Page 111 of Savage Justice
“Think of it as compensation. For the trouble you put me to.”
“Mr Savage, I must insist…” He grinds the words through gritted teeth.
Now Ethan is on his feet. “You don’t get to come here insisting on anything, Kaminski. I consider this matter closed.”
“Like fuck!”
“Jack, see to it that Mr Kaminski and Mr Bartosz leave my island at once. Good day to you, gentlemen.” He marches across the hall to the main stairs and disappears onto the upper floor. He never looks back.
Jack, Rome, and I herd the Polish visitors back out into the courtyard. I half expect the second-in-command-cum-bodyguard to make a fuss, but he doesn’t. Kristian climbs up into the chopper, but Bartosz hangs back.
He turns to me. “It was you, wasn’t it? You shot Glodowski.”
I meet and hold his dark-blue gaze. “And you finally killed him.”
“It was long overdue.” He offers me his hand. “Nice work.”
“I’m glad he’s dead.” Molly is sitting in our bed, propped up against the pillows. “I never thought I’d say that, about anyone.”
“You’re too nice.” I drop onto a chair to unfasten my boots. “He needed to go.”
“But to be killed by his own brother in the end…”
“Brother-in-law,” I correct her.
“Whatever. What about the money Kaminski wants?”
“What about it?”
“Maybe we should—”
“He’s not getting a penny,” I insist. I happen to agree with Ethan. It’s compensation for all we’ve been put though, Molly especially. “Ethan says the money’s yours if you want it. Use it for school fees or something.”
“I don’t want it. I don’t need Borys’s dirty money.”
I shrug. “Create a trust fund for Lucy and Noah, call it a legacy from their father.”
“Borys wasn’t Lucy’s father.”
“You’re splitting hairs.” I unfasten my jeans and slide out of them. “Get over here. I want to fuck you.”
EPILOGUE
Molly
Six months later…
“Would he have liked me, do you think?”
The question isn’t aimed at me, but I open my mouth to answer it anyway. Marlowe beats me to it.
He crouches beside Lucy, and together they gaze at the memorial plaque set into the dedicated remembrance wall at Kensal Green cemetery in London. Tristram’s ashes were scattered in the gardens here following his funeral, and a few months later, Marlowe arranged for the plaque to be installed. I’ve only been here once before, but we felt it was right to come again, as a family. I doubt it will become a regular pilgrimage, but every once in a while, maybe…
“He would have adored you,” Marlowe assures her. “He would have been so proud of you, just as I am.”
“Are you sure?” She shifts uneasily from one foot to the other, clearly unconvinced.
“I am.”