For the first moment of my life, everything had grown clear in the dull
presence of my mind. The once steady pulse of a nightmare never ending had
all abruptly ended with the death of a woman. A woman I might so daringly
have called my lover. Funny how ironic life is; the death of the people
closest to you is the only help for a mind plagued with guilt.
The demise of Vladimir Lem also helped to erase the demons waging war in my brain. I had once been foolish enough to call this man a friend. No, it wasn't foolishness that had brought us together and broke us apart in one fail swoop. As Vlad would have put it; "It was only business."
But that wasn't truth either, was it? Behind every deal conducted in business has the stinking rot of hidden agendas just below the surface. The truth is, everything is personal. The whacking of Vinnie Cognitti, while still helping to secure Vlad's position as an underworld boss, could not mask the fact of Vlad's hatred for Vinnie. We are all businessmen of sorts, and to go about our business without personal desire is a man with a gun to his head waiting for the trigger to be pulled.
Life is what you make it, and I'm no exception. Everything I've done in my life has shaped the events up to present. If you had asked me five years ago, I would have told you that nothing in my life was controllable. Ask me now, and I might tell you something a little bit closer to the truth. While not even your tears can change the past, you can act upon those events and thereby change the future to your favor. Just be prepared to suffer the consequences if the choice you make is the wrong one.
I killed Winterson. As corrupt as she had become under the influence of Vlad, it still didn't make a difference. I was a cop killer in the eyes of the jury. Not fit for any sort of remorse at all. Most of the evidence incriminating Winterson and freeing myself had been destroyed in the fires. What little had been brought to court apparently wasn't enough to convince the jury, so I was told. Rumors of the jury being paid off by an outside force also rang clear in my head. It seems that the old "Godfather" ideals weren't so far-fetched as they once seemed; the higher up in power you found yourself, the more corrupt everything and everyone becomes.
I was caught, a rabbit crushed under the snare of a hunter. And this time, there was no one to pull the strings for my freedom. Senator Woden was dead. The only man capable of rescuing me from the snarling bite of the hound had been murdered by Vlad in a last ditch effort to secure power in the mob underworld. It was of no matter now; I shouldn't concern myself with things beyond my control. My only concern these past weeks have been beating the system I once upheld. But when you find the cards stacked against you, the dream of freedom becomes more a passing whim of thought. Still I had to try.
So that had become my consuming thought: getting free. My lawyers tried to assure me of the best, but I didn't buy it for a moment. There's no way a cop-killer can get off on his own accord, and they knew it perfectly well. Why they kept the fact of my certain prosecution was still a mystery to me at this moment; maybe they saw through all of the bullshit and were telling themselves that they could get me off. Or maybe they were just raising my spirits so it would make my downfall in court that much more savoring. It really didn't matter, like I said. My goose was cooked; I was prepared to face whatever consequences handed out to me by the jury. Well, that is until I got some very unexpected news. As I've said many times in the past: "It all started with the death of a woman."
The demise of Vladimir Lem also helped to erase the demons waging war in my brain. I had once been foolish enough to call this man a friend. No, it wasn't foolishness that had brought us together and broke us apart in one fail swoop. As Vlad would have put it; "It was only business."
But that wasn't truth either, was it? Behind every deal conducted in business has the stinking rot of hidden agendas just below the surface. The truth is, everything is personal. The whacking of Vinnie Cognitti, while still helping to secure Vlad's position as an underworld boss, could not mask the fact of Vlad's hatred for Vinnie. We are all businessmen of sorts, and to go about our business without personal desire is a man with a gun to his head waiting for the trigger to be pulled.
Life is what you make it, and I'm no exception. Everything I've done in my life has shaped the events up to present. If you had asked me five years ago, I would have told you that nothing in my life was controllable. Ask me now, and I might tell you something a little bit closer to the truth. While not even your tears can change the past, you can act upon those events and thereby change the future to your favor. Just be prepared to suffer the consequences if the choice you make is the wrong one.
I killed Winterson. As corrupt as she had become under the influence of Vlad, it still didn't make a difference. I was a cop killer in the eyes of the jury. Not fit for any sort of remorse at all. Most of the evidence incriminating Winterson and freeing myself had been destroyed in the fires. What little had been brought to court apparently wasn't enough to convince the jury, so I was told. Rumors of the jury being paid off by an outside force also rang clear in my head. It seems that the old "Godfather" ideals weren't so far-fetched as they once seemed; the higher up in power you found yourself, the more corrupt everything and everyone becomes.
I was caught, a rabbit crushed under the snare of a hunter. And this time, there was no one to pull the strings for my freedom. Senator Woden was dead. The only man capable of rescuing me from the snarling bite of the hound had been murdered by Vlad in a last ditch effort to secure power in the mob underworld. It was of no matter now; I shouldn't concern myself with things beyond my control. My only concern these past weeks have been beating the system I once upheld. But when you find the cards stacked against you, the dream of freedom becomes more a passing whim of thought. Still I had to try.
So that had become my consuming thought: getting free. My lawyers tried to assure me of the best, but I didn't buy it for a moment. There's no way a cop-killer can get off on his own accord, and they knew it perfectly well. Why they kept the fact of my certain prosecution was still a mystery to me at this moment; maybe they saw through all of the bullshit and were telling themselves that they could get me off. Or maybe they were just raising my spirits so it would make my downfall in court that much more savoring. It really didn't matter, like I said. My goose was cooked; I was prepared to face whatever consequences handed out to me by the jury. Well, that is until I got some very unexpected news. As I've said many times in the past: "It all started with the death of a woman."