Scene III
SCENE III
OTHELLO
O thello entered the Romano home and nodded to the house manager, Carlo, before heading straight for his father’s office. Alessandro and Maria were getting older and needed more help at the house since he didn’t stay home that much, and Iago lived with Emilia, his girlfriend, across town. Othello knocked and waited for Alessandro to respond before he entered.
“You finally showed up,” Iago joked. "Looks like you wanted extra time with your new lover," but Othello didn't pay attention as he settled on the couch while Iago and Alessandro occupied the wingback chairs by the desk.
“Alright, Iago, don’t start,” Alessandro said. “Tell me what the Rossetti clan wants.” Alessandro was the kind of man who liked to get to the point of the matter.
“We missed something in our intel when we planned on taking over the Rizzo clan territories. They had a deal with the Rossettis that they got to use the east side of the ports, and any business that crossed the lines had to go through Rizzo. Rossetti wants to keep the deal as is.”
“No,” Iago said instantly, just as Alessandro spoke up.
“What are they offering? If I know Rizzo, he didn’t do anything for free.”
“Ten percent of the cargo.”
Alessandro sat back in his chair, crossed his legs, and studied Othello before he spoke. “What did you tell him?”
“Fifteen percent, and it’s not up for negotiation. We’ll also have our guys police the cargo.”
“I can’t believe you,” Iago shouted. “You know they deal with more than just imported art and cars. Their main supply is drugs, human trafficking, and whatever the fuck else they can get their hands on.”
Neither Alessandro nor Othello could disagree with Iago. The Romano clan was known for their involvement in gambling, escort services, prostitution, and other unsavory deals, unlike other clans that focused on drugs and human trafficking.
“We have to step away from this deal,” Iago said calmly.
“What do you think, Othello?” Alessandro asked.
“Why are you asking him?” Iago said, and they both looked at him.
“Other than the drugs and trafficking, why shouldn’t we work with the Rossettis?” Othello questioned.
“Those are reasons enough,” Iago argued.
“What if I told you the Rossetti clan no longer deal in drugs and all that shit.”
Iago huffed. “Then I’d call you a fool for believing that your old flame’s family has somehow grown a heart. You and I know how close they are to the Ricci family. How do you think they got so far up in just a few short years?”
“Good thing I’m not a fool then, Iago.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Since Luca couldn’t guarantee me that none of his cargo had drugs or human stock, I can’t have him bring his shipment through our port. So they will need to find someone else, and since we now own the most effective borders, it will be pretty hard for them. Since we took over the docks, the cops have been patrolling them pretty heavily. I can't have the feds crawling around when we meet with the Japanese in a few weeks.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you say that from the beginning?” Iago snapped.
“Because you blew up before I could get a chance.” Othello tsked, shaking his head.
“Alright, boys, enough bickering,” Alessandro said, then looked at Othello. “You did the right thing. We have our faults, but that shit will never be one of them.”
Othello and Iago nodded in agreement. The subject was changed to other matters that took a couple of hours. They talked about the weapons deal they were making with the head of a Japanese yakuza and when the meeting would take place. At the thought, the little doctor came to mind, and he wondered just how good he was at the whole art thing, since it sounded as if his parents had forced him to be a doctor. Othello didn't think he could continue to do a job he hated, no matter how good he was at it.
He appreciated that Alessandro had given him an option for what he wanted. Once their meeting was over, Othello went to see Maria, spending a few minutes with her before setting off for the office. The construction company might have been a front, but it provided and took on legitimate businesses that Othello had to oversee.
“Hey, O, wait up,” Iago called out to him just as he was about to open the front door.
“What’s up?” He turned to see his friend coming down the hall.
“Let's grab dinner. It's too late for you to head to the office now,” Iago said. “We haven’t spent much time together since you got out of the hospital, and I miss my little bro.”
Othello smiled and nodded. “Where do you want to go?”
“Let’s go to La Casa Rosa. It’s not far from the office.”
“Alright, I’ll meet you there.”
They both walked out of the house, heading for their cars. Just as he started his car, Othello’s cell phone vibrated. Instead of ignoring it, he glanced at the screen, seeing the unfamiliar number. He was about to delete the number but paused when he read the first few words of the message. Othello opened the message and read it fully.
