4. The Problem with Marcelo
Chapter four
The Problem with Marcelo
Lei
Someone had told my father that I planned on killing Marcelo.
Hmmm.
There had only been five people in the room when I talked about killing Marcelo this morning—Chen, Duck, Hu, Bolin, and Fengge.
My mind raced through the possibilities, narrowing down the suspects.
It had to be someone with a strong sense of loyalty to my father, someone who couldn't bear the thought of such a drastic action.
Bolin and Fengge immediately came to mind. They idolized my father so much it bordered on fanaticism.
Bolin even had a framed picture of him in his bedroom, right next to his mother. That level of admiration was intense, almost unsettling. Bolin had always been the type to uphold my father's legacy with unwavering devotion, following his principles and teachings like gospel.
Fengge, on the other hand, was just as crazy about him. His respect for my father ran deep and he often spoke of him with reverence, his eyes lighting up at the mere mention of his name. It wouldn't be out of character for him to spill everything to protect what he believed my father would want.
At least now I have an idea of who has been feeding him information.
My father spoke again, “do you understand, Lei? You cannot kill Marcelo.”
“And why not? He’s a threat to my relationship and too close to Monique.”
“Marcelo must die, there is no question about that.” he replied calmly. “But not by your hand and not this year.”
I pursed my lips together.
“Monique has lost too much too soon and that sort of heartbreak could change her—and your relationship with her—forever.”
“Change her?” I frowned. “She’s strong, she can handle his death.”
“Strong, yes,” my father agreed. “But she’s also vulnerable. Marcelo is close to her, too close. If you kill him, it will break her heart and she may never recover. More importantly, if she ever finds out that it was you , she would never forgive you.”
“She wouldn’t find out: I would make sure of it.”
“Don’t be naive, Lei.” My father’s tone turned sharp and authoritative. “Secrets like that don’t stay buried. She would find out, eventually. And when she did, you would lose her forever.”
I clenched my fists. “So what do you suggest? That I let him live and continue to be a threat?”
“No.” He wagged his finger. “Marcelo will die but it will be done in a way that doesn’t trace back to you or the Four Aces.”
I couldn’t believe we were even having this conversation.
Still, I sighed in leaned in closer. “How will that happen?”
“Someone else will handle it, someone who can ensure that Monique never suspects your involvement.”
“I don’t like relying on someone else to take care of my problems.”
“It’s not about liking it,” my father said firmly. “It’s about protecting Monique and your relationship with her. You have to think long-term , Lei. You have to think about what’s best for her and for you.”
I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside me. “I understand what you’re saying but it just feels wrong.”
“Sometimes, the right thing feels wrong, but you have to trust me on this. Marcelo will die but not by your hand. It’s the only way to ensure that Monique doesn’t suffer any more than she already has.”
I looked into my father’s eyes, searching for any sign of deceit. But all I saw was the cold, hard truth of his words. Slowly, reluctantly, I nodded. “Fine. Marcelo will die but not by my hand.”
“Good.” My father nodded. “Now, let’s make sure that Marcelo’s death is handled properly without any suspicion falling on you.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Marcelo has been working with gangs in Shadow Heights, creating secret alliances.”
“What the fuck?”
“I think he has a plan of expansion outside of the Diamond Syndicate. He’s been betraying us, Lei, right under our noses.”
“How long have you known this?”
“Long enough to know that we need to act carefully. What do you think a smart thing would be for you to do?” He watched me and I knew this was all a test to see if I could strategize and manipulate properly.
“I should give that information to Dima and Kashmere.”
A wide smile spread across his face. “Exactly. They need to know what Marcelo is up to. Dima would look further into this and Kashmere—”
“Would go ballistic.”
“And all you would do is relax in the East, further strengthening your relationship with Monique, loving and spoiling her. Let the North and West become mistrustful of the South.”
