Karma

AUSTIN

“I don’t want you guys chasing after Ron Moretto anymore,” Austin tells his sons, all of them gathered in the penthouse living room.

“I’ve been mulling it over, and I can’t bear the thought of you guys getting hurt. Ansel’s just starting to recover from his close call. He’s not ready to go after anyone.”

“But you gave us the green light on our plan. Why the sudden change of heart?” Alaric asks. “Dad, our plan is solid. We were going to rally our men and storm his camp at—”

“Did you forget what happened last time? What if Riley hadn’t tipped us off about your location?”

Riley nervously rubs her thighs while Rainey gives her a comforting smile.

“You all could have been killed. I don’t want to hear about your plan, Ric. Stay out of this now.”

“So, we’re just going to let him get away with it?”

“Honey, please listen to your father,” Melissa pleads with Alaric.

“We’re not letting him off the hook. Robert and I will handle it from here. This is my fight, not yours.”

The living room door swings open, and Robert walks in with Ian at his side. The brothers exchange puzzled looks as the two men enter the room.

“Why is Ian here?” Ansel asks, and Austin clasps his hands together.

“We’ve been going about this all wrong. The key to defeating an enemy is knowing his weaknesses. So, I asked Ian to come and share what he knows.”

Ian gives a shy wave to the group before settling down on the plush floor mat. Riley and Rainey return his wave with warm smiles.

“Thanks for coming, Ian,” Austin says, while Robert takes a seat on one of the single couches.

“How’s your shoulder?” Alaric asks, concern in his voice. Ian smirks, tucking his thin legs beneath him as he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Not too bad.”

The boys smile at his response.

“Ian, you spent some time in Ron’s camp. Did you notice any weaknesses we could exploit?” Austin leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees while Ian scratches his neck, deep in thought.

“Weakness, like what?”

“Something we can use to bring him down.”

“Uh, well…not really. He’s rarely at the camp. He just comes and goes,” Ian answers, and Robert sighs in disappointment.

“But I did notice something. I don’t know if it’ll be helpful though,” he quickly adds.

Austin nods eagerly. Any piece of information could be valuable at this point.

“Go ahead.”

“I noticed that his friend, Fred, doesn’t seem to like him much.” Ian squints his eyes as he recalls, and Austin and Robert exchange glances before the boy continues.

“I saw how he behaves when Ron isn’t looking. His facial expressions change when Ron turns his back.”

“What do you mean?” Ansel asks, his interest piqued.

“Mm. Okay, for instance, the other day Ron came by and gave Fred some orders. But as soon as Ron turned his back, Fred shot him a menacing glare.

“It’s subtle. You’d have to be really observant. It was like he despised Ron Moretto.

“I saw this look quite a few times. I think he secretly can’t stand him.”

Austin and Robert exchange a glance, and an idea begins to form in their minds—an idea that, if executed correctly, could bring down this drug lord once and for all.

***

Ian provides Fred’s address to the men. Robert and Austin head to his house as soon as they get the location.

Fred’s house is a modest, unassuming building with peeling cream paint and a neglected yard. The two men take in the poor living conditions as they walk up the concrete path.

“You’d think a drug lord’s friend would live better,” Austin comments, and Robert nods in agreement.

“Now I see why he might resent him.”

The two men share a sympathetic chuckle before Austin raises his hand to knock on the weathered wooden door.

After no response, he knocks again, his gaze drifting to a skinny stray dog scratching itself on the rundown porch.

The door finally opens to reveal a young Mexican boy, about ten years old. His thick eyebrows furrow as he looks between the two men. “Who are you?”

Austin wasn’t expecting to be greeted by a child. He shifts awkwardly, nodding at the boy. “Hello. Is…”

The door opens wider as a burly figure appears behind the child. Fred. He rests his hand on the top of the doorframe, raising an eyebrow at the two men.

“Paquito, go inside.”

He looks up at his uncle. “Who are these people?”

Fred ruffles the boy’s hair, nudging him back inside. “Go read a book. Y trae mi arma!”

Austin and Robert exchange a glance, clueless about what he just said in Spanish. The boy soon returns with a rifle, which Fred takes from him.

“Gracias. Go back inside.”

He points the gun at the men, and Austin raises his hands. “There’s no need for that. We just came to talk.”

“Just to talk. We’re unarmed.” Robert also raises his hands, and Fred eyes the two men suspiciously.

“We just want to talk,” Austin repeats.

After a long moment of scrutinizing them, he mutters a curse under his breath and lowers his gun, stepping aside to let them in.

“You have five minutes. After that, I start shooting.”

