Kail pov
The city was a canvas of grit and grime, the neon glow of signs painting an artificial sheen over the decay. I navigated the streets with a practiced ease, the hum of the engine a soothing counterpoint to the storm brewing within me. Another night, another mission, another soul silenced for the "good" of the family.
But tonight, the familiar numbness felt different. There was a restlessness, a discontent that clawed at the edges of my control. The faces of my victims, usually a blur of fear and desperation, lingered in my mind, their eyes accusing, their silence deafening.
I tried to shake it off, to bury myself in the routine, the ritual of cleansing that followed each kill. The hot water, the sterile soap, the relentless scrubbing – none of it could wash away the stain on my soul.
I found myself staring at the reflection in the mirror, the cold, detached gaze that stared back. Was this all I was destined to be? A weapon, a tool, a soulless enforcer for the Moreau family? Was there nothing more to my existence than violence and control?
The questions swirled in my mind, unanswered, unresolved. I knew that I couldn't voice them, couldn't share them with anyone. They wouldn't understand. They were too invested in the family, too loyal to the cause.
The emptiness within me grew, a gaping void that threatened to consume me entirely. It was a void that had always been there, a constant companion, but tonight, it felt more profound, more suffocating.
The Moreau mansion loomed before me, pristine white stone gleaming under spotlights, a monument to power built on blood money. I pulled my sleeve down instinctively, covering the strange birthmark that snaked from my chest down my arm. Another thing that made me different. Another thing they couldn't understand.
The familiar sound of cutlery against fine china greeted me as I entered the dining room. Five faces turned toward me, expressions ranging from irritation to concern.
"You're late," my father stated. Not a question, just a fact. Andre Moreau didn't ask questions; he made statements and expected compliance.
I took my seat without explanation or apology. The servants immediately placed a plate before me, the food looking as tasteless as everything else in my life.
"Kail," my mother's voice was softer, but no less commanding. "You look terrible. When was the last time you slept?"
I glanced up at Maya Moreau, the steel beneath her silk exterior visible only in her eyes. I'd inherited her dark curly and kinky hair now I have locs , but nothing of her cunning warmth.
"I'm fine," I replied, voice flat. The words were mechanical, rehearsed. A script I'd followed for as long as I could remember.
"The mission," my father continued, cutting into his steak with surgical precision. "Was it successful?"
I nodded once, reaching for my water glass. "Target eliminated. No witnesses. No trace."
Isaac, my oldest brother, smirked from across the table. At 29, he was my father's right hand, ambitious and ruthless. "Always so efficient, little brother. Almost robotic in your precision."
Beside him, Shaun chuckled. At 26, just a year older than me, he was already carving his own bloody path through the ranks. "That's our Kail. The perfect soldier. No messy emotions to get in the way."
I didn't respond. Their words were meant to cut, but you couldn't wound someone who couldn't feel.
"Stop it, both of you," Zoey protested, her bright voice at odds with the dark conversation. My 18-year-old sister was the only spot of genuine light in our family. "Kail just got home."
"It's fine," I said, not looking up from my plate. The food had no taste, the conversation no meaning. I was a ghost at my own family table.
"We need to discuss our plans for the S City expansion," my father announced, changing topics with his customary abruptness. "The syndicate meeting is in two months, and every family member needs to be present. The other families need to see our unified front."
"I've already arranged our accommodations and security," my mother added. "The Moreau family will make quite the impression."
Isaac leaned forward, eyes gleaming with ambition. "The Tanaka family won't know what hit them. Their territory will be ours within a year."
"If we play our cards right," Shaun agreed, equally hungry for power.
I remained silent, pushing food around my plate. Another city. Another power play. Another demonstration of force. The endless cycle continued.
"Kail," my father's voice cut through my thoughts. "You'll be handling the elimination of their security detail. I need their chief bodyguard gone before the meeting."
I met his gaze, my eyes as cold and dead as I felt inside. "Understood."
My mother studied me, her brow furrowed with what might have been concern in a normal family. "You don't seem yourself lately. Is there something bothering you?"
Something bothering me? The question was almost laughable. How could I explain the emptiness, the void where emotions should be? How could I describe the strange dreams, the pull toward something unknown, the birthmark that sometimes burned with inexplicable heat?
"Nothing's bothering me," I replied, my voice devoid of inflection. "Nothing ever does."
My father nodded, satisfied with my answer. He wouldn't have understood anything else anyway. To him, emotions were weaknesses, liabilities in our line of work. He'd raised me to be a weapon, not a son.
"Good," he said. "Keep it that way."
As dinner continued, the conversation flowed around me like water around a stone. Family politics, business strategies, gossip about rival families – none of it touched the frozen core of who I was.
I caught Zoey watching me with genuine concern. Of all my family members, she was the only one who seemed to notice the hollowness behind my eyes, the only one who occasionally tried to reach through the wall I'd built around myself.
But even she couldn't understand. The emptiness inside me wasn't just the result of our family business. It was deeper, older somehow, as if I'd lost something essential long before I was born.
I touched my chest absently, feeling the outline of my birthmark through my shirt. The strange constellation of marks that had made me an oddity even in a family of monsters. Sometimes, in the dead of night, it seemed to pulse with a life of its own, as if trying to remind me of something forgotten.
As the evening wore on, I remained silent, a specter at the feast, going through the motions of family life while feeling nothing but the endless void within.