I hated to admit this but my father’s suggestion would be a much easier plan to execute. Even more, it would keep my hands clean and honestly. . .Marcelo’s undoing would be his own fault, not mine.
Secret dealings in Shadow Heights? What were you thinking, Marcelo? Dima would never forgive you for that.
“Of course.” My father raised one finger. “You cannot rush this. You should secretly gather more evidence. Have your people follow them. Perhaps, even send Chen and Duck to talk to the gangs. Regardless, make sure the North and West see Marcelo as a possible threat themselves.”
I leaned back in my seat. “I can do that.”
“Excellent.” He breathed out a sigh of relief. “Trust in the plan. Marcelo will get what’s coming to him and Monique will be none the wiser. I want my daughter to be happy here.”
I blinked. “Your daughter?”
“You do plan to marry her? Right?”
“Yes, but. . .”
“Then, she is my daughter.” He let out a nervous chuckle. “Allow me to enjoy that fact while I have. . .limited time on this Earth.”
I didn’t share the laugh with him. “She doesn’t want me to kill you.”
“Of course not. She’s a good person. The East doesn’t deserve her, but. . .you will kill me.” He studied my face, “can you do it?”
“I think I can.”
“Don’t think, my son, know it.” He touched his head. “Feel the certainty of that fact deep inside of your mind.”
This was my father—a man who put tradition over life, death over love.
To my surprise, my father pointed behind us to the huge picture of my mother and Moni’s mother, framed in gold. “Whose idea was that?”
“Mine.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Aww.” His usually stoic expression faltered and for a moment, I thought I saw his eyes water. It was a side of him rarely shown; a vulnerability he kept hidden beneath layers of ruthlessness.
He cleared his throat. “I am proud of the man you have become, Lei.”
Shock hit me.
Those words hung in the air, laden with a significance that would have once meant everything to me. There was a time when my father’s approval was all I sought. His praise could lift up my day, his disappointment could ruin an entire year.
But now, those words didn’t hold the power they once did.
No longer was he a god in my eyes—a figure of untouchable strength and wisdom.
Now, he was simply a man and a broken one at that.
A suffering widower.
A regretful father.
A heartless murder.
I looked at him, really looked at him and saw the cracks in his armor. And it didn’t make me hate or love him. It just made me sad.
Still, I swallowed down the sorrow and whispered, “Thank you, father.”
He faced the reporters and smiled.
I did the same.
Cameras flashed.
The image would be legendary—the Mountain Master and Grand Mountain Master’s last tea together. Doting father and loving son. Generations of kids in the East would see this picture in their history books and have to fill out a question on the date of the ceremony. Some would even need to write an essay.
But no one would know of the underlying deception and dark undertones of this moment.
More cameras flashed and silence stretched between us like a rubber band ready to snap.
He really won’t be here anymore. How will I get used to that?
Turning back to my father, I used this moment of quiet to study him. His long hair was more gray than black. There were new wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. Once fine lines were now deepened trenches, suggesting days of heavy thoughts and burdens.
Memories of my childhood with him flooded my mind.
Unbidden and bittersweet.
I remembered the days he taught me how to fight. His voice, stern yet encouraging, echoed in my ears as he demonstrated stances and strikes. He had been relentless, pushing me to my limits, but always with a purpose—to make me stronger, to prepare me for protecting the East.
Then, there were the calmer memories like the day he taught me how to ride a bike. I could still feel the wobble of the handlebars and the uncertainty in my grip as I pedaled for the first time without training wheels.
His hands had been there, steadying me. “Keep going, Lei. You’ve got this.”
When I finally managed to ride on my own, the pride in his eyes had been unmistakable.
My heart warmed.
Other moments flashed by—him showing me how to tie a fishing line, teaching me to swim at the beach, the evenings by the fireplace with only him and I as he read the East’s history to me.
Oh fuck. . .
Against all sanity, a deep sadness welled up within me, knowing that I would have to kill him.