“Thank you for breakfast. Let me buy you dinner sometime as repayment.”
Othello grinned and sent off a quick reply. “Well done, Doc,” he mumbled. Then, he texted Tallen to get all the information the organization had collected about the doctor to him. He really didn't investigate the doctor too much; he just went by word of mouth on what people knew about him. Putting his phone in the center console, he pulled out of the Romanos’ driveway. The drive to Las Casa Rosa took about thirty minutes, and by the time he got there, Iago was already there, sitting at a table by the window. Othello ordered a light lunch since he had a big breakfast.
“So,” Iago began. “Tell me about the new guy.”
Othello chuckled and shook his head. “I should have known you were up to something. But there’s nothing to tell. I’m not dating anyone.”
“But...”
Othello cut him off. “I don’t have time for a relationship. I have too much going on right now.”
“Please tell me you’re not still hung up on that cheating bastard? Fuck, O, he was an asshole. And fucking, Luciano, the bastard of all bastards, makes me want to find the fucker and kill him.”
"Calm the fuck down," Othello told him. He knew how much Iago hated Luciano for his backward thinking. “I'm not still in love with Philip. I haven't thought about him in years. Didn’t you just hear me?” Othello sighed. “My life is too nuts right now for anything but a good fuck here and there to relieve my stress.”
“You can’t keep living like that, O. You should think about settling down and finding a man who understands our world and later have a couple of kids. It would be great if our children grow up together like we did.”
“I’ll leave the family life to you, Iago.” He smiled. “Are you ready to be a father?”
“Hell no. I’m scared as hell.” Iago gave a wry chuckle.
“You’ll do fine. After all, you raised the kids in the group home.”
“That’s different. I had you to help me.”
“And now, you have Emilia, who you should marry, by the way.”
“I plan to after the baby is born.”
“Have you asked her?” Othello shook his head.
“Not yet.”
“I’d propose before the baby is born, so she knows you’re not marrying her because of the baby. She’s a good woman; don’t make her feel more unworthy than you already have.”
“You don't have to keep reminding me of how much I've fucked things up. I don't want to lose her,” Iago said.
“You say that, but you started seeing a new mistress. And I know you're using that shit again. Think of what it would do to Alessandro and Maria."
"It's not a regular thing, O, just occasionally,” Iago shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't give a fuck if it's for a second. We got out of the drug business because of you and how fucked up you got." Othello sighed. "Look, I won't lecture you anymore, Iago. I can't and won't lose you, man. I need you to be by my side for life. But clean yourself up. Emilia and your child deserve better. She’s gorgeous, smart, and has stuck by your side, even knowing what our world entails. If you love her, I say strongly committing to her would let her know she’s not just an ornament on your arm. If you don't, walk the fuck away and let her find someone who will.”
“People listening to us talk would think you’re the older brother,” Iago joked, but Othello didn’t even crack a smile. He didn’t know when it happened in their relationship, but it turned out that he was the one who became more responsible than Iago.
“You’re the consigliere, Iago. I need you to be my advisor but more so my brother. Do what you need to do and stand beside me.”
“You're right, and you make all good points,” Iago said after a thought. "I'll work on myself."
Othello nodded. “Good man. I'm here for you, Iago. Always. Brothers for life.”
Iago smiled. "Thanks."
They changed the subject and talked about the plans for Maria and Alessandro’s surprise anniversary party they were putting together. They laughed about the past and present. Othello felt good sitting and talking with his best friend after so long.
Des chewed on his bottom lip, staring at the digits in his bank account. He’d gotten home, showered, and brought up the business plan he'd written up a few years ago and showed it to Sebastian, who was quite impressed with what he came up with, which was why he was so confused that Sebastian would side with his parents. The entire way home, he thought about his conversation with Moor. He'd been a coward for far too long. He leaned back in his chair, letting the decision he was about to make wash over him, just as his cellphone rang. Des furrowed his brows, not recognizing the number, but answered it anyway.
"Hello?"
"Hi, is this Desmond Ellington?"
"Yes, who is this?"
"Mister Ellington, my name is Erin Graham. I am an attorney at law for Casey and Nessar. I'm contacting you about your case and would like to know if you had time to meet with me today.”
