The Code To A Don's Heart

f o u r t e e n

V I K T O R    M A K A R O V I C H — T H E     B U T C H E R

I hadn't understood how a single person could be your reckoning until Peach McCoy smiled at me.

It was yesterday when she'd told me how much this running and hiding was bothering her. I hadn't really thought about it because the sense of danger and the thrill of a kill had always been as normal to me as breathing was. I hadn't considered the fact that she would be struggling with this whole thing but then she'd confessed and I understood. I really had. The same had been with Kira when we'd told her about the mafia and the kind of danger her life would be in for the rest of her life.

Peach smiled at me. Her expression had been so open and so bright. I vowed then that I would do my best to keep it that way. There was an innocence to Peach somehow. Her eyes told me that she's seen enough but the way she's so unsure and skittish makes me realise that seeing everything doesn't mean that you are accustomed or used to it. I simply wanted to help Peach like I had Kira when she had been in this situation.

Then I fucked up.

I came to Robert Battier's apartment earlier and there was a man there. He knew immediately who I was and our fight had started at the door. I remember the punches and the kicks we both threw. He was strong but I was stronger, a fact we both knew so he run and I chased him.

It was a hunt, a damn good one. We'd weaved our way through buildings and alleyways, over balconies and down fire escapes and it had felt good. The rush in my blood was still fresh when I came back to the hotel. I'd caught the fucker and put him down then dumped his body. I was high on the chase, high on adrenaline and I'd wanted more. I wanted another chase, another challenge and I sought it out in Peach. I don't know how she noticed but she had and put me to bed.

I'd stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. I wanted to go out and find something to do, something to chase, something to kill, something to hit. These urges were my own but they had always felt so foreign and dangerous. There was a stark difference between Viktor Makarovich and the Butcher. I'd earned that name and I was afraid of what Peach would think of me when she figured out how and why. Her opinion mattered to me. Not many people's did but Peach had a way she saw the world and I liked that. She was selective about what she believed, a trait both good and bad.Despite my inner turmoil, I managed to sleep. My sleep wasn't deep and I was haunted by my mistakes. 

In the morning, I showered first. Peach had left the clothes she'd picked out for me on one of the chairs in the room so I wore a fresh outfit when I got out. Going to the living room, Peach was already at the monitors. Her phone was in one hand as she typed with the other and her sleek black laptop was next to her as well. The light o the screens made her bronze skin glow.

"Breakfast is in the kitchen. I made coffee but it is not that good," she told me without glancing my way. I nodded nonetheless and pushed my wet blonde hair from my eyes. I raked it back with my fingers so it would at least try to stay back when it dried.

Breakfast was a few fruit and sandwiches. I ate from the kitchen, the only sound it the house being Peach's vicious typing. I cleaned my stuff out and put them in the dishwasher before joining Peach in the living room. I leaned next to the desk until she looked up at me.

"You look awful," she commented. I rolled my eyes.

"So do you. How long have you been up?" I asked her. Her eye was open now but still swollen. The bruising had gone down a bit but the bags under her eyes were prominent.