Can I kill you?
Suddenly, the thought became almost unbearable. For a moment. . .I even wondered if there could be another way, a path that didn’t end in bloodshed.
Could I put him in the dungeon? No. Someone would let him out.
I gritted my teeth.
What if I sent him to China like he did with Yan? No. He would still be plotting and killing.
But then, the image of Romeo and Chanel’s brutal deaths forced its way back into my mind.
No. He would go too far if I let him live. . .and I would regret not killing him. Any new blood would be my fault.
My father’s ruthlessness knew no bounds.
I must kill him.
Sadness gave way to steely resolve.
My father had chosen his path and I had to choose mine. For Moni, for our future and for the safety of those I loved, I would do what needed to be done.
Sighing, I turned back to the cameras.
Finally, my father broke the silence, “You stopped training on Mount Utopia.”
I looked at him. “I did.”
“Why?”
“Yan took Chanel’s body so I went to search for it.”
“That was unnecessary. Your place was with Monique.”
“I understand that now.”
“Then, why didn’t you return to train on Mount Utopia.”
“I wanted to show Moni the Palace.”
A knowing smirk hit his face. “And does she like the Palace?”
“She thinks it’s grand and spectacular.”
Pride filled his gaze. “Did you tell her that I designed the Palace?”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course I did. However. . .she prefers Lotus Blossom.”
“Like your mom.” He curved his lips into a wider smile.
“Yes.”
“Monique reminds me of Jing in many ways. Did you see the way she talked to those reporters yesterday?”
“I did.”
“It was like your mother was standing right next to her.”
I tried not to smile but I did anyway.
Cameras flashed.
I sighed. “Once all is done, I think that it will be pretty difficult to get Moni out of the garden.”
“That makes me happy.” Then, his smile faded, replaced by a look of contemplation. “About my grandchild. . .”
I scowled. “I am not naming any children after you.”
“Monique made the promise. Song is a witness and will make sure it happens.”
“Uncle Song will have no ability to make that decision when the time comes.”
“Monique will do it because she is loyal.” He bobbed his head. “And for your information, you will be happy to hear that I have Chanel’s body. Song will give it to you at the end of the battle.”
“It was unnecessary for you to have Yan take the body.”
“I didn’t realize how close Monique and you had gotten.”
I glanced around. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring Yan with you to cause more trouble.”
This odd sigh left him. “I actually did bring Yan.”
I quirked my brows. “You did?”
“She’s in the kitchen.”
“With Moni?”
“Yes.”
“No.” I prepared to get up.
“Son.” He held up his hand. “There’s no need. Yan is not a threat to you or Monique anymore.”
There was something strange in his tone.
I watched him. “Why do you say that?”
Before he could speak again, Moni entered with an elegant cart and all my attention went straight to her. She wore a stunning blue gown that was so sexy on her body. Honestly, a crown should have been on her head because she truly looked like a queen.
Cameras flashed and for a few seconds, I hated that others would get to see how beautiful she was.
My father clearly knew what was going on in my head because he simply whispered, “You must learn how to share her with the East.”
“We’ll see about that.”
On top of the cart sat a beautiful blue pot containing her carefully prepared blend, alongside the pot, stood the traditional cups that had belonged to my mother.
The sight of it all made my heart swell with pride.
Oh my.
She drew closer and then I noticed something in her eyes—an unease that wasn’t usually there.
Huh?
I leaned forward a little.
Is she nervous?
Of course that made sense but. . .there was something else.
I assessed Moni further. Usually, she had a confident stance but now her shoulders appeared tense.
When she stopped at the edge of the table, she fidgeted with the side of the pot.
Also, I could see the flutter of her eyelashes, the slight trembling of her hands and the anxious shift of her weight from foot to foot.
Her eyes darted around the room, as if searching for some kind of escape.
Something is wrong and. . .I don’t think it’s about the tea ceremony.