Chapter Four
Elio
I’d contemplated asking to speak to Casmiro before leaving for Mexico. I didn’t want him getting suspicious, but I needed to at least talk to him before we went after that map and those flash drives.
I sighed, taking a long drag from the cigar as I watched him approach the gazebo.
The ember glowed faintly in the dark, and I flicked off the ash, my gaze following the steady rhythm of his stride.
He looked less pale than he did the other day, but he still moved with caution, one hand brushing his side like he was mindful of an ache he would never admit.
The bright moon and the lights around the pool cast shadows on his face, highlighting the tight line of his mouth as he climbed up the stairs to the gazebo. We hadn’t spoken since I told him about my involvement with Zahra. He was probably still trying to wrap his mind around it.
I didn’t blame him.
Casmiro took the chair across from me like he’d done the last time, the faint scrape of wood against tile echoing under the hum of night.
“What’s this about?” he asked.
I leaned back, the cigar balanced between my fingers, watching the smoke twist upward before I finally spoke. “I wanted to tell you this in person. Kareem Fadel. You heard of him?”
Casmiro’s gaze narrowed, his brows dropping. “Yeah, here and there.”
“Great, I received intel a while ago. He’s a main piece in the puzzle to getting the original painting. I already have things in the works. I’ll be at a cruise ship called Celestial with him—just to finalize a couple of things. It might take a few months, but that isn’t why I called you here.”
His frown deepened. “Okay … I’m listening.”
“Before I leave for Mexico next week, I would like to discuss something with you, regarding Elia, and some other minor things.”
He nodded slowly. “Before you leave…” he drawled, confusion in his eyes. “Why not discuss it now?”
I focused on the warmth of the cigar. “I want to be certain of my situation before I do. It is nothing to worry about, just…” I shrugged lightly. “Future planning for yourself.”
“Okay…” He eyed me with suspicion. “Why would we discuss my future, though?”
I frowned. “Why wouldn’t we? Do you want to be second to me all your life?”
“I have never complained; this job and this family are my blood.”
“I know.” I sat up, placing the lit cigar on the ashtray. “I do, but I also know you have been capitalizing on your racing business, and the cars you haven’t had the chance to work on because of the family business. I can help you draft out a starting plan, expand it into—”
“What’s happening?”
I blinked. “We are talking.”
“I know we are talking, but why are we talking about this?”
“I have been doing…” I rubbed my jaw absentmindedly. “A lot of thinking lately. Every individual has something they are very passionate about. But you were born into the family, so automatically, you have had to put your passions second. Let us change that.”
“I am completely content with my passions being second.” He eyed me. “This is random.”
The sound of familiar footsteps approaching had me backtracking.
“We will discuss it later,” I said, looking up to see Angelo dressed in a sharp, dark blue blazer and slacks, with a file in his hand, looking like he’d just left his home and was heading out to a meeting.
“Evening, Marino,” he greeted me before looking over at Cas, who had gone stiff. “They cleared you for movement?”
Casmiro blinked. “What?”
“The doctors, did they clear you?”
Casmiro cleared his throat, caught off guard by Angelo’s presence. I knew he always liked to be prepared. “Yes. A few days ago. I’m good.”
Angelo nodded before turning to me again, oblivious. “I got the information you requested,” he said, taking the chair by my side as he handed me the file. “Did a lot of digging. It was buried in the archives; somebody went to a great deal of effort to hide it.”
“My father wasn’t the best at hiding things. If it were me, you would never have found it,” I said, opening it and reading through. My chest tightened with each word I read, realizing how detestable my situation was.
“What is it?” Casmiro asked, sensing the shift in my demeanor.
I could tell Angelo waited for my answer, too, as he had been dying to know why I’d asked him to dig out my military admission file. The one my father never showed me.
“It’s information from my time in the army, or lack thereof,” I said, closing the file.
“About a month ago, I had some flashbacks to my time in camp. It was a memory of me and my—well, the person I thought was my commander. I was in some sort of trance. Hypnotized, I suspected. I have only now confirmed it.”
