The Blood Debt

Chapter 23

Roman

When I get home in the early hours of the morning, there's a packed bag by the door that I don't recognise. It's a weekend bag and I'm about to pick it up when I notice Ayla sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a piece of paper in front of her.

She's wearing jeans and a sweater, and I remember thinking it's an odd choice given the hour, but I'm exhausted and too distracted to pay any real attention to it.

I head to the kitchen relieved to see that she's still awake, taking her face into my hands, I bend down to kiss her forehead. There's comfort in her touch and over the past year she's become the one constant that never seems to fail me.

She's washed her makeup off and her hair's been pulled back into a simple ponytail. Of all her looks, this Ayla is the one I love the most - the real her; the one that floats around the apartment looking most comfortable when she's barefoot, wearing jeans and those tatty t-shirts she loves so much - so far removed from the mobster's girlfriend getup she wears downstairs.

"Why did you wait? You feeling okay," I ask, as I grab a glass of water from the kitchen, not even bothering to look at the paper in front of her. I think she might be feeling sick again. She's been unwell for over a week and I think maybe that's why she waited for me.

"It was just a formality. I had to give a statement. It took all but 15 minutes. The rest of the time I listened to the motherfucker talk about his skiing holiday to Saint Moritz. Say, have we got Tylenol? I've got a fuckin' headache."

She stands up and opens a nearby draw, passing me an open packet of Tylenol. 

"I probably funded the asshole's holiday," I say, popping two with a glass of water, "and I'm sure I'll fund a few more after tonight."

I put the glass in the dishwasher and gesture toward the bed.

"C'mon it's late. Let's go to bed," I tell her, thinking she looks out of sorts because she's tired and hasn't been well.

"I'm leaving Roman," she says simply.

I cock my head, not understanding what she means. It's five o'clock in the morning.

"Where you goin'?" I ask, sounding like an imbecile. "It's five in the morning."

"I'm leaving you," she says, passing me a piece of paper.

I stare at her like I'm wondering what the hell happened since I left, not even bothering to look at the paper she's handed me.

At first I think it's because of what I did to that cocksucker ex of hers, and a wave of rage rises in me ready to erupt at any defence she might voice for that fucker, but when she nods to the paper in my hand I finally look down at it.

"I believe that nullifies your agreement with my late father," she says coldly. She sounds like she's pulling out of business deal she's got with me.

It's the adoption record.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!

I wanna shoot someone. Mainly myself for being so fucking careless.

"Ayla," I start, wondering how the fuck I'm going to explain this to her.

"Just listen to me please."

She stares at me vacantly. That's when I notice her eyes are bloodshot and I realize she's been crying.

Not only am I a fucking idiot for leaving her in my office, clearly I'm blind too. How am I just noticing this?