After I’ve given Emre and Viktor their food, and they’re busy wolfing it down, I step into the freezer.
Mazur lifts his head, his left eye bloodshot from the knock he took during the accident.
“Finally. I thought you weren’t going to wake up.”
“Fuck you.” He spits on the floor.
I shove the sleeves of my shirt up to my elbows, then take a seat across from Mazur. Locking eyes with the man, a smile lifts the corners of my mouth. “Tymon Mazur. Finally tied up like the pig he is. Ready for slaughter.”
His features tighten, and I see a flash of panic. “Why did you interfere in my business? Why did you attack?”
I stare at him long and hard until he tries to shift in the chair. I take in his size, the fucking ridiculous mustache, the absolute cruel pull of his features.
Jesus, this is the man Lara had to serve all her life.
Inhaling deeply, I let the air out slowly, then say, “I honestly don’t think you’ll remember, but I’m a ghost from the past.”
His eyes narrow on me. “I’ve never seen you before.”
“You’re right. You haven’t.”
He starts to look frustrated, and it makes my smile grow.
“First things first. You fucking tortured Lara.” I lean forward, my eyes locked with his as rage simmers in my chest. “I’m going to do to you what you did to her.”
“Answer me!” he shouts, his face almost turning purple. “What have I done to you?”
I stand up and take the time to move the chair out of the way. Turning back to Mazur, I say, “My mother was a baker. She loved it very much.”
Confusion fills his face.
“My father opened a bakery for her. They made a modest living. I used to help after school, and one day while I was packing shelves, your men came in and killed them in cold blood. I watched my parents die, and I vowed to avenge their deaths.”
Viktor and Emre come in, and Mazur’s eyes flit Viktor. Instantly fear darkens his eyes.
“Looks like you know Viktor?” I ask.
“Everyone knows the head of the Bratva,” Mazur mutters, his panic growing.
“Oh, we’re going to get to know each other on a real personal level,” Viktor chuckles.
“Mazur,” I snap, getting his attention back on me. “Where was I?” I think for a moment. “Right. I probably would’ve taken over the store, but because of you, I worked my ass off to become the head of the Turkish mafia, all so I could get my revenge. This moment.” I take a step closer. “It’s all your own doing.”
“You have the wrong man.” He shakes his head. “What would I want with a bakery?”
“Once you got all the owners to sell their stores to you for next to nothing, you flattened it all. Then, you built a mall on that ground.”
I watch as he starts to remember.
“Deniz and Sinem Demir. They were hardworking people, just trying to make a living, and you just had to fucking kill them.” I gesture for Emre to untie Mazur, then say, “After tonight, my grandmother won’t have to wear black anymore.” Smirking, I add, “But first, you need to pay for the hell you’ve put Lara through.”
Viktor steps closer, asking, “How can I help?”
“I need him lying on the floor.”
Viktor places a hand on Mazur’s chest, then grins at him. “Going down.”
With a simple move, Viktor swipes Mazur’s legs from under him. Mazur falls back, hitting the ground hard, letting out a grunt from the force, followed by a groan.
I move closer and step on his right arm. “Feel free to scream.” Bringing my foot up, I stomp on his forearm until he’s howling from the pain. Only when I’m sure it’s broken, do I step back, asking, “Did Lara scream like that?”
Jesus, did she?
Intense rage clouds my vision, my insides starting to tremble as I imagine the woman I love lying on a cold floor while screaming with pain.
Swinging around, I kick Mazur right in the gut, earning an agonizing grunt from him. I watch as he struggles to breathe, and it gives me no satisfaction.
“Enough,” he wails as he rolls onto his side, cradling his broken arm against his chest. “Enough.”
“I’m only getting started,” I grind the words out through clenched teeth.
I gesture for Emre and Viktor to help the man onto his knees. Walking to the table against the left wall, I pick up a cat-o-nine tail whip with metal spikes.
“I really don’t have a taste for torturing people. Viktor, do you mind?”
“Thank God. I thought you were going to make me watch.”