“Trust me, you won’t need to,” Austin assures him as Robert follows him inside.

***

The two visitors take in the small living room as they sit around a table. Fred glares at them, drumming his fingers against the tabletop.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t ring up Moretto right now and spill that you two are here, in my house.” His teeth are clenched tight.

“Because you’re intrigued.” Austin shrugs, full of confidence. “You want to know why we’re here.”

Fred leans in, his jaw working overtime. “Spit it out, or I swear on my dead mother I’ll blow your brains out right here—”

A woman walks into the room with a tray, and Fred leans back, his lips snapping shut as she offers a timid smile to the two men.

She’s a stunning Mexican woman, curvy with wide hips and thighs, and appears to be in her late thirties.

She sets a glass of red Kool-Aid in front of each man before she presses her lips together and exits the room. Robert’s gaze follows her, and Fred narrows his eyes, tapping the table.

“Keep your eyes off my sister, asshole.”

“I was just looking,” Rob assures him, reaching for his drink and taking a sip.

“We know you’re not a fan of Ron Moretto,” Austin starts, and Fred swings his glare his way. “We know you secretly despise him.”

Fred stiffens a bit, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “How’d you figure that? Ron Moretto is my friend. We’ve been friends since—”

“That ‘friend’ crap doesn’t fly with me.” Austin shakes his head dismissively. “Ron was my best friend too, until he killed my brothers. Friends betray friends.

“Which brings me to why we’re here.” He glances at Robert, who nods and sets his glass down, reaching into his pants for his phone.

He dials a number, and Fred watches him as he lifts it to his ear. “Yes, Marco. Bring the money in now.”

He squints his eyes. “What are you two planning?”

“We can make you wealthy,” Robert murmurs as he shoves his phone back into his pocket. “We can change your life in an instant, get you out of this dump.”

Fred feigns indifference as he shifts, trying to keep his expression impassive.

“Explain.”

“We want you to take out Ron Moretto, and we’ll pay you,” Austin tells him. “You’re the closest to him, so he won’t see it coming.”

Fred swallows, lifting his chin. “How much are we talking?”

Marco walks into the room with a briefcase, setting it on the mahogany table. He opens it, and Fred’s gaze shifts from Austin’s to the stack of money in the case.

He gulps at the sight of the banded stacks of bills.

“Two million dollars,” Rob says. “We brought one million as a down payment. If you successfully take him out, we’ll give you the other million.

“Plus, we’ll provide you and your family with passports to leave the country if you want. You’ll get a car of your choice and a penthouse too.”

Fred stares at the tempting offer. Deep down, he truly despises Ron Moretto. He’s never admitted it, but he’s envious of him.

The man has also shown himself to be quite domineering and arrogant, and Fred has too much pride to keep taking orders from him.

He deserves to be rich too, and he’s tired of living under a disrespectful drug lord, eating his leftovers.

“How do you want me to take him out?” Fred asks, looking up from the briefcase.

“However you want.” Austin shrugs. “It’s up to you. But if the job’s not done right, you won’t get the rest of the money, and your ‘friend’ will know you betrayed him.

“Do this cleanly, Fred, and all the reward will be yours.”

Fred relaxes, zipping up the bag with a sense of finality.

“Deal.”

RON

Ron Moretto leans back in his leather chair, gazing out at the vibrant city lights from his glass wall.

This is his secret office, a spacious and private room that only a select few know about—Moscow and Fred.

He swirls the red liquid in his martini glass while he rests his head against the headrest. His mind has been plagued lately with images and flashbacks of the sins he committed in his past.

Blood is on his hands, and the weight becomes unbearable at night when he lays his head down to rest while the world sleeps.

People wouldn’t guess that he, the ruthless drug lord, would be tormented with guilt for the lives he’s taken.

But he is, and though the remorse for his evil deeds haunts his thoughts daily, he’ll never admit that to anyone. He has too much pride.

The King brothers were the only real family he had. His blood relatives only use his name to get themselves out of trouble, but they’ve never once cared to ask how he was doing.

Yet he set the boys up to be killed, the only people who cared about him. No amount of self-reproach and repentance can save his damned heart.

He’s convinced that heaven has already given up on him, and he doesn’t blame God if He’s already forsaken him.

There’s a knock at his door, and he sets the glass of vodka on his desk and closes his eyes.

“Enter.”

Fred walks in and closes the door behind him with a soft click. Ron exhales harshly, sitting upright and spinning in his chair to face him.

Fred is carrying a briefcase, and he sits on the large leather couch in the center of Ron’s office, the seat rippling beneath his heavy body as he lets out a weary sigh.

