A CONTRACT FROM THE DEVIL
Then the words came, low and rough, like they’d been dragged from somewhere deep and buried.
“My mother was killed when I was fourteen,” he said. “Conti hit. They wanted to send a message to my father about territory. She was caught in the crossfire, wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe exactly the right place if you were them.” His voice cracked on the last word, the first real fracture she’d ever heard in it. “I found her. Still warm. Eyes open like she was waiting for me to do something. That’s when I became this.” He gestured vaguely at himself, at the blood on his knuckles. “The devil they all whisper about. Because the only way to survive was to become worse than what took her.”
Bab Populer