Des's brows got even tighter at hearing that. He'd reached out to the law firm a couple of months ago, and since he hadn't heard anything from them, he thought they'd turned him down without contacting him. "If you're planning on turning me down face to face, I don't see why we should meet."
"Turn you down?" Graham said. "You misunderstand. I plan on taking your case. After reading through the questions you provided to our paralegal, I find it strange that a big firm like Hamlin and Baxter would lie to a client."
"Wait, what do you mean?" Des sat up in his chair.
"Mister Ellington..."
"Please, call me Des," he said, cutting her off.
"Very well. Des, did you ever see your grandfather's will?"
"No," he sighed. "And every time I tried to get a copy, I’ve been rebuffed."
"I suspected as much," Ms. Graham said. "This is why I think it's important we meet."
"Where are you?"
"I'm at my office." She gave him the address, and Des noted she was in the art district, which was how he'd found the number in the first place.
Des looked at his watch and noted that it was still early in the morning, and around this time, there wouldn't be too much traffic getting there. "I can be there in twenty minutes. Is that okay?"
"That's perfectly fine." They hung up, and as he was about to get up, his phone went off again, and Bianca's name appeared on the screen. Des ignored the call. He didn't have time to hear her apologies about her ditching him the night before. He had other pressing matters to deal with.
Grabbing his motorcycle helmet, Des rushed out of his apartment to the parking garage, got on his bike, and entered the address into his GPS. Minutes later, he was zooming in and out of traffic with an elated smile. He'd bought the bike a few weeks ago and knew it was one of his best decisions. Des enjoyed the ride through the city. It had a mix of everything from towering skyscrapers to modest buildings. Each district had its own unique flavor and culture, the vibrant waterfront areas, scenic beaches, and more that Des hadn't explored, even though he'd lived in Verona Heights all his life.
Twenty minutes later, Des came to a stop in front of a small building with glass front windows that did not look out of place in the more eclectic district. After turning off his bike, he removed his helmet, walked up to the building, and entered the quaint office with neatly stacked bookshelves. However, what drew his eyes was the Vittore Caravaglia art hanging on the wall. Caravaglia was born in 1615 in Venice and liked to experiment by combining oil painting with textiles and textures, giving it a multi-dimensional appearance, not to mention adding dramatic flair to his work, making it unique. Many had tried to copy Caravaglia, including Des, but neither he nor they could quite get it right. Looking at the painting, Des knew it was a fake. Anyone who knew or studied art could tell what was genuine or a copycat.
"It's not real," came a voice behind him.
Turning, Des's eyes locked with a gorgeous statuesque brunette who was taller than him with deep brown eyes and honey-brown skin, dressed in blue jeans paired with a white shirt and black blazer. "I know," he said, looking back at the painting. "No one can recreate Caravaglia's work."
"I've heard that," she said.
Des glanced at her. "I'm looking for Erin Graham."
"That's me, I take it you're Mister Ellington?"
"Yes, and like I said over the phone, call me Des."
"Then call me Erin." They shook hands quickly. "Come into my office, and we'll review your case."
"First," he said, stopping her before she got too far, "I need to know why you are taking me on as a client. I contacted a few offices, and they told me no flat out."
"Truthfully, I don't like bullies and fraud. I can assume other law firms wanted to take your case, but seeing the names Hamilin and Casey scared them off. But unlike them, I'm ready for whatever they might throw at me. I'm even more annoyed that someone lied to you. "
"What do you mean?"
"Come with me." She guided him to her office and moved to her desk. She picked up a stack of papers and handed them to Des. "These are only copies, but we hope to get the original soon."
Des furrowed his brows as he took the documents, setting his helmet down, and his eyes widened when he saw the title: Last Will and Testament. It can't be! Quickly scanning the paperwork, he saw his grandfather's name, and then it was as if his heart had stopped when he read more.
To my grandson, Desmond Ellington, I want you to follow your dreams, child. Go after what you desire, no matter who tries to step in your way. Des, I know you're scared, and you will listen to your parents because they are your parents, but do not give up. I believe in you, so to get started, I leave you thirty million dollars and the deed to the building at 134 Eastside Avenue. Des gasped when he saw the address.
