Chapter Three
Elio
I settled the cigar between my lips and flicked open the red lighter, allowing the flame to light up the foot before flicking it shut. I sucked in the thick smoke, taking the stick from my mouth while swirling the smoke around my tongue, exhaling slowly and pouring myself a drink.
My lounge door opened and closed, but I didn’t turn to see who walked in because I already knew.
“What were you thinking!”
“You forget yourself sometimes, Casmiro,” I said, putting down the whiskey bottle, picking up my glass, and turning to face him.
“You’re keeping them alive?” He ignored my statement, his eyes burning with anger and disbelief.
“What can I say? Being wicked was getting old,” I told him while taking a sip, allowing the drink to warm me up instead.
“This isn’t funny.”
“I would be laughing if it was.”
He took a step closer to me. “They stole from our family, and you let them live. Why?”
“They stole from me.”
Casmiro frowned in confusion. “What the fuck does that even mean? I don’t—”
“You think with your anger; that is why you don’t understand things. I wonder how you made it this far with me.”
Casmiro glared, taking off his jacket and carelessly throwing it on a couch before walking to the bar area of my home lounge, picking up a glass, and pouring himself a drink. My gaze kept going to the mess he made with his jacket, but I hid my irritation.
“What’s going on, E?” he asked.
“I see potential in a partnership with them. Besides, they don’t know I’m keeping them alive. I left them with their assumptions. It kills faster than death itself.”
Casmiro shook his head, raising his glass to me. “Only you, Marino. Only you.”
I shrugged. “They have guts—and determination. I could tell from the one I spoke to.”
“Zahra?”
“Hm. Do you have the full name yet?”
Dropping his glass to the table, he nodded. “Her last name is Faizan. She was bought in Saudi Arabia and abandoned before coming to Italy. Couldn’t dig up much about her.”
“Parents?”
“Father unknown, mother disappeared right after birth. No other records.”
“And the others?”
“I already sent you all the information you should need about them, but I know you won’t read it, so—pink-haired girl who calls herself Milk is an orphan and was in foster care before migrating to a small biker group.
The group is still active, but when we reached out, they refused all claims to her.
Upper and Dog are no-name orphans. Devil’s background is still unclear; the background check we ran on him was void. ”
“Void?”
“He’s a ghost.”
I brought the cigar to my mouth, inhaled once more before putting it out in the ashtray. “Hm. No childhood pictures, surveillance cameras, webcam images?”
“None. He’s not in any database. Medical records are also zero, and criminal records are clear—no legal name to pin him to like the others. And we can’t exactly run a check on a nickname. It makes it difficult because that face isn’t in the system.”
I nodded. “Interesting. We should keep an eye on that one.”
Casmiro grunted. “I don’t think we should be keeping eyes on any of them. They should be dead.”
“They are useful.”
“Useful in what sense? We have guys who can steal for you and would never be seen doing it.”
“These people stole from those same guys and were not seen by them. They locked us out of our security system for two hours after they left. They had the guts to do all that and were still successful.”
“We caught them.”
“Because they left something behind. The jewelry. They know it too.”
“I don’t think this is wise, E.”
“I think it is. They are under Marino’s command now. They are not our people but assets we can use. Political assets.”
“There we go,” Casmiro mumbled.
“Think. These men in the big seats only listen to the command of power, Casmiro. You might not see the use of politics. But the Marino empire is legal, thanks to me. We can touch the government and political bodies and be so big that future accusations without proof would brush past the media in a swoosh no one would see. Our fathers never thought of this because they were old-fashioned. They were scared little men who didn’t dare to branch out of their comfort zone,” I said to him, drinking the rest of the whiskey in my glass and dropping the empty glass on the counter.
He was silent after that. I watched his jaw clench and unclench, still looking at the collection of whiskeys and wine before him as he spoke. “Then let me in.”
I sighed, turning to pour myself another round, ignoring the pointedness of his gaze at the side of my face.
