The Don and His Russian Bride

XIV

The bullet left the barrel, sending a jolt through my arm. I released the trigger as if unaware I had pulled it back in the first place. Lowering the gun, I shifted my gaze to where the bullet pierced my target.

The man in front of me reached for the wound that had formed in his chest. His response to cover the bullet-sized hole failed. Blood seeped out of the wound, spilling through his fingers. He stumbled a step or two as if in disbelief before he collapsed to the ground.

I moved forward to inspect the man I had shot, who now lied with his back against the concrete. My eyes widened when I was met with the face of my father. Life drained from him within seconds of me staring down at him. His eyes grew cloudy, but they remained in my direction as he took his last breath.

I did this. The thoughts invaded my head, pairing with the guilt that crept into my chest. This is my fault.

Within an instant, I awoke from my nightmare— the same nightmare I've had for the past three nights. My body shot up to a seated position in my bed. I sat as straight as I could, gasping to allow more air into my lungs. Sweat dripped down my back, leaving my shirt to stick to my skin. No matter how many times I killed my father in my nightmares, I would never become used to it. Each time I would wake up with a start, my hands shaking in the dark and my heart racing so loud it harmonized with my heavy breaths.

If only I could tell myself it was just a dream. But it wasn't just a dream. It happened in real life. When I pulled that trigger, I didn't realize how much my actions would weigh on me. It felt as though I was doing the right thing. How could I let him live after discovering he killed my mother?

But the day I stopped a murderer is also the day I became one. What concerned me the most was how easily the trigger had pulled back. It wasn't until afterwards that I wished someone or something had made me think twice about what I was about to do.

Despite using a gun before, I had never actually killed anyone. If killing a person for the first time wasn't bad enough, it was a hundred times worse that the person on the other end of the gun had been my father. If the scenario were reversed, and it came down to my life or his, he would've chosen his own. I may have loved him despite everything he had done to me, but that didn't mean I wanted to be like him.

The clock on the nightstand read two o'clock in the morning. I knew I would be tossing and turning in bed for the next several hours like the previous nights. Instead of surrendering to a restless night in bed, I pushed the covers away and swung my feet over the edge of the bed. Goosebumps spread across my exposed legs at the cool night air.

I didn't pay much attention to the clothes I grabbed from the dresser. As long as I had a sports bra and a pair of shorts, I would be comfortable enough to let go of my nightmares at the gym. Though only having woken up minutes ago, the weight of sleep seemed far away. My nightmare had me wide awake. I stepped into the hallway with an anxious bounce in my step.

Luciano's bedroom door was shut and the lighting was dimmed. The hallways were empty. It seemed as if there wasn't another soul awake in the mansion. The men were accustomed to late night business deals, I had heard footsteps behind my bedroom door many nights before. However, this night must've been quiet enough that even the men standing guard around the house didn't need to be seen.

My eyes stung the instant I turned on the bright lights to the gym. I was squinting so much my eyes were nearly shut.

I moved farther into the gym as I adjusted to the lighting, passing the treadmills and racks of weights. My feet led me to stand before the row of punching bags. I reached out to glide my fingertips across the leather I hadn't felt in so long. I missed the push back of the weighted bags while hiding away in my room. Being a hermit had its drawbacks.