“What is it?” Ron crosses his legs, and Fred sets the bag on the floor. His boss’s eyes fall to the strange case. “What’s that?”

“Nothing important. I came to ask you something.”

Ron leans back, tapping his fingers against his armrests. “Go ahead.”

Fred rubs his hands together. He brought the cash with him in case he decides to change his mind about killing Ron Moretto.

He plans to propose a deal to the drug lord, and if he agrees, then he’ll rat out Austin and Robert and inform him about their plan to take him down.

The way this plays out hinges on his buddy’s reaction to his proposition.

“We’ve been moving a lot of product lately.”

Ron straightens up. “So?”

“So, I was thinking”—Fred looks at him—“maybe I could get a bump in pay.”

Ron raises an eyebrow. “A raise?”

“Yeah. The work is tough, and I’m doing a lot. My sister’s kid needs his school fees covered, and I need a decent place to live.

“The money I’m getting now just isn’t enough, so I’m proposing a 30 percent raise.”

Ron silently glares at Fred, his tongue working the inside of his cheek. The silence stretches on, then he bursts into laughter, shaking his head.

“30 percent. Wow,” he smirks, rubbing his lips. “You want 30 percent.”

“I do most of the work around here. I risk my life. I think I’ve earned that much.”

“And if I say no?”

He picks up his glass and takes a small sip, keeping his eyes on his ~friend~. He sets it down and licks his lips, smacking them from the sour taste of the booze while he inspects the glass.

“What if I say no to that?”

Fred shrugs. “You don’t have to. You’re the one calling the shots.”

Ron chuckles. “You got that right.”

“But you know, Moretto, I’ve been thinking. How would the Groundhogs feel if they found out that the guys who hit their camp weren’t the King boys, but you, Ron Moretto?”

Ron narrows his eyes at this, tilting his head to the side.

“As your friend, if I were to spill that to them, they’d probably believe me. What do you think would happen then? All hell would break loose.

“You might survive the fight, but it wouldn’t be good for you or your business if the cops found out what you do for a living.

“So, tell me.” He turns to face him. “How does that raise sound now?”

Ron laughs again as he sets the glass on his desk, but his voice is dry and humorless. “I guess I’ve lived long enough to see betrayal.

“I’ve betrayed my friends before, you see. So I know what a traitor smells like. Are you threatening me, Fred?”

His other hand stealthily reaches for the gun in his open desk drawer while his eyes fill with venom.

“Call it what you want,” Fred says. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you!” He raises his gun and fires a shot at Ron, who instinctively ducks as he returns fire.

Fred ducks behind a wooden shelf in the spacious room while Ron gets up, shaking his head with a smirk.

“You fucking idiot. You can’t kill me, but good luck trying!” He aims at the gap where Fred’s bicep can be seen, and as he moves closer, his foot bumps into a bag on the floor.

Ron bends down and quickly unzips it with one hand, and his eyes roll back in his head when he sees the stack of cash inside.

“You fucking fool. You sold me out for some chump change!”

He starts shooting at the shelf, and the weak boards break apart as Fred positions himself in the center, hidden only by a thin piece of wood.

As Ron keeps pulling the trigger, one of the bullets grazes Fred’s shoulder, and he curses as he sticks his hand out to fire back at Ron, who quickly takes cover behind a wall.

The drug lord raises his gun to the ceiling lights and shoots them out, plunging the room into darkness.

Fred blindly fires in Ron’s direction, hoping that one of the bullets will find its mark.

Instead, one of them hits a cylinder in the corner of the room, and gas starts to leak from it, the choking smell filling the air.

Fred tries to shoot again, but the gun clicks, signaling that he’s out of bullets. He swears in frustration, and Ron’s deep laugh echoes through the room.

“You came to assassinate someone and didn’t bring enough bullets? Austin and the guy who sent you should ask for their money back.”

Fred wipes sweat from his forehead as he blows out his cheeks. This isn’t how he pictured this. He was supposed to catch Ron off guard and kill him with a single shot.

He can’t see a way this ends well for him.

The drug dealer throws his gun down. “I’m a man of tradition, Fred. So let’s do this the old-fashioned way. Let’s duke it out.” He steps out from behind the wall, but Fred hesitates.

Ron notices this and snorts. “What? Scared to fight me? Can you only defend yourself with a weapon?”

His former friend clenches his jaw at the taunt, then steps out from behind the shelf.

They can barely see each other in the dark, but Ron’s light blue dress shirt and Fred’s white jersey offer some help.