His hands shook as he read the address at least three times. He felt like he couldn't breathe, and his eyes clouded with tears. He didn't betray me . His legs gave out, and he fell to his knees as tears streamed down his cheeks. My grandfather didn't turn his back on me. He thought back to the happiest moments with Sebastian and the regret that, for so long, he had blamed the man for not looking out for him in the end.
He knew his thinking sounded like a spoiled brat, but besides Nanny Cee, his grandfather was the only one who looked out for him while his parents ganged up on him. Des wasn't sure how long he knelt there and cried, but he knew it was also the first time he had shed tears since his grandfather's death. He was also grateful that Erin hadn't interrupted him. Taking a deep breath, he stood, took the tissue offered to him, and dried his eyes. No more crying or wallowing in self-pity. It’s time to fight, Des.
"What's the plan?" he asked.
"I take it you're ready to fight? Fraud cases like yours are easy to win with the right amount of evidence."
"Yes," he growled. "Other than getting the original will, what else do we need as proof?"
She sighed. "I need to know a couple of things. Who was at the will reading?"
"My parents." He froze as he said the word, realizing the most pivotal thing. They knew what the will said all this fucking time. "Erin, thank you for this. I'll call you in a couple of days, but I need to take care of something. Trust me; I'm not backing out of this." Folding the documents, he stuffed them in his inner jacket pocket.
"Wait, Des. What are you going to do?" she stopped him, looking at him with worry.
"Something I should have done years ago." Des grabbed his helmet and hurried out the door. He was speeding across town in less than five minutes to his parents' place. He didn't know if they were home, but he didn't care. Des wasn't going to back down from this. Pulling up at the front of his family home, the main gate was open. Des noticed a few cars parked out front, which meant they were entertaining. He would have thought better of his actions if he hadn't been so angry, but he was too worked up to care.
After getting off his bike, Des pulled out his cellphone and fiddled with it for a few seconds before putting it back in his pocket. Then, he removed his helmet and barged into the house, scanning the place for his mother or father, ignoring the curious eyes on him. The second he saw Ava, he marched over to her.
"Desm—"
"You lied to me, Mother," he yelled before she could finish his name.
"What are you talking about?"
"Grandfather's will," he snapped.
Her eyes widened, and she turned to whoever she was talking to, making excuses before grabbing Des's arm and pulling him out of the crowded room. Des was seething, and he didn't hide his anger as they grew close to his father, who noticed the tension between the two of them. David apologized to his guests and joined Ava and Des as they took the stairs to David's office. When they were behind closed doors, Des let loose.
"I did every fucking thing you two wanted me to do. I grew up without friends and love, and all I wanted was to follow my dreams, and you two couldn't let that happen. How? How did you do it?"
"Desmond, I..." his mother began, but his father interrupted.
"How did you find out?" his father asked.
"Did you think I wouldn’t suspect you two were up to something? I just needed the evidence to prove it." He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out the documents, and threw them on the coffee table.
David picked them up, and Des watched his eyes scanning the paperwork. "My father was a fool like you. How dare he give you all that money to waste away? So I told Bradley Wade to change the will. I knew you wouldn't read it. You're usually smarter than this. I'm surprised it took you all these years to figure things out."
"Do you think my life and dreams are some kind of joke?" He growled. "I will no longer be your puppet. Give me the original will."
"Why should I?" David said.
"Father, I get that in the past, I have let you walk all over me. Let you both keep me locked in a cage because I felt I had no other choice or lacked the confidence to fight back, but no more. I refuse to let you two hold me back any longer. If I'm not mistaken, I saw a few members of the press downstairs; I'm sure you don't want me to have a nice little conversation with them about how wonderful a father you've been. I'm sure your lead in the polls will dip really low once I'm done. You might never have abused me physically, but you two really fucked me up mentally."
"You little..." David went to speak, but Ava stopped him.
"David, give it to him," she said while her husband looked at her.
"You're not serious, Ava," David asked.
"I am," she responded, then looked at Des. "But in return, there is something we want from you."
"No,” Des said, unwilling to listen to her offer. "I'm not playing games with you two any longer. Give me the original will, and I will be on my way."
When neither of them moved, Des pulled out his cellphone and dialed Erin's number, putting the call on speaker. He smiled when she answered instantly.
