31. SIMON
SIMON
A s I awake, the first thing I feel is pain.
It pulses along my back and down my spine, a dull, constant throb that chains me to the bed.
My neck aches from sleeping on my stomach.
Every movement feels like the skin on my back will tear open.
The sheets beneath me provide a pleasant coolness, clean and fresh.
For a second, disoriented and half-awake, I start to think I may be dead, because I sure as hell didn’t fall asleep in this bed.
When I shift again, the pain proves I am indeed alive.
As my eyes fully open, I watch as the soft light of morning spills across the floor in long golden stripes.
The heavy curtains have only been drawn halfway, causing the sun to filter through like it’s afraid to fully touch me.
The room smells of lavender, prompting my brain to realize I’m back in my room.
Still in this hellhole house among the fuckers who tortured me. It makes my stomach twist.
A low snore comes from across the room, and I turn my head slightly to see Lucas slumped in the armchair by the window.
His arms crossed, head tipped back at an awkward angle.
He looks wrecked. Still in yesterday's clothes, dark stubble that wasn’t there yesterday shadows his jaw, his gun holstered beneath his jacket like a silent promise.
Out of nowhere, memories start to flood back, like a rock breaking through glass.
My bound hands.
The whip.
My skin splitting open.
The voices.
The torment.
Pain.
Humiliation.
I grab the sheets with my hands and squeeze my eyes shut—only to be hit with another memory like a bolt of lightning.
A barn.
A kiss.
Leo.
Mr Morgan.
The fear.
Pain.
Complete abandonment.
Self hate.
The pain of then, mixed with the pain of now, makes it impossible to distinguish which hurts more. I want to run, to disappear. To go home, whatever the hell that means now. But I can’t do any of those things because my broken and useless body won’t allow it.
Lucas shifts in his chair in the corner and opens his eyes, red rimmed and tired. He blinks quickly and stands, walking over to me on the bed.
“Hey,” he says softly. “You’re up.”
I say nothing, because what is there to say anymore?
“You’re safe,” Lucas says, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I mean—safe as it gets around here. You’re in your room.
The doctor had you moved up here last night when you were asleep.
He said the wounds are healing nicely. One of the wounds is not as deep as he thought, but you will scar.
He recommends you move around today, and he’ll be back later to change the dressings. ”
I can hear what he says but I’m too focused on the window. Lucas clears his throat like he wants to say more, but then the bedroom door creaks open and I know immediately it’s Carlos. I can sense him. Without any of my defensive walls that I built to keep him at bay, I’m receptive to him.
Lucas leaves quietly, closing the door behind him.
Footsteps approach the head of the bed and I can see from the corner of my eye that he is right next to me, but I can’t look at him.
“I didn’t think you’d be awake yet,” he says gently, which is so weird. I’m used to us sparring and his brashness. I hate that he’s soft with me. Thinking I’m weak. But I remain quiet, saying nothing and just staring at the window.
“How’s the pain?” he asks, and that makes me fully turn my face in his direction. I’m not sure what he sees, but it's enough for him to move back a little. It isn’t anger I feel, it’s a gaping emptiness.
“Does it matter?” I say, voice brittle. “It happened, so why does it matter if it hurts?”
A long silence stretches like a wire between us. Moving us further away from one another.
Carlos clears his throat and I brace myself for whatever he has to say.
“Tomorrow, it ends. Dima and the guys are already here in Brazil. They will take you home tomorrow, but you’re not to share this. But they will protect you and make sure you leave safely.”
They’re here. My god, I get to go home.
“And you?” I ask, and I can’t help asking the question. Carlos hesitates before answering.
“I will stay. For now. I have to clean up the mess, tie off the loose ends.”
“You mean bury the bodies?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Make sure their screams reach the other side of the ocean,” I say, relieved knowing that justice will be served.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it, Simon. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough.”
My throat tightens, but I don’t let it show. “You should’ve been.”
“I hope one day you’ll understand.”
My lips part but no words will come out. I want to scream. I want to pull him close. To shove him away. I want a thousand things I can’t name.
But all I manage to say is: “I don’t know how to forgive you.”
“Then don’t. I don’t need your forgiveness, Simon. Just your understanding.”
A large warm hand runs through the back of my head, and I nearly mewl at the sensation. Carlos runs his fingers through my hair, before leaning over and whispering in my ear.
“Things are hard for you right now, and I get it, you need time. But when I land back home, I will be coming for you, little lion. Enough of you hiding from me. We are meant to be and you know it,” he says so possessively my body is covered in goosebumps.
He presses a swift kiss to my head and leaves with a soft click as he closes the door.
I stare at the sunlight again that spills onto the floor, golden and warm, painfully at odds with the cold hollowness inside me. Dust floats in the rays of light, weightless and aimless like me.
The pain in my back eases as I let the sting of Carlos’ absence bloom in my chest.
I want to hate him.
I want to love him.
But more than anything I want to be whoever I was before this nightmare. He is gone, leaving behind this man stitched together with scars, lying in bed watching the sun rise on the ruins that ended his life.
Will I ever be enough again?
The city of Rio is a sleeping monster as we drive.
Its lights flicker dimly beneath a blanket of fog, the hills lie in shadows curled around secrets too old to name.
