Shattered Reflections

Chapter 6

Aaron

"Ciao, Malakai."

"Why are you doing this to me, Aaron?" he stammered, fear creeping into his voice.

"You know why."

"No, I don't."

"Liar."

"Are you talking about William?"

"So you realize, don't you?" I said, gripping my favorite small knife.

"Realize what?"

"Why you're here."

"Aaron, I swear I did that because he warned me and started using my family and as well... ahhhh..."

"You are a terrible liar, Kai." I plunged the knife into his heart. "And you deserve to be dead because I hate liars."

I left the basement, my pulse steady as I walked away, knowing my team would handle the cleanup.

Once home, I took a hot shower, letting the water wash away the weight of my actions. Afterward, I dialed a familiar number.

"Hello, Ava."

"Who is this?" Her voice was sleepy, barely a whisper.

"I'm the guy you promised to go on a date with."

"Aaron!!"

"Yes, sweetheart."

"How did you get my number?"

"I think you know the answer."

"You have your ways, right?" she laughed softly.

"Right, sweetheart."

"Why are you calling me at this hour?"

"To tell you that our date is tomorrow at 7 p.m."

"Okay."

Silence hung in the air until she finally broke it.

"Bye then."

"Bye, Ava."

After ending the call, memories flooded back, memories of my parents, especially the day they died.

It was summer when I was ten years old; we had gone to Italy with my uncle. I overheard my parents discussing a man who had cheated them out of their money. It was the first time I saw my father truly angry; he had always been the charming one.

While playing with Nic, I noticed a strange man entering our house. He was huge, with piercing blue eyes and long light hair.

I crept after him into the dining room, where I found my father shouting, a sight I had never witnessed before. The atmosphere was chaotic until I saw the man draw a gun, aiming it at my father's head. They exchanged words that meant nothing to me until I heard a gunshot.

I froze, watching as the man fled. When I rushed into the dining room, I found my father lying dead on the floor. I didn't understand my emotions then, but I felt a dark satisfaction at the sight of the blood, even if it was my father's.

My uncle found me and took me to the library, where he told me everything about the man who had killed my father—Tobias Morozov. I never forgot that name.

One day, I would find that man, and I would kill him as he had killed my father.