"Des, where did you go? We weren't done talking."
“Erin, I want to add two more names to the lawsuit against Hamlin and Casey."
"Okay, who?" she asked.
His father growled. "We'll give it to you."
"Erin, it seems things might change. I'll call you later." Des hung up, quirking a brow at his parents.
David walked over to the far corner of his office and moved the fake Domenico di Medici painting, revealing a safe Des didn't know was there. Minutes later, it was open, and his father pulled out a box and then handed it to Des.
"What is this?" Des asked, inspecting the metal box.
"Everything your grandfather left you," Ava answered. "There were a few other things that weren't in the will. We never looked through the contents."
Des nodded and looked at them. "Thank you." He turned, ready to leave, but his mother grabbed his arm.
"Son, wait." He didn't look at her, but there was a tremor in her tone that he had never heard before. "We did what we thought was best. We didn't want you to waste your talent."
Des stood still, listening and hoping that she would apologize, something that would allow him to forgive her one day. Yet she remained silent. Pulling his arm away, Des tucked the box under his arm with his helmet and walked out of his parents’ home. The crowd had thinned a little, but people were still milling around. No one dared to stop him or speak to him, which was completely fine with him.
Des wanted nothing to do with his parents. He safely put the box away, straddled his bike, and rode home feeling relieved yet sad at the same time. He'd been so angry at his grandfather and parents that he wasn't sure how to feel now. Once he got home, he didn't waste a moment. He drafted up a resignation letter and sent it off. He was done with that part of his life. Sometime during the week, he'd go to the hospital and collect his things. Now, all he had to do was look through the box with his grandfather's things.
Picking it up, Des moved over to the sofa and unlocked it with the key he found taped on the bottom of the box. His eyes clouded the second he saw the last picture he and his grandfather had taken. He'd just graduated from high school when his grandfather died. Setting the picture aside, Des noticed there were a couple of sealed envelopes on the bottom under a few knick-knacks that once belonged to his grandfather. Pulling out the envelopes, he noted his grandfather's scribbled handwriting that brought a smile to his face, and also noted they were still sealed.
Tearing them open, he spotted the deed to the building he had been gifted. He knew fate had intervened because it was the very one Des had his eye on for so long. Who knew it had belonged to him all this time? The other documents were the will and more deeds to properties he doubted even his parents knew his grandfather had owned. Setting it all back into the box, Des sent a quick text to Erin to schedule another meeting so that they could go through everything together.
After he had completed everything needed, Des sat back in his chair, feeling completely relaxed in his mind and body for the first time in forever. He was starting a new chapter in his life and wanted to celebrate. He couldn't believe how things had changed for him in a matter of hours. He chuckled excitedly, rocking back and forth on the couch. I can't believe I threatened them with the press. When the fuck did I get so damn brave when it came to my parents? The brevity of how he'd acted hit him like a ton of bricks, and he dragged his fingers through his hair. Fuck, I need a drink. A very strong one. But I don't want to drink alone. He was still holding his cellphone, so he pulled up his contacts and was about to call Gray and ask him if he wanted to hang out when he spotted the newly saved number in his contacts.
Don’t waste it, Doc.
Des wasn’t clueless as to what the man had meant. He’d found Othello Moor attractive from the first time he saw him on the operating table, and even though he seemed to like fucking with Des, Moor wasn’t a bad guy. He listened with an open mind when he talked, and maybe Des was reading too much into things, but he felt a connection between him and Moor. It would be nice to get to know him more. Perhaps they could be friends.
“Oh hell, who am I kidding? I want the man to fuck me so good I’d be his willing slave.” Des stared at his phone, chewing on his bottom lip, wondering if texting Moor was worth taking a chance. Would the man respond or ignore him? Before he could change his mind, Des typed up his message, and he hesitated only for a second before hitting send. He was waiting on pins and needles to see if Moor was going to reply. Not even five minutes later, he got his answer, which left him giddy.
Name the time and place.
Des got up and did a little dance. He had no idea what would be the perfect place, but he’d figure that out later since his stomach growled so loud it sounded like a wounded animal—humming while he went to make dinner.
Today didn’t turn out so badly after all.