The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 516

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Chapter 516

Mikhail’s POV

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The world shrinks to the barrel of the gun. I am not thinking about Erik’s leg, about the blood soaking into the cheap carpet. I am thinking about the angle, the pressure, the microscopic give of skin and bone under the muzzle where I press it to his temple. He’s breathing in ragged, wet gulps. Good. Let the pain be a current he cannot escape.

Cassian’s voice, from the sofa, is a stone dropped into the choppy water of Erik’s panic. “Answer the question.”

Erik’s face is a slick mask of sweat and agony. His eyes dart,

looking for a purchase that isn’t there. Finally, the words tear

out of him. “I’ll talk… I’ll talk…”

I increase the pressure, tilting his head sideways. The metal leaves a pale imprint on his skin. I want him to feel the geometry of his situation, the simple, clean line between the trigger and his oblivion. My voice, when it comes, is flat. A statement of fact. “Enough chit–chat.”

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“It’s… it’s a woman.”

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I don’t look at Cassian. I keep my eyes on Erik’s, watching the pupil swim in a sea of fear. I feel Cassian’s glance like a physical touch. He takes the lead. “Name?”

“I don’t know.”

My thumb finds the hammer. The click as I cock it is deafening in the still room. It is a punctuation mark. “Last

chance.”

True terror, the kind that voids the bowels, flashes in his eyes. “I really don’t know!” he gasps. He sees my expression, the

utter absence of mercy. The words tumble out faster. “We

only communicated over the phone. Voice changers. I never

knew who she was.”

“What did she offer you?” Cassian asks. He is the good cop, but his goodness is made of ice.

“She promised… she promised if I get rid of Gemma, no one would come after me for my work abroad. I could return

home.”

He tells his story between winces. His mother, sick. The Clark

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family’s exile, their indifference. The expensive treatments, the desperate jobs–hitman, smuggler. A life of shadows and running. He’s tired. His mother is dying, and all she wants is to see home before the end. But every time he tries to cross the border, hands grab him before he even reaches customs. He is a ghost with a leash. Then, the woman. The offer. A way out.

I listen, but I am sifting. A detail catches, snags. My brow furrows. “Given that you can’t return home, how did you manage to get to Gemma in the country?”

He looks at me, confused by the question. “I told you. That woman had her ways. She only promised to help my mother and me return after Gemma was dealt with.” He says it like it’s obvious. He followed her instructions because she got him here. She dangled the carrot, and he, the desperate donkey,

lunged for it. He trusted her. The sheer, pathetic stupidity of it

almost makes me pull the trigger right there.

Cassian’s voice cuts the air again, colder now. “Do you even

know that your brother is looking for you?”

Erik’s laugh is a short, bitter bark. “I don’t have a brother.”

The denial is absolute. William is a stranger, a coincidence of genetics. A tool for finding him, nothing more.

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< Chapter 516

Cassian’s eyes meet mine. They are steel. He gives a slight, almost imperceptible nod. We are on the same page. He speaks to Erik, but the plan is forming between us, unspoken. “You mentioned contacting her by phone. So, call her now.”

Erik freezes. The animal fear returns, but it’s a different flavor now. Not just fear of us, but fear of her, of the unknown hand that has guided him this far.

I see the hesitation. My finger rests on the trigger guard. My voice is a low whisper, for him alone. “Think carefully. Do you want to save your own life, or protect a woman whose identity you don’t even know?”

He doesn’t need to think. The choice is written in the urine slowly spreading on the floor beneath him. He gestures weakly toward his jacket pocket with his chin.

I keep the gun on him with one hand, the other patting him down. I find the phone. It’s a cheap, disposable thing. I flip it open. One call log. One number. I hit dial and put it on speaker, holding it near his mouth.

“Tell her you’ve taken care of Gemma,” I instruct, my words

precise. “But you need to meet her in person. Otherwise,

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“y.”

suicidal in his world, it almost breaks his trance. He thinks I’m wulge. Go to the police? The thought is so alien, so insane.

I simply raise an eyebrow. The gun barrel, still warm from the first shot, presses a little harder into the sweat–damp hair at

temple. The message is clear: my insanity is his problem.

ne line clicks. A voice comes through, distorted, synthetic. It olds no warmth. “Didn’t I tell you not to contact me unless it was an emergency? What’s up?”

Erik swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He looks at me. I give a single, slow nod. He speaks, his voice trembling, trying to sound forceful. “Gemma has been dealt with.”

A pause. Then, the voice, sharper now: “Really? Has she confirmed she’s contracted HIV?”

In my peripheral vision, I see Cassian go very still. We exchange a look. The target shifts, deepens. This isn’t just about killing. It’s about disease. It’s about a specific, lingering

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