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He's a shell of a man. There's no soul left inside of him. I'm not saying he's unredeemable, that he isn't capable of love… that's not my place to judge. But darkness long ago consumed him, a familiar darkness, one that I used to know. I know what it's like to be ravished by that kind of hunger, to have a one-track mind for bloodshed. There's no room left inside of him for him to see the light, not when he's so overrun by the dark.

There's a banging on the locked doors then. Chaos is erupting in the house. None of the men have any idea what is happening, but they've been trained to always protect their boss. They're shouting, and shoving, trying to break inside. The world is crumbling all around them.

Unlike Lorenzo, they aren't calm.

"I'm out," I tell him. "You wanted New York? You wanted the power? It's yours. But I'm done, Lorenzo. I'm walking away from it all. And so help me God, if you ever try to follow me, if you ever try to stop me, if you ever try to pull me back in, I'll kill you… I will… and I'll take away everything you love before I do it. Do you hear me?"

"Loud and clear," he says.

I stand up and set his gun down on the table before extending my hand toward him. He doesn't hesitate to take it. I pull him to his feet, and Lorenzo reaches over, snatching up his gun right away. My muscles stiffen from alarm. I don't trust Lorenzo. I can't. I can't trust anybody.

But I need him, and that makes him the closest thing to a friend as I've got.

I need him to keep people off my trail. I need him to do exactly what it is that comes natural to him… create havoc. I need him to be such a nuisance that I play second fiddle to the hell he causes. I saved his ass once… now it's his turn to help save mine.

I may have taken out the heads of four families, but I did nothing to bring this to an end. The callous hunter simply killed more lions.

It won't be long before more Kings, new Kings, come in.

Lorenzo slips his gun back in his waistband as he looks around the room, his gaze trailing along the four bodies. I don't look at them, my focus at the door. It's bucking from the force of someone banging against it.

"You know this will never really be over, right?" Lorenzo asks, strolling over to stand beside me. "These things don't ever end. Nobody's going to just forget about you and what you've done, especially after this."

"I know," I say, looking at him, "but I'm banking on the fact that they'll be so busy with you that by the time they come for me, I'll have lived my life."

"And your wife? Your baby?"

My eyes narrow. "How do you know about that?"

"Got it from my brother. Guess your wife told his girlfriend." He cuts his eyes at me. "For real this time."

Huh.

"They'll be fine," I say. "I'm not worried about them."

"Why not?"

"Because I seem to remember us having a deal, Lorenzo… you said you'd make sure my wife didn't get hurt, and I'm holding you to that."

"Touché."

"Besides, I was one of the worst out there… I was out for blood, and it was personal… but when it came down to it, even I couldn't do it. Even I couldn't take out my enemy's kid. So they'll come for me, someday, sure, and when they do, they'll probably get me. But Karissa, she's under your protection, and that's the only reason I'm letting you live."

"Not the only reason."

"Yes, the only reason."

"Come on." He steps around me, to stand in front of me. "After all this, you still can't admit we're friends?"

"I'll tell you what, Lorenzo," I say, looking around him, at the door. "You get me out of here unscathed, and then I'll consider telling you how I really feel about you."

"Oh, that's easy." He makes a face, like I'm unnecessarily worrying, as he reaches into his pocket. "I've got a grenade."

I look at him incredulously. "You've got a grenade."

A grenade.

He's carrying a fucking grenade.

And not a smoke grenade, like logic would say he meant. The son of a bitch pulls his hand out of his pocket, and he's clutching a round green grenade. It's small, maybe the size of a golf ball, but there's no mistaking what it is.

"What, like you've never carried one before?" he asks.

"Can't say I have."

"Ah, well, they come in handy," he says, shrugging me off. "Just pull the pin and ka-boom, bye-bye problem."

I don't even know what to say about that.

I don't know where he got his hands on it.

Cuba, probably, like everything else.

"And how is a grenade getting me out of here? Preferably with all of my limbs."

"Easy," he says. "Just watch."

Lorenzo turns around and heads straight to the door, flipping the lock before stepping back. I move away from him, back toward the table, and reach over, snatching up one of the guns still lying there. I check it, finding it loaded, and turn back to the door in just enough time for it to fly open.

Men appear.

There are only three of them. The rest, I figure, probably fled the gunfire. They burst in, wielding guns, and I point my weapon right at one of their heads, my finger on the trigger.

Lorenzo holds his hands up in front of him before they can think to fire, before they can see the bodies, before they even have time to riddle out what happened. He holds the grenade with one hand, a finger from the other slipped through the pin, ready to pull it.

"Gentlemen," he says loudly, "unless you want blown to fucking pieces, I suggest you vamoose."

Panic seizes them. Two run. The last one just stands there, staring at us. The loyal one. No, he's not afraid to die, not if it means he takes us out long with him.