Page 120 of This Life of Mine

The burden of that knowledge should hollow me out. Instead, I feel nothing. He tried to kill me. Who knows how many innocent people he’s already killed. I meet Alex’s gaze and nod. I have no quarrel with it.

Alex moves back toward the living room, already shifting into action. Already gone somewhere colder and more focused than I can follow. Then he places tape over the hitman’s mouth while we wait.

Twenty minutes later, a van is here along with three other men. The men say nothing as they collect my hitman still tied to my dining chair.

“I’ll return the chair,” Alex says, smirking.

When he passes me, he pauses to stroke my cheek. Grounding, reassuring.

“I’ll be back,” he says.

I nod. Trust comes easier this time because I see him clearly.

Alex kisses the top of my head, then walks out.

I step back into the house and lock the door.

Chapter thirty-seven

The Wraith

The building is what Reese promised. Empty, metal-sided, far enough outside town that sound disappears into nothing. No neighbors. No witnesses. Just space and silence.

I pulled my gear from the trunk of my car. I must become the version of myself built for this type of work.

Once the gear is on, piece by piece, the world narrows, and the man behind the mask disappears.

I become the other half; I becomeThe Wraith.

But this version ofThe Wraithwill be different. This version will be far less merciful. Because this version understands this is personal.

I know what was supposed to happen had the hitman succeeded. I know who he was sent after—whose blood would’ve been spilled. He was going after our Lina. He was planning to end her life.

Something cold locks into place. The pounding in my ears course through my body.

The ache and need to pound and peel flesh races through my blood, and the last traces of mercy disappear.

This man will suffer for what he planned to do, and I will love every fucking minute of it.

The mask deliberately removes everything people instinctively search for in another human being. No indication of who’s standing in front of them.

It turns every silence into a threat. Every shadow into something worse than reality.

What’s left of Alex Lombardi fades into the background and darkness takes its place.

When I walk into the shack, the hitman won’t see Alex. He will seeThe Wraith.

He lasted only a few hours. Less than I expected.

The moment he woke and saw me standing there, he understood.

The color drained from his face beneath the bruises. His eyes widened. Then, fear appeared.

“I know who you are,” he whispered. The words trembled out of him.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. The mask answered for me. The armor. The reputation. The stories whispered through criminal circles in back rooms and prison yards. The warnings passed from one predator to another. IfThe Wraithfinds you, it’s already over.

His breathing became frantic. “No...” he whispered. “No, no, no. You’reThe Wraith.”