“But you won’t.” He turned fully to me. “You won’t because you don’t trust me—because, for some reason, you choose not to. I would have accepted that if there had been a time when I did something to break your trust in me, but I never did. You just stopped.”
“I don’t trust anyone, Casmiro. Don’t make it personal.”
“Fuck you, E. I am making it fucking personal.”
“Cas—”
“I am tired of you treating me like one of your soldiers. It was supposed to be the two of us. Against everyone. But you fucking treat me like an outsider.”
At times like this I didn’t know what to do.
Yes, we used to be close, but why couldn’t he understand that things change?
These days, there’s no such thing as brothers, friends, or even family when it comes to the business.
Why couldn’t he understand that I would kill him if necessary?
Friends do not think that about their friends, do they?
I am confused.
I watched him swallow the last of his drink, shaking his head and dropping the glass on the table as he began to walk away.
“Cas,” I called, but he ignored me. He reached the couch where he had dumped his jacket and slipped it on before attempting to walk out. “Stop,” I called out again, leaving my glass on the counter as I approached him. “Sit.”
He looked at me and then at the couch. “I have shit to do.”
“Sit down, Casmiro.”
He hesitated but succumbed with a grunt.
Sitting down next to him on the couch, I watched a hard line form on his face. “You are like a child sometimes.”
“I have every right to feel offended.”
“Really?”
He threw a stern frown at me.
I nodded. “Useless emotions, Casmiro. This kind of heart you have isn’t what this business needs.”
“Did you ask me to sit so you could insult me?”
“No.” I took in a sharp breath. “Listen. You cannot throw tantrums like this because we don’t drink whiskey together and do things friends do.
You said I treat you like a soldier. But I do not think any soldier would have the guts to walk in here and pour himself a drink.
I do not think I would sit down with a soldier and talk to him like I am talking to you now.
You assume I do not care because that is what you see. ”
“It’s what you show.”
“Yes. Because a time will come when I will have to choose between you and something I want badly, and I will choose that without blinking. It is not that I don’t trust you.
I don’t trust myself. I cannot be a friend to you, Casmiro.
I will mess it up, and you will hate me.
” This time, all I saw on his face was confusion.
“How can you be so certain you will mess it up?”
“Because I am sick. I am unpredictable, even to myself. I do not know consequences until they hit me in the face. This is me being very honest with you because I can tell my behavior is upsetting you.”
“I hate your honesty sometimes.”
“I tell you what you want to hear, and I know you wanted the truth.”
He nodded and was silent for a few seconds before he broke it. “I still want you to let me in—”
“Casmiro—”
“Try. Let’s take power together. Teach me. You can do it alone, but you don’t have to. Not when I’m here.”
I worked my jaw, refusing to give myself unnecessary time to think it through.
“Okay,” I said. “You want to get inside my head. You want me to tell you things and trust you. You want to make a brother of me. Fine.”
“Why do you make it sound so scary?”
“It is the accent.”
There was a slight pause before Casmiro blinked. “I think you just made a joke—but your face isn’t—it’s not—”
“I know. I am funny.”
“It’s hard to tell if you’re telling a joke or—just being you.”
I stayed silent.
He sighed. “I just want things to return to how they were, you know? I don’t want secrets between us. Whatever we’re doing, we do it together, like brothers.”
I nodded. “Okay, Casmiro. No secrets. But remember, I warned you. You do not get to complain that I am overbearing or talkative.”
He scoffed. “Talkative is the last thing I would call you, E. Even when we were children, you only talked when it was necessary or when you were excited. I can’t remember the last time I saw you smile or get excited about anything.”
I nodded. “That is true. But I get excited about things.” Then I pointed to the side of my head. “In my head. I also talk my mind off in my head. But now that you have offered your ears”—I got to my feet, motioning to the home office a few feet away from us—“let’s talk politics.”