“Why would they do that?” Angelo asked. “Hypnotism is usually reserved for soldiers who suffer from mental breakdowns after a war; you were okay.”
“Hm. It started before any real mission was put in place. My father asked for some private training for me when he found out—” I glanced at Casmiro, realizing my slipup.
“Found out what?” Casmiro asked.
Angelo looked at me, probably wondering if I would say anything.
I sighed. “He found out I had inherited my mother’s mental illness.”
Casmiro’s eyes widened. “What?”
“It is hard to remember what exactly the full diagnosis was. I think I was made to forget some of it. But it was clinical depression, with some other hereditary things.”
Casmiro frowned. “What the hell—”
“Which is not the case anymore,” I lied, and caught Angelo looking away from me. “I am okay. I have just been concerned about this hypnosis issue. I have no idea what memories are real, or fake, or if some of my thoughts are my own. It is concerning.”
Casmiro sat up straighter, worry in his eyes. “We can undo it, right? Seek professional help—”
“Hm. No. I don’t have time for all of that.”
Angelo sat up. “I think Casmiro’s right. You should undo it, get help, get ahold of your mind, and own your thoughts.”
“I am fine. All I wanted was confirmation.”
Angelo’s frown turned personal. “Why are you so hell-bent on never getting professional help with literally anything?”
My response was right on the tip of my tongue. “I am undeserving of it.”
Angelo made a strained noise. “I am tired of hearing you repeat that every time you’re told to get help. Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder if you were made to think you don’t need help.” He shook his head before getting to his feet. “It’s almost time for one of my meetings…”
My eyes didn’t leave his face, which was etched with a frown. “We will leave for Mexico next week.”
“Noted.” He straightened his blazer. “I will arrive when I can. Have a safe flight,” he said, nodding curtly to Casmiro and me before walking away.
“He knew about it, didn’t he?” Casmiro’s voice had me looking back at him. “You told him.”
“He found out.”
“But he knew,” he pressed, “and I didn’t.”
“It was not important, Casmiro. Do not make an issue of it.”
He sat up. “An issue? You’re not seeking medical help for something that could be detrimental to your health. I didn’t know about it. I am your shadow; I should know everything about you.”
“You do.”
“But I didn’t know this.”
“Now you do,” I answered. “Besides, it is not of any importance. I am the same person you have always known.”
“You are not.” He clarified, “At first, when you came back from the army, I assumed your change was because of all you had had to do there; people are never the same when they return. But something else changed.”
“This conversation is irrelevant.”
“It’s not. You don’t realize it, but you became so much like Ricardo. The beliefs you once swore against were now your motto. You trusted no one; you had these new methods of torture that at first scared the shit out of me. The way you talked, the words you used. You just weren’t the same.”
“How does your new lightbulb moment help our current predicament?”
“It doesn’t, because we are not talking about that; we are talking about you, how to undo whatever those people did to you.”
I tilted my head, watching him. “What if I don’t want to?”
“What?”
“What if I like what they did to me?”
“What if you were made to think that you like it?”
“What if I like that I was made to think I like it?”
Casmiro shook his head. “I hate that there is no winning with you.”
“There is nothing to be won, just like there is no issue here. Hm? I do not need help, nor do I have the desire to get any—nor the time, for that matter. I am almost at the finish line, finding that painting, getting the ultimate power over everyone with power.” I straightened in my chair.
“That should be your focus right now, Casmiro. That and trying your best not to be obvious about your interest toward my ex-consigliere.”
His lips lifted in a snarl. “Keep your voice down.”
I looked around. “He’s long gone.”
“There are soldiers around, for fuck’s sake.”
“We both know they won’t talk.” I leveled him with a taunting stare. “We both know you want me to keep my voice down so you don’t have to hear me say it.”
I knew I had successfully taken his attention off my health when he glared at me and said, “You are wrong.”
“Ah … am I?”
