It didn’t feel like him back there.
Like something else had taken control of his body, guiding his hands, pulling the trigger.
And then, the scene flashed in his mind again.
The police chief’s eyes as he had pushed them in, his fingers sinking deep into his eyes.The sensation of it, the warmth.
The gunshot.
Chief’s skull splitting open, pieces of his brain splattered across the walls, the floor, on James himself.
The woman.
She had nothing to do with his revenge. Nothing.
And yet, he had killed her too.
But the worst part that made his stomach hurt even more, that made his breath hitch was that in that moment…
He had felt nothing…no that wasn’t even true.
He had felt something.
Relief.
And beneath that,buried deep but undeniable, was something even worse.
Happiness.
The trigger had been light. The kickback had been firm.
And the moment the bullets tore through them, the way their bodies jerked, the silence that followed, it had been satisfying.
Their deaths had brought him happiness.
A smile…a real, genuine smile had curled on his lips as he watched them collapse to the floor.
"James?" Hector’s voice pulled him back.
He blinked, realizing he had been staring at his own hands. The scent of blood and the taste of it hit him again.
He turned his head slightly.
Then, he bent over and vomited.
His whole body trembled as everything came out.
Hector took a step forward "James—"
James held up a hand, stopping him.
His breathing was ragged. His body felt cold.
The blood on his hands wasn’t his and yet, it felt like it was sinking into his skin.
Like it would never come off.
He looked down at his hands again, the blood staining his skin, and something stirred inside him, something he didn’t want to acknowledge.
The disgust wasn’t there. No, there was something else, a pull. A hunger.
His body trembled, not from fear, but from something far deeper.
A cold sweat broke out across his skin, his chest tight with the weight of what he had just done. But beneath the tremors, a warmth spread through him.
A quiet, dangerous warmth. The kind that spreads through you when you’ve tasted what it’s like to hold someone’s life in your hands and feel the power of taking it away.
The feeling of the gun in his hand, the way his finger had pressed the trigger, light, so light. Almost too easy. The violence, the blood, the shattering of lives, it had been so satisfying, so sweet. And now, standing here in the aftermath, the adrenaline was starting to fade, but the rush…the power…was still there.
Why do I feel this way?
He couldn’t stop asking himself that, over and over, the question echoing in his mind.
What had he become? What had he done?
The chief’s skull splitting open, the way the blood had splattered across the walls.
The woman, her body falling as if she were nothing, nothing but a casualty of his wrath.
But what haunted him the most was not the violence, not the killing.
No. It was the feeling he had, standing over them as they died. He had felt relief, a quiet peace that washed over him the moment they took their final breaths. He had been so angry, so broken.
But when the blood flowed, when life drained from their bodies, it was like a weight lifted from his shoulders.
He wasn’t just taking revenge, he was taking control. He was the one deciding who lived, who died. He was the one who got to decide who deserved to suffer and who didn’t.
And in that moment, he felt powerful, like no other time.
He had known, he had felt, that his actions were justified.
He staggered back, his legs shaky, his breath coming in short bursts.
He wasn’t sure if he was going to throw up again or if he was going to break down entirely.
What was wrong with him?
This wasn’t supposed to feel good. It wasn’t supposed to feel right. He had always believed in justice, in the law. But now, standing here with their blood on his hands, he realized that he was the law.
He had been the judge, the jury, the executioner.
And the truth, no matter how much he tried to deny it, was that it felt right.
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The idea that he had control over life and death…it consumed him.
The thrill of knowing that the end of someone’s life could be decided by a single decision, by a single pull of the trigger, filled him with an unexpected sense of freedom.
In that moment, he had tasted the freedom to decide who would live and who would die.
But I’m not like this. I shouldn’t be like this.
The thought fluttered in his mind, but it was weak. Too weak to fight the truth that was already setting in.
The truth that, no matter how much he hated it, he was addicted to it. The rush of power, of control, of the ability to bring an end to someone’s life with just a thought. He had tasted it, and there was no going back now.
"James…" Hector’s voice broke through his thoughts again.
James didn’t look at him. He couldn’t.
"I—" He tried to speak, but the words didn’t come. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel anymore.
Instead, he just stood there, trembling, his hands still stained. And deep down, he knew he had crossed a line.
A part of him couldn’t help but feel…alive.
He steadied himself. "I’m…good."
Hector didn’t respond, just opened the door for him.
As James sat into the car, the scene replayed in his mind again. The way he had cut off his ear and tongue, it was brutal, something he never thought he would do.
"It was all for Rafael." Hector’s voice came again.
James looked at him, his vision slightly dizzy.
"Don’t think about it. You did what you did, and it’s just the beginning. You know it, James. And I’m happy you finally showed who you really are. You showed them the Bellinis’ worth."
Showed them the Bellinis’ worth…
Was that what it had really been about? It hadn’t felt like just proving a point. It felt like something more, something deeper that he couldn’t quite grasp. Something dark.
He exhaled sharply, wiping a hand over his face.
"What am I becoming?"
Hector simply watched him, as if waiting for James to find the answer himself.
"You’re becoming who you were always meant to be." Hector said quietly. "Who you were meant to be, James. You can’t keep fighting what’s inside you. Not anymore."
That sense of power, of finally being in control. The emptiness that had lingered afterward wasn’t the same as guilt. No, it was something else, something he hadn’t expected to feel.
Hector glanced at him. "You don’t have a choice." He said firmly. "Not anymore. The world doesn’t give you choices when you’re at the top. You can’t live like how you used to be, especially after all of this, you are truly becoming someone greater than everybody expected. And I will be on your side even if we are against God himself."
James didn’t respond. He couldn’t.. The feeling inside him was it really power? Or was it something else, something more dangerous, that had awakened in him that day?
He didn’t know. But deep down, he understood one thing, there was no turning back now. He had crossed a line, and everything after this moment would only lead him deeper into the darkness.
James took a slow breath, fingers curling at his sides. He had been expecting guilt, James tilted his head slightly.
"Hector," James said smoothly, "are you afraid of me?"
"I’d be an idiot if I wasn’t."
James considered that for a moment, then nodded. "Good."
Hector just looked at James, his eye was far worse than ever.
People say eyes tell the truth, but James’ eyes were telling something different.
"When people fear you." James said. "they don’t try to control you. They don’t question you. They don’t stand in your way." He turned slightly, just enough to glance back at Hector. "Isn’t that what matters in the end?"
Hector studied him, something unreadable in his gaze. Maybe it was uncertainty. Maybe it was a realization.
"Maybe." Hector admitted. Then, after a pause, "But if everyone fears you… who’s left to trust?"
Then, without looking at Hector, he spoke.
"Death."
"What?"
"Death." He repeated. "The only one that trusts me."
Silence settled between them, heavier than before. Hector shifted slightly, the weight of James’s words pressing down on him in a way he couldn’t quite shake.
James had built something no one else could.
He had stepped into a world that demanded everything and gave nothing in return.
And now, standing on the edge of it all, the only certainty left was the one thing that had never failed him.
Death didn’t betray. Death didn’t lie. Death didn’t hesitate.