I take is fueled by the need to make Grandfather pay. I've lost so much because of him, and now it's my turn to take something. It won't bring back what I've lost, but it will satisfy this burning need inside me. He thinks he's untouchable, but his arrogance will be his downfall.

I'm a storm ready to unleash hell. He won't see it coming until it's too late. I'll be his reckoning. I'll be his nightmare. And when it's done, maybe then I'll find some peace.

Or maybe this vengeful vice will have consumed me completely, and there will be nothing left but the ashes of my own destruction.

But until then I will be relentless. Nothing will stand in my way. They will regret the day they crossed me. This isn't just a promise. It's my reality, my unyielding obsession.

I didn't mean to fall in love.

I didn't mean to drag an innocent woman into my underworld.

I press my lips to Raven's soft cheek.

Then I rise from the bed, dress quietly, and leave.

Never to see her again.