Page 93 of Wicked Refusal

“No, you didn’t.” His tone gains a sharp edge. “And I’m not stupid enough to believe it was a mistake. Youwantedme to live, Yul. If not consciously, then deep inside. Because if you’d truly wanted me dead, I’d be rotting at the bottom of the Hudson with a bullet hole in my skull. So why don’t you cut the shit and come over to my side already?”

Desya’s words seep into me like an infection. That night—did I let him go? Did I give him that 1% chance to save himself out of cruelty, or out of mercy?

Did I actually let my family’s killer go free?

No.The rejection burns bright in my gut.I killed him. Tied cement blocks to his ankles, carved out his eye, pushed him into those dark waters with my own two hands.

I wanted himdead.

“Well?” Desya’s tone is laced with impatience. “Nothing to say?”

“I’ve got nothing more to say to the likes of you,” I reply. “I said it all that night. It’s not my fault you didn’t listen.”

His jaw sets. “You didn’t mean it. You were angry.”

“I meant every word,” I snarl. “But if your memory’s so short, I’ll say it again: You’renothingto me.”

Desya’s face fills with hurt. For a second, he looks like that boy again. The boy I pushed into the river.

But I’ve got no pity left for him. Not anymore.

“One more thing.” I whisper the next sentence. “I’ve never stopped being angry. Not a single fucking day. And the only thing that’s going to stop it is putting that godforsaken bullet in your head. Like I should have done twenty years ago.”

Desya’s expression ices over. Suddenly, he’s the man I faced at my mansion again: a ghost. An empty shell. The echo of a person I never really knew—and who never really knew me, either.

But now, he’s starting to.

“Wow,” he rasps. “And then you say I’m the monster.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“No.” He shakes his head frantically. “No, you didn’t used to be. You’ve changed.”

“I’m the man I always was,” I drawl. “It just took you losing an eye to finally see me.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I?”

His gun starts shaking.Good. Miss that shot. I’ll make sure it’s your last.

And then I hear it.

“Yulian?”

We both turn towards the sound.

No.

No, no, no.

What the hell is she doing here?

But then I remember—the coffee. Our date. It’s why I came down in the first place: to meet with her.

Mia is holding two cups in her hand. Italian roast, taken to go. “Is that…?” Her eyes zero in on the man next to me, then widen in recognition. “You.”

Run,I want to scream.Just fucking run already!