Ron raises his fist, ready to fight, and Fred can’t stand the suspense. He just wants to get this over with.

On impulse, he charges at him, only to feel a sharp pain in his stomach.

He looks down in shock to see a knife sticking through his shirt, and his body stiffens as pain shoots through his abdomen. He looks back up at the smirking drug lord in disbelief.

“Never trust Ron Moretto. You’re my best friend, Fred. You should have known that.”

Blood spurts from his mouth as the ruthless man twists the knife in his stomach. “You came to kill someone, but you’re the one who’s going to end up dead. I feel sorry for your foolish soul.”

Ron is reveling in his victory, but Fred isn’t ready to give up yet.

With the little strength he has left, he kicks Ron’s foot, and he loses his balance and falls to the floor, the knife falling from his hand.

He tries to scramble for it, but Fred grabs it before he can and quickly straddles him, stabbing him in the stomach.

Ron grabs his hand, and Fred weakly tries to push the knife deeper into his flesh. He pushes it down until Ron cries out, summoning some strength to push Fred away.

Fred clutches his stomach, blood seeping through his fingers. The knife in his hand is slick with the same red. He struggles to rise.

“You fucking traitor,” Ron gasps, his own hand stained with his blood. “I did everything for you.”

“Karma’s a bitch!” Fred retorts, wobbling to his feet while clutching his wound. “You were friends with the King boys too! Until you betrayed them! Now it’s your turn, Moretto!”

Suddenly, a bright light catches their attention. A fire has started in the room.

The wires from the lights Ron had shot out have fallen onto the gas-soaked floor, sparking a blaze that’s quickly spreading.

Soon, the entire building will be engulfed in flames.

Ron uses the distraction to yank Fred’s foot. Fred, weakened, topples over, the knife slipping from his hand.

Ron snatches it up, and without a second thought, plunges it into Fred’s chest. Blood spurts from Fred’s mouth as Ron drives the blade deeper.

“You should’ve known better than to cross me. I don’t keep traitors around,” he murmurs, tossing the knife into a corner before struggling to his feet.

Fred clings to the hem of his pants, but Ron kicks his hand away.

“See you in hell, you son of a bitch.”

He turns away, wincing as he clutches his chest. He starts to limp toward the exit, but a gunshot rings out, and a bullet slams into his back.

Ron stumbles forward, turning weakly to see Fred holding the discarded gun.

Unable to keep going, he falls to the floor, the firelight illuminating the pain on his face as he clutches his fresh wound.

Fred’s hand slackens, and the gun drops from his grasp as his breaths come in short gasps.

He’s dying. He can feel it. His lifeless eyes drift to the stack of money now consumed by flames, the bag melting in the heat. It wasn’t worth it after all.

Ron laughs weakly, and Fred turns to look at him.

“Lately…I’ve been…feeling guilty. I lost the will to keep going after the King family. I felt bad…for envying…the only people who ever really cared about me.

“People can’t help how they’re wired.” He coughs up blood, clutching his chest.

“And even though…they treated me like family, I couldn’t…I couldn’t hold back the devil inside me. It always came out.”

He shakes his head, laughing without humor. “I thought all these guilty feelings were just because I’m getting old, but I guess it was because my time was coming. I was about to die.”

He looks at Fred, who lies lifeless in a pool of blood. He’s dead, and Ron’s eyes fill with tears as he stares at the ceiling.

“And in the end, I killed another friend. People can’t help how they’re wired. This must’ve been how Lucifer felt.

“If dying means I won’t have to feel this torment anymore, then I’ll take it. I’m tired now.”

He relaxes, accepting his fate as the fire’s warmth surrounds him. As Fred slowly turns to ash beside him, he closes his eyes and waits for the fire to consume him.

After all, this was always going to be his fate after all the harm he’d done to the innocent. He deserves it. And for the first time in his life, he doesn’t feel the need to fight anymore.

MOSCOW

Moscow is on his way back to the office from his one-hour break when Ron had called him earlier to pick him up.

As he turns onto the street where Ron’s office is, he catches the strong smell of smoke.

When he pulls up to what used to be Ron’s building, his eyes widen in horror, and he quickly unbuckles his seatbelt to scramble out of the car.

A few people are on the sidewalk, none daring to approach the raging fire. Moscow runs his hands through his hair, knowing without a doubt that his boss is still inside the building.

He pulls out his cell and checks the GPS. The results confirm that Ron’s current location is here, which means that the drug lord is still inside.

Cursing under his breath, he rushes toward the building but is stopped by the intense heat.

Tears blur his vision, and he tugs at his hair as he watches the building burn.