The Devil's Achilles' Heel

Ferrara

I am a man who had done away with the illusions of conscience.

From the moment I started to plan my father's murder and imagined the look in his eyes when I ended his life, I had forgotten what that word meant.

In fact, it had been scraped from my vocabulary, and for each soul I had sent to hell, I had known that they deserved it.

Don Viktor Petrov had asked for his death the moment he took the pleasure of killing my father myself from me.

Yet like that day when I walked into the living room and Katya's expression had changed drastically when she finally saw me for what I was, the awareness that I was tainted and darkness itself was more prominent tonight.

Just yesterday, I had shot at Nikolai's son in front of him, and at the last minute, suddenly decided not to kill him. Instead, I had shot him in the spine.

He would live, but would never be able to walk again, unless there was a miracle.

Nikolai's words followed me like the ghosts of my dark life which I had long embraced