Heir of the Mob Reclaims His GloryChapter 1

The blood pact I signed seven years ago finally expired today.

Wilson Wilder and I would soon become complete strangers.

She was probably still recalling my past fits of rage when I caught her cheating—smashing things, screaming, raising hell.

But she didn't know, everything was different now.

When I suddenly came home, I walked in on Wilson Wilder having sex with another man in my car.

This time, she made no attempt to hide it. Instead, she rolled down the window, leaned out, and gently covered the man behind her with a wool blanket.

From the back seat, I heard the rustle of clothes. She shielded the man even more carefully, then turned back to whisper, "Don't be scared."

Then she looked at me, a flicker of unease in her eyes, and asked, "Weren't you supposed to be at your MBA class today? Why the sudden return?"

...

I yanked open the car door. The back seat was a mess: ripped black stockings, used condoms.

A wave of nausea hit me. I gagged uncontrollably.

"Why bring someone into this car?"

Wilson Wilder calmly buttoned her shirt.

She glanced at my car.

"It was the most convenient place. Didn't think much of it."

"Couldn't exactly bring him home, could I, darling?"

The man in the car scrambled out, stumbling pitifully in front of me.

"Mr. Wilder, I'm so sorry, I couldn't control myself..."

I stood there, arms crossed, unmoving.

"Get out."

I wouldn't lift a finger for her anymore.

But that didn't mean I'd be kind to the man who'd slept with my wife.

Even if she wouldn't be for much longer.

As he ran off, I gave him a dismissive glance.

Early twenties, clean-cut college kid. Her type.

Clean background, simple life, high achiever.

Everything I wasn't.

Which one was this? I stopped counting years ago.

I called my butler: "To the garage. Smash the car."

Old Thomas smashed it with restraint.

His hammer, wrapped in suede, landed with a dull thud, like bone breaking within flesh.

Then came the sharp crack of shattering glass.

Wilson Wilder got out of the car, pulled me into her embrace, and gently ruffled my hair.

Like soothing an agitated cat.

I pulled away, leaned against the wall, and lit a cigarette. Didn't smoke it.

In the flickering light of the cigarette, the obsidian Bentley became a heap of scrap.

She followed me inside.

Her hand circled my waist.

"Julian, don't be mad. I'll get you a new car?"

"My husband didn't hit anyone. That's progress."

She pinched my cheek, a hint of surprise in her tone.

"Just play nice, and no one can threaten your position."

"It's your birthday today. Seven years you've been with me in Kingsport."

She magically produced a gift box.

Hermès, rare leather.

I wasn't surprised.

Inside the bag, however, lay a "Python" revolver.

Out of instinct, I released the cylinder, pulled back the hammer, and checked the chamber.

Empty.

I paused, bringing the gun to my nose.

No gun oil smell, just an industrial scent.

Fake.

I tossed the gun back into the bag, my eyes hardening completely.

She lay back on the sofa, hands behind her head.

"It's just a toy, a memento of your past. Be good from now on, no more playing with weapons."

Her tone was light.

The glory my past had brought her, dismissed in a single breath.

Seven years. My heart had long turned to ash.

I pulled out the drafted divorce papers.

"Wilson Wilder, sign it."

"From now on, we go our separate ways."

A fleeting, almost imperceptible panic crossed her eyes.

Then she smiled, more relaxed.

"Julian, we can't be separated in this life. Have you forgotten?"

"I shouldn't have done it in your car. Don't say things you don't mean."

She hugged me from behind, her cheek rubbing my forehead.

"I've got a birthday surprise for you. Let's go out."

She tried to take my hand. I sidestepped, avoiding her touch.

She seemed to have forgotten.

Back then, she was just a small-time dealer.

Wanting to start her own business, she refused my money, then turned around and stole goods from my sister's rival.

"Mad Dog" Hayes put out the word.

One of her hands, and the debt would be clear.

Or, the Wilder family could sign a blood pact.

My sister refused.

I bit my finger, pressing my blood print onto that pact.

By gang rules, she and I could never be separated in this life.

A pact that compromised the Wilder family's reputation and dignity, binding her and me together.

Until this morning, when Mad Dog Hayes dropped dead in a brothel.

As I changed, I sent that text.

"Sis, pick me up in Avalon in two days."