METANOIA

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"Thanks for dinner," I said, staring relentlessly at the dancing flames in the fireplace in my suite. I set the empty pasta plate on the coffee table, leaning back on the back of the sofa; my belly was full, my eyes were almost glued together, my body was wrapped in a soft white robe, which is still a little sticky to my damp skin after a shower, my hair was tangled and fluffy from moisture. The room smelled soothingly of wood, and an oil diffuser on a stone coffee table gave off the scent of orange.

"You almost fainted from hunger," Vincent will say in an authoritative tone, lighting the last candle on the shelf above the fireplace, "how do you feel now?" the man turned to face me. Fire gleamed on his swarthy skin. Vincent sat down on the couch across from me, simultaneously unfastening the buttons on his sleeves and pulling them up.

"Much better," I admitted honestly, watching the man, "thank you," I added a little more quietly, feeling the embarrassment rush to my cheeks, "it's been a rough day," I stated, noticing the blood stains on his shirt.

"Just like any other," Vincent shook his head, bringing his palms together in a lock. He looked just as tired as I was, yet he let me shower and ordered food in the meantime.

"And you witnessed a lot of things today," I mentioned carefully, not knowing why myself. The man nodded.

"I can't criticize you for your treatment of your mother, Inessa," he quickly corrected.

"But you do," I added quietly and calmly, noticing the thick ice wall armor on Vincent's face starting to thaw, "all I was doing was protecting my family."

"It wasn't just Jensen in your family," he said affirmatively, to which I nodded, looking away.

"His name was Nicholas," I spoke calmly, though my heart was scratching at the painful memories, "he was a teaching assistant at the university I went to. He certainly didn't like what I was doing," I grinned, "he wanted me out of the business. No one would like to be constantly stressed out about the possibility of death," I gently put my arm around my shoulders.

"Inessa told Liam your location," Vincent said, then quickly continued, "I heard your conversation at her engagement dinner."

I smiled softly as I looked at Vincent, "I thought everything would be all right after revenge. Blood is washed away only by blood — that's what my father taught me. But my soul did not rest. When he was gone I completely lost hope that I could ever get out of this business alive."

"Revenge," the man said slowly, as if tasting the word, "You got revenge on him and then you ended up in a mental hospital, didn't you?" Boyd asked this carefully, he didn't know how much I was ready to trust him at the moment, he was afraid that the conversation might end.

"Yes," I nodded, "then a lot of things happened. Nicholas' death, and then a few months later my father died. All this time, Liam did not appear in London, and in Amalfi I could not return due to problems at the casino," I pursed my lips, thinking about the next words, "I was in a bar, decided to move away from all the problems, forget and relax. Then I drank too much wine and whiskey, maybe something else, I don't remember much from that evening. A few men began to talk too loudly, their voices seemed to squeeze my head, and at that moment I felt such a strong anger inside me," I looked up at Vincent in bewilderment, as if he could know the reason for this feeling, "I don't remember what they were talking about, I don't I know what could have sent me into such agony, but I inflicted several stab wounds on these men. Maybe I wanted to take out all the anger that was in me in this way? I shrugged, "Knew something was wrong when I threw up on the corpse of one of them, and all my hands were covered in blood."

"I thought your withdrawal from alcohol was a psychiatrist's recommendation," Vincent said, tilting his head to the side.

I nodded.