I took his words as a dare. He was enjoying my predicament far too much.
“What made you become an assassin?” he asked almost casually.
The truth was I couldn’t stomach the reasons any longer. Maybe I should have accepted my fate early on. Then I wouldn’t be burdened by the horrific guilt following me to this day. “Because it seemed like the right thing to do.”
“Murder?”
“If you think the men I killed were innocent, you’re dead wrong. They were treacherous, vile beasts just like you are. They killed dozens of people, ruining families in their quest to fulfill their greed. Just to move up the ladder of some mafia organization. Meanwhile, innocent lives were lost. I killed them because of who and what they were. I’d do it again.”
I heard the sound of his hands twisting around the thick leather covering the steering wheel followed by a deep sigh. There was nothing he could say to contradict my words.
But he tried.
“Did you ever stop to think that you also destroyed innocent lives? Those men you talk about as nothing more than animals had families, children, beautiful souls depending on them to make a buck. One thing I do know about the majority of soldiers within any mafia organization is that they are loyal to their families, worshipping their wives and children. They would die for them. What you took away from them is just as painful, just as destructive, and just as incredibly wrong. Actions that deserve consequences, just like disobeying orders.”
He gave me a long, cold stare, his eyes penetrating into my very soul. When he finally turned his head away, I realized I was shaking.
Because he was right.
I had nothing else to say as he continued driving, the almost two-hour ride more nauseating than anything. I concentrated on everything he’d told me, trying to rationalize some if any of the details. What in God’s name could he have to show me?
The signs for the Port Newark Container Terminal forced another shiver down my spine. While Peter hadn’t known, I’d certainly stolen more than once glance at various documents he’d hidden in desk drawers. Away from prying eyes, or so I’d been told. I knew this was at least one port the various ships left from. Their origination points? That I had never seen. Was I too trusting?
The ugly truth had always been there. I’d looked the other way, pretending that even with my required duties for Peter and his regime that I was somehow distanced from all of it.
Innocent.
There was no such thing.
He parked the car, cutting the engine. “You will stay right here. If you attempt to go anywhere, I will find you. If you think you’re going to alert either the port authority or anyone else, you forget just how many people work for me. You will go nowhere and when I find you, you will be placed in that cage you talked about. Are we clear?”
“Clear as shit.”
Aleksei sighed, taking the keys and grabbing a flashlight before exiting the vehicle.
I watched as he talked to several people, at least one conversation heated. The entire area gave me the creeps, the various garish lights highlighting dozens of containers, all ready to be loaded onto a cargo ship, destination anywhere.
But usually outside of the United States.
Another tale my brother had told me.
I knew our father had been fortunate to build a decent business, leaving everything to his only son before his premature death. What little I’d witnessed as a child had seemed normal, my brother doting on his only sibling at first. Then everything had changed.
Peter had placed me in the finest private schools, although they were far away from home. As my guardian, he’d told me he wanted the best for me. I’d been far too shell-shocked and shy to fight him in any manner.
Besides, he was my family.
Lowering my head, I burst into laughter. I’d worshipped Peter, the only man who seemed to protect me. I’d been devastated when my parents were killed, the accident so sudden, so horrible. He’d been there to wipe my tears and keep me grounded. I looked up to him, his wisdom and knowledge. He was almost twenty years older than me, for God’s sake. He should know better.
Then why initiate you into a life of crime?
The short answer was one that would haunt me for the rest of my life. I’d accepted my role after his… encouragement, even enjoying the power it brought me. Lying to myself. Believing I was doing the right thing.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I was killing dangerous criminals, but what about their families? They were innocent in all of this. Or were they? I had no idea what to believe any longer. How could I?
He took long strides back to the car, moving around to the passenger side, pulling me out and keeping his hand wrapped around my arm.
“You will say nothing to anyone. You won’t even look them in the eyes. They are dangerous men, soldiers who would enjoy killing an assassin who targeted their organization. Do you understand me?” He kept his voice low as he pulled me away from the car and deeper into the stacks of cargo containers.
I struggled with him momentarily until I noticed the various men with AK-47s following our every move. When he stopped at a single container, I took several deep breaths.
Aleksei snapped on the flashlight, highlighting a portion of the container. I could clearly see documentation marked Church Exports. This was one of my brother’s containers.
“Hold this,” he instructed, eyeing me closely before handing over the flashlight.
I nodded, my hand shaking as I took the light from him. When he pulled out a set of keys, fiddling with the multiple locks, I had a sense of being watched and glanced over my shoulder. We were surrounded.
The creaking and clanging sounds as the door was pulled open was eerie, creating butterflies in my stomach. Whatever I was about to see, I knew would possibly change the course of my life.
Yanking the flashlight from my hand, he walked inside, twisting the light back and forth. I could see various wooden containers, all marked fragile. He selected one at random, literally pulling the wooden lid off with his massive hand.
I peered over his shoulder, uncertain of what to expect.
“This is an arrival, received only hours ago, the possession signed by your brother,” he hissed.
“Art. Like I told you.” The statue was Indian in design, ornate in detail. I’d seen several pieces like it before.