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As soon as she's out the door, those tears burning my eyes break free.

I cry for the first time in twenty years.

So this is grief…

Cobalt is quiet this afternoon.

Kelvin stands watch at the door, as usual, back to averting his eyes as I walk past. I ignore him, strolling through the club, straight toward where Ray sits with a few others. They all look up as I approach, silence befalling them. The man sitting to Ray's left vacates the leather seat, no words necessary. I sit down wordlessly, my expression stoic.

"Gentlemen," Ray says, clearing his throat. "Why don't you give me some time with my son-in-law."

So many years later and he still calls me that.

It makes us family, more family than these other schmucks, but that doesn't make much of a difference at the end of the day.

He'd fuck me over worse than the others, if anything.

He already has.

The men mutter amongst themselves as they disperse, while Brandy, ever-present these days, stays seated with Ray. The waitress approaches then, holding a bottle of pale ale, but I hold up my hand, refusing it.

"Double scotch," I tell her. "Single malt."

She hesitates. "Do you… do you want me to pour it?"

"I'm assuming that's still the bartender's job, but if that's what tickles your fancy, sweetheart, have at it."

She gapes at me for a second before nodding and disappearing with the beer. I turn my gaze from her to Ray, who eyes me warily. Even Brandy seems to be taken by surprise, as if the girl actually knows me enough to be caught off guard by anything I do.

"Scotch," Ray says. "Walking on the wild side, are you? Drinking my liquor… next thing you know, you might actually start eating my wife's cooking again."

"I just might," I say, eyeing Brandy, watching as she makes a face at the mention of Ray's wife. "Speaking of, when's the last time you spent any time with Martina? Every time I see you now, you're with her."

Brandy's expression twists again, this time marked with anger as she glares at me. Ray cuts his eyes at her, shrugging slightly as he takes a sip of his own drink. "We do what makes us happy."

"No, we do what we're supposed to do," I counter just as the waitress returns with my drink. I take it from her, gulping some of it down. It's like fire in my frazzled veins. "Or at least, that's what I was always taught. We do what we must, not what we want."

Ray eyes me warily, ordering the waitress away when she tries to get him another drink, waiting until the woman is gone before responding. "Something you want to talk about, Vitale? Something happen with that, uh… situation?"

"She won't be a problem anymore," I say, drinking more to burn the feeling out of my chest. "She's gone."

"Gone where?"

I cut my eyes at him, sipping the liquor. He's curious, that much is clear. He wants to know if she's dead, but he doesn't want to come out and ask me.

"Doesn't really matter," I say coldly. "She's gone like the rest of them."

He mulls it over for a second, tapping his finger against the rim of his glass. "What did it?"

"I came home yesterday and the police were there," I say. "Jameson was at my house… in my house."

"So you dealt with it."

"I dealt with it."

It's not a lie, technically.

It's not my fault if he misconstrues what I'm saying.

"Ah, see, I knew it," Ray says smugly, nodding to himself, a slight smile touching his lips. "So now you see."

Yes, now I see...

Now I see what a self-righteous bastard he is.

Now I see how dangerous he can be.

Now I see that my father was right, that Raymond Angelo isn't someone I should look up to, that this isn't the type of man he raised me to be.

My hands will never be clean. I'll never erase what I've done, and I don't want to. If you're still looking for an apology about that, you need to look elsewhere. My one regret is Karissa—the pain I caused her, the way I hurt her, after I swore I wouldn't. She got the only apology anyone will get out of me. But she's gone now, and I've got nothing left to give.

"Now I see," I tell him, finishing my drink before setting the glass down on the table. "And now I'm out."

He gapes at me as I stand up. "You're out?"

"I got everything out of it I can get, Ray. I bled it dry, and now there's nothing left for me. I finished what I started, what you needed me to do… what I needed to do… and now I'm done."

"You think you can just walk away?"

"I don't think I can," I say. "I'm going to."

I hold my hand out toward him, to shake his. He stares at it for a moment, his expression hard, before he meets my eyes. He takes it, gripping firmly, almost to the point of pain.

It doesn't faze me, though.

He could shoot me in the face, and I wouldn't flinch.

"She ruined you," he says.

"She didn't ruin me," I say. "She just made me realize there wasn't anything left to salvage in the first place. I died with your daughter, Raymond. I'm the walking dead, and nobody loves a monster. Nobody."

I pull my hand from his, eye shifting to Brandy. She's watching me curiously. My eyes trail over her. She's showing more skin than she's covering.

I turn back to Ray, shaking my head. "Appreciate what you have, while you have it. God knows I wish I could've kept what I had."

I walk away, walking out, not bothering to say goodbye.

I know this isn't the end.

The end will be a bullet to the head.

Nobody walks away, but I'm going to.

Maybe I'll get a day.

A week.

A month.

It won't matter, though, because the end will come eventually. I'm living with a ticking clock strapped to my chest, counting down the seconds I have left.

But then again, I've been living that way for decades.

I drive around for a while, not ready to go home. I haven't been home since she left, since she walked out that door and didn't look back. It hasn't even been a whole day, but it feels like an eternity. She took nothing except her purse, leaving her clothes and phone behind. I wish I knew where she went, or what she's doing, just so I know she's safe, but a promise is a promise.

She's resilient.

As long as she stays away from this godforsaken place, she'll make it.

I have to believe that.

I end up in Hell's Kitchen an hour later, standing on the front steps of my parent's townhouse. I hesitate before knocking quietly, tapping on the old wooden door. I hear my mother's voice inside calling out, saying she's coming. I lean back against the railing, crossing my arms over my chest as I wait.