68: The Father's Sin

A Kingdom Built on Blood

The world outside was silent. Too silent.

Alexander had spent his life hunting men like his father, but this time was different. This wasn't about power, money, or control. This was about erasing the past, about making sure no one else suffered under the weight of his father's rule.

His boots crunched against the gravel as he approached the warehouse. The steel structure loomed ahead like a mausoleum, its rusted walls bearing the scars of a thousand sins.

The final battleground.

Eve had tried to stop him. She had grabbed his face, her fingers digging into his skin, desperate. "You don't have to do this, Alexander."

He had kissed her then, slow and deep, tasting the fear on her lips. But there was no changing his mind.

"I do."

Now, as he stood outside the doors of hell, he finally understood. There had never been another path for him.

His father had made sure of that.

The First Shot

The first guard didn't even have time to scream. Alexander slit his throat with a quiet efficiency that sent the man crumpling to the ground. Blood pooled at his feet, dark and warm.

The second guard barely got his gun out before Alexander put a bullet between his eyes.

They had no idea what was coming.

He moved through the corridors like a shadow, his silencer whispering death. He didn't feel the kills anymore. He had lost that part of himself long ago.

One by one, his father's empire crumbled under his hands.

When he reached the main hall, he was ready.

Face to Face with the Devil

The room was vast, lit only by the dim glow of overhead lamps. At its center stood a long wooden table, covered in expensive whiskey bottles and bloodstained papers.

And at the head of the table, sipping from a crystal glass, was the man he had spent his whole life hating.

His father.

"Alexander," the older man greeted, his voice smooth, almost amused. "You made quite the mess getting here."

Alexander didn't answer. He let his gun do the talking, raising it slowly, his finger steady on the trigger.

His father smirked. "Go on, then. Kill me."

The words were a test, a taunt. A reminder that no matter how much he tried to fight it, he was still his father's son.

Alexander's grip tightened. "You don't get to die easy."

His father exhaled slowly, setting his glass down. "You always were dramatic." He gestured to the room around them. "Look at where we are. The heart of my empire. And you think you can take it down just by killing me?" He chuckled. "You don't understand how the world works, boy."

Alexander's jaw clenched. "You built this world on bodies."

His father's eyes gleamed. "Yes. And now you're standing in it."

The words cut deeper than Alexander wanted to admit. Because they were true.

How many had he killed to get here? How much of himself had he already lost?

His father leaned forward, his expression calm, patient. "You think this ends with my death? That you'll walk out of here free?" He chuckled. "No, son. You are me. You always have been."

Alexander's breath was steady. "No. I am more."

His father sighed, as if disappointed. "Then prove it."

And the fight began.

The Last War

The first shot came from his father. Alexander barely dodged in time, rolling behind the heavy oak table. The wood splintered under a hail of bullets.

His father was fast, but Alexander was faster. He moved like lightning, weaving through the shadows, his own gun spitting death.

The room became a war zone.

Glass shattered. Bullets ripped through the walls. The scent of gunpowder mixed with the metallic tang of blood.

Alexander took out one of the remaining guards, then another. But his father was still standing, untouched, calm.

And then, Alexander felt it—a sharp, burning pain ripping through his side.

He gritted his teeth as blood bloomed against his shirt. His father had landed a shot.

"See?" his father mused. "Even now, you hesitate."

Alexander pressed his hand to his wound, forcing himself to breathe through the pain. "You talk too much."

His father smiled. "And yet, you're still listening."

Alexander charged.

Their bodies collided with the force of years of hate. His father was strong—brutally so. But Alexander had spent his entire life fighting to survive.

They grappled, fists turning to weapons, bones crunching under each strike. Blood sprayed across the floor, staining the walls like an artist's brushstroke.

Alexander's knuckles cracked against his father's jaw. The older man staggered, spitting blood, but he only laughed.

"You think this is victory?"

Alexander didn't answer. He drove his knee into his father's ribs, hearing something break. His father gasped, but his grin never faded.

"You've already lost," he whispered.

Alexander grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward. "Not yet."

And then, he pressed the gun to his father's temple.

The Final Choice

They stood there, frozen in time.

His father's bloodied face was inches from his own, his breath ragged but steady. "Go ahead," he murmured. "End it."

Alexander's hand trembled.

This was it.

The moment he had been waiting for. The moment he had dreamed of since the first time his father had broken him.

One pull of the trigger. That was all it would take.

But for the first time, doubt whispered in his mind.

His father saw it. "You can't, can you?" He exhaled. "Because deep down, you know the truth."

Alexander's finger tightened. "Shut up."

"You're not better than me, son." His father smiled, slow and cruel. "You never were."

Alexander's breathing was ragged.

He could end it. Right here. Right now.

But then what?

Would the killing really stop? Or would he become the thing he had spent his life trying to destroy?

His father tilted his head. "Do it, Alexander."

Alexander closed his eyes.

And then he pulled the trigger.

The Sin That Ended It All

The gunshot echoed through the warehouse.

His father's body jerked—once, twice—before crumpling to the ground.

Blood pooled beneath him, dark and final.

Alexander stood there, gun still raised, heart pounding.

It was over.

The man who had shaped his nightmares, who had twisted his entire existence into something unrecognizable, was gone.

Dead.

And yet, as Alexander stared at the lifeless corpse, a terrifying realization settled over him.

The war wasn't over.

Because his father had been right about one thing.

He had spent his whole life chasing vengeance.

Now, without it…

Who was he?

The Silence After the Storm

The warehouse was quiet.

The bodies of his father's men lay scattered around him. Smoke curled through the broken windows, carrying the scent of gunpowder and death.

Alexander exhaled slowly.

It was done.

And yet, the weight in his chest remained.

He turned, walking away without looking back.

The world outside was waiting.

And so was Eve.

But even as he stepped into the night, one thought haunted him.

He had finally killed the devil.

So why did he still feel like a monster?