“Yes. It’s not what you think. I just wasn’t prepared for his arrival.”
I shook my head.
Angelo’s family had been with the Marinos for decades, although Angelo himself was never around when we were young. He’d lived predominantly in America where he was schooled all his life, but he visited the compound at least five times a year.
Casmiro had been irrationally obsessed with him. But he never talked to him. He just stalked from afar. When Angelo took over for his father as the consigliere, Casmiro made sure to keep his distance, and Angelo, well, didn’t suspect anything.
Now, they conversed when necessary. They weren’t friends, nor were they enemies; they were like coworkers in the same department. Except one was obsessed with the other, who was oblivious and probably didn’t care if the obsessed one existed or not.
I didn’t care. I could politely ignore it as long as I wasn’t put in the middle and affected by it.
“Your helpless pining is beginning to move into pathetic territory. How long has it been? Since we were, like, fourteen, and he was twelve?”
“Says the guy who slept with his brother’s girlfriend.”
“Is that supposed to make me … back off?”
“You know what? You were right the other day; we are not supposed to be on speaking terms.” He got to his feet with a grunt. “I will leave you now.”
“Don’t forget our discussion earlier.”
“I’ll be sure to,” he said before making his way out of the gazebo, careful of his injury.
I sighed, watching him until he was out of sight, carrying the amusement from our back-and-forth with him.
“Evening, sir,” greeted the receptionist at the motel when I reached her. “We had the room cleaned as usual; everything is in place.”
I nodded, slipping her a bundle of banknotes. “Thank you,” I said. “Did you, by chance, happen to feed him this morning?”
The woman frowned. “What?”
I sighed. “Never mind,” I told her before walking away, knowing she had cleaned, meaning he had been fed.
When I reached the room I shrugged off my coat, seeing his quiet figure in the chair, staring out the window like he usually did.
I walked over to him. “Do you ever use the bed?” I asked, settling on the windowsill, watching his frail form, looking as sickly as ever.
My father sighed. “The cars keep me company.”
“There’s a TV in the room to keep you company,” I reminded him, but he didn’t seem to acknowledge that. His gaze was focused solely outside the window. “I would have come by sooner. But there was a little chaos; I had to handle it,” I said, but he remained quiet. “You won’t ask what it was about?”
“You will tell me anyway.”
“Not really. I don’t think I want to revisit it. But there is one thing I think you should know, though.”
He dragged his droopy eyes up to look at me. “What.”
“I know where the painting is, and soon, I will have those flash drives. Soon you will be out of here; you’ll get the death wish you so badly long for.”
His face tried to form a frown. “You still want to burn down my empire; you are still vengeful.”
I scoffed. “After all these years, one would think you would register the fact that burning it all down is how we will end. Did you think your wife burned down that church with her and your other children for a show? She was showing us how it would all end. Your thirst for power, money, and status. The fire can take it all away. It’s a cleansing we both need, unfortunately. ”
He was quiet for a stretch of minutes. “I am disappointed,” he finally said.
“Why?”
“This was not what I wished for you, Elio.”
I dragged in a deep breath and let it out as I spoke. “You did this with your own hands.”
He shook his head. “No. You did this. Your head was never going to be fixed. You want to end up like your mother only because you are just like her. Crazy. Delusional. Pathe—”
My backhand connected with his cheek in a hard slap that had his head swinging to the side at the impact.
The sting bit at the back of my hand as I stood upright, my anger simmering.
“You won’t be seeing me for a while. Hope that will teach you a lesson on how to control that godforsaken tongue of yours. ”
“You won’t succeed.” He wheezed. “You don’t have the spine to do it. To burn it. You are too weak; you would have done it if you really wanted to do it. That is why I am not worried. It won’t work. You will fail.”
I clenched my jaw so hard that I felt pain.
Slowly, tentatively, I leaned down, looking him right in the eye, reveling in the hate and fear I spotted there as I spoke.
“Why don’t we wait and see.”