Letting out a humorless chuckle, I hand the whip to him. “Don’t leave any skin on his back.”
I check the time on my wristwatch as Viktor cracks the whip over Mazur’s back. Mazur starts to crawl, trying to move away. Soon his sobs fill the air, and I watch as he begs for mercy, crawling on the floor like the fucking dog he is.
I wasn’t lying when I said I have no taste for torture. I’d much rather shoot the man. But he needs to pay for what he did to Lara. For all the suffering he caused her.
I remember how she used to cower. How she used to flinch. The suffocating fear in her eyes.
Her on her knees, begging for her life.
How many times did she beg Mazur like that?
Viktor actually gets to work up a sweat. By the time Mazur passes out, his back is a bloody mess.
Viktor drops the whip to the floor. “Now I’m ready for bed.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, moving closer to shake his hand. “Don’t hesitate to call me whenever you need something.”
He lifts his chin before leaving the freezer. I turn to look at Emre, who seems to be half-asleep where he’s leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.
“You can go home,” I say. “I’ll finish up here.”
“I’m staying,” he mutters before yawning. “I’ll get us some tea.”
Just after Emre leaves, Mazur begins to stir. I’m surprised he’s coming too so quickly.
Crouching next to him, I tilt my head. “Not feeling too great, are you?”
He groans pain etched with deep lines on his face.
“This is how Lara felt every time you whipped her.”
Rising to my feet, I pull a bullet out of my pocket. I grab a knife from the table and start carving his name onto it. “I hear you like carving the names of your victims onto bullets.” I crouch next to him again, smiling, “This bullet is for you.”
Emre returns with the tea just as I carve the last letter, and I take a moment to drink some before loading the bullet into the revolver I took from the vault in my office.
Mazur somehow manages to move onto his knees, and tilting his head back, he looks at me. He seems to have realized he’s shit out of luck, and his time is up. There’s raw fear in his eyes, the kind you get when you’re terrified because you have no fucking idea what comes after death.
I lock eyes with him. “While you rot in the ground, Lara will become a queen. I will take your business apart and wipe out every last man who worked for you. There will be nothing left of your life. But Lara? She will know only happiness, and after this day, you’ll be forgotten.”
Lifting my arm, I train the barrel on his head.
An intense tremor shudders through my body. I remember my parents laughing while they fixed the store, while they baked, while they danced at night right before we would go home.
Then I remember their blood and how my grandmother wept. The devastating loss that I never healed from.
“Baba, Anne, sonunda intikamımı alıyorum. Huzur bul ve bana gururla bak,” I murmur, intense relief filling my chest as I pull the trigger. (Dad, Mom, I’m finally getting my revenge. Find peace and look at me with pride.)
My arm lowers as I stare at Mazur’s half-open eyes, where he’s lying on the floor, blood pooling around his head.
“It’s done,” Emre whispers.
As I lift my eyes to my cousin, he comes to embrace me. I wrap my arms around him, and we take a moment to savor our victory.
Thirty years of planning, working, and fucking living for this moment, and now that it’s over, I can focus on my own life.
“Let’s go home,” I say as I pull back from him. “You’re driving.”
Emre lets out a chuckle, and as we leave the freezer, he instructs men to dispose of the body.
On the way home, exhaustion sets into my bones. I want to sleep for a fucking week.
When Emre stops the car, I climb out and wait for him. Together we head inside and walk to our grandmother’s bedroom.
I knock on the door.
“Come in,” she calls out.
I knew there was no way she’d sleep before hearing Mazur is dead.
When I step inside with Emre, emotions wash over her features. She keeps the tears in, lifting her chin high.
My own eyes start to burn as I drop down to one knee in front of her. Taking her hand, I kiss her knuckles, then draw her hand to my forehead. “I’ve avenged our family.”
“Tanrıya şükür,” she thanks God.
I pull back and climb to my feet, then help my grandmother to stand up. She opens her arms and hugs both Emre and me. “My boys. You’ve given me peace.”
Intense relief fills my chest, knowing I’ve given my grandmother her only wish. I was worried that I would run out of time.