The road out of the city grows quieter with every mile, peeling away from the life and chaos of the favela, leaving only silence and the faint hum of tires against broken asphalt.
I’m sitting in the front with Lucas driving. Enrico is sitting behind me, quiet, his expression in the rear view mirror is unreadable. None of us speak. There is too much riding on what waits at the end of the road.
I swallow hard as I glance at the GPS. Half a mile left.
We turn off the main road, tires crunching over gravel. The abandoned house looms ahead, half swallowed by overgrown trees and the creeping rot of time. The windows are boarded. The porch sags. But beneath the decay, life moves. We are expected.
Lucas parks the car next to the two large vehicles already here. Marin's cars. We get out of the car, the night is still and humid. The air smells of dirt and sweat mixed with old rain.
Two men with AKs wait by the porch, their tattoos clear even in the low light—Marin ink, unmistakable. Neither says a word to us as we are frisked, weapons left behind in the car. One of the guards jerks his head toward the door when we are finished being searched.
I lead the way into the house. The stench of mildew mixed with cigar smoke clings to my clothing. Candles flicker in the corner, throwing warped images across the crumbling walls. And seated in a large high back chair, far too expensive for the setting, is Igor Marin. The boss.
He is a mountain of a man, bloated with wealth and indulgence.
Thick gold chains bling on his thick neck, rings like brass knuckles flash on every finger.
His bald head shines with perspiration, and his small dark eyes watch us with the slow, lazy interest of a predator already halfway finished with the kill.
“So,” Igor says, voice low and sticky like syrup. “The Silva prince comes crawling into my den. I’m curious, Carlos. Do you want to die, or are you here to sell your soul?”
I step forward, my heart pounding at dangerous levels. “Neither. I come to offer you everything you’ve been circling for years.”
Igor raises his eyebrow. “Everything?”
I nod once and notice Enrico has moved next to me, tense, because he is unaware that I’m going to sell him down the river.
“The remaining holdings of the Silva family. Territories, ports, accounts. I know you’ve been eyeing some of them. But I’m offering it all to you.”
“What the fuck are you doing?” Enrico hisses at me. I ignore him.
An amused chuckle rumbles from Igor’s chest. “And you‘re just giving them away? Just like that? Where's the catch?”
I only briefly hesitate as I try to swallow my dry mouth.
“I want your help securing my father’s main estate. Tomorrow. I need control, even if it's only for a few hours. In return you get the empire. I’m done with it.”
Igor leans forward, eyes gleaming. “You’re effectively a prisoner, aren’t you?”
My silence answers for me. Enrico tries to grab my hand to get my attention, but I pull away. Igor notices, but says nothing.
“So this is a desperate play from a desperate man,” Igor says, sitting back, exhaling cigar smoke through his nose. “How do I know you won’t fuck me over once you’ve got what you want?”
I turn to Enrico, who looks at me in a state of shock and horror.
“You’ll take him, the second born, as collateral.”
Enrico jerks back. “What? You’re a fucking traitor!”
I don’t flinch, as his words mean nothing to me. He means nothing.
“If something goes wrong, if I betray you. Kill him. Or use him as blackmail. That's your business.”
Igor's eyes light up with delight, like a cat being handed a bleeding mouse.
“Carlos…” Enrico growls, voice tight with disbelief. “You can’t be serious. You won’t get away with this.”
“I’m very serious,” I say coldly. “This is the only way, Igor. You want the empire? I’m handing it to you with a bow. All I want is a clean exit. My life back.”
Igor puffs on his cigar.
“Just out of interest, what's happening tomorrow that's worth all this?”
“We’re retrieving someone. Someone they hurt. I’m not letting it happen again.”
Igor's eyes narrow. “Ah, so it's true, then. The boy they whipped like a dog.”
I clench my jaw, resisting to comment. After a few more beats of silence, Igor says, “And the rest of your men?”
“More are coming in. Quietly, to remove the prisoner. I'll then secure the site and take care of some business. Then I walk. You move in. It’s yours.”
Igor's eyes move between us, lingering on Enrico who is standing stiffly, body full of rage.
“I like this,” Igor says at last. “I very much like this. You want out. I want in. The Silva holdings…” he grins. “A cherry on top.”
I let out a slow breath. I can’t fully relax, but the knot in my chest is starting to loosen.
“You’ll have him back in one piece,” Igor adds, flicking his ringed finger toward Enrico. “Unless you cross me.”
“I won’t. I have too much to gain.”
“Good,” Igor smiles, a mixture of cruel and pleased. “Then we have a deal.”
We shake hands, skin to skin, and the feel of it makes me want to throw up.
Enrico isn’t kicking off like I thought he would. He’s frozen in shock as two of Marin’s men flank him and walk him to the back door. He doesn’t look back. At least he has the intelligence to know when he has been beaten.
I turn and leave with Lucas, who follows behind me until we get to the car and get inside.
“This is a huge risk. Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?”
“No,” I murmur. “But it's the only card I've got left.”
As we drive back to the mansion, I stare up at the moon and get lost in the ethereal brightness of its glow. But it doesn’t bring peace.
Tomorrow, everything will fall.
Either we will be free…
Or buried with the empire.