Chapter Nine
Elio
I’d abandoned my brother.
No matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, I knew that was something I could never change.
I never considered how my actions would affect him.
I was too blinded by revenge—too far gone in the grand finale I had planned, and I’d hoped he wouldn’t care.
Perhaps he would find his own life and wouldn’t even shed a tear when everything was said and done.
But I had been wrong. He cared, and it was a big problem.
Elia wasn’t supposed to love me or hate me. How was I guaranteed that I could proceed with my plans without hurting the person I’d spent almost all my life protecting?
I felt her shift beside me, and I remembered I wasn’t alone.
It irritated me, but all she had said was correct. Her accuracy was probably why I didn’t bother to shield or deny anything.
“It wasn’t my intention,” I said into the silence between us. “All I wanted was to protect him from all of this. But then he met you and started to steal. And now he’s here.”
“Devil was the way he was before he met me. Hell, he was worse. He had so much anger and distrust. Street tamed him, tamed his anger, and you should be grateful for that.”
I allowed my gaze to settle on her again; her hair was all over her face due to the light wind—so unkempt—but I couldn’t look away. My fingers twitched to fix it. Clean it. Clean her.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said.
“What?”
I watched her carefully, thinking once again about how fearless she seemed now, and something felt odd—misplaced—like I was missing something important. “You’re here, talking to me … without fear after I tortured you. It makes no sense.”
Something shifted in her gaze. “I’m tougher than I look, and now that I know what I know about you and Devil, I’m confident that I’m safe. Besides, I’m here because of him. Whatever argument the both of you had did a number on him.”
“Do you have a hairband?” I asked before I could hold my tongue.
She raised a brow, clearly caught off guard. “What?”
“Your hair, it’s distracting. Do you have a hair—hold on.” I stood upright, digging my hand into my pants pocket, pulling out my packet of cigars, and removing the black band I’d wrapped around it.
The small band had been around a book whose hardcover had been falling off. I’d wrapped the band around my cigar packet when I glued it back. “Come here,” I said, twisting the band around my fingers. I made a turning gesture with my hand.
“Why the—” She started to protest but stopped when I walked towards her instead. I made sure I was not too close for both her and my comfort.
She looked up at me with wide brown eyes, her lashes long and tangled, her nose and cheeks dusted with light freckles that suited her skin tone.
I ignored the heat between our bodies, the gentle hollow where her collar bones met the smooth skin of her neck, as I began to brush her hair away from her face; I tucked both sides behind her ears, catching the two-dotted birthmark on the shell of her left ear, and the tiny scar right below her right. Slowly, her frown eased.
I tilted my head slightly to the side as my fingers disappeared into her hair.
I was wrong.
Earlier, at that meeting, I thought her hair was uncared for—but I was very wrong. It had a fullness that made me bury my fingers even deeper.
It was soft, wavy, and, surprisingly, smelled divine, like—vanilla or amber; I couldn’t decipher it, but I liked it.
A lot.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was coated in uncertainty.
“Caring for your hair.” My gaze fell to hers quickly before shooting back to her hair. “It looks … a mess.”
I pulled her hair up in one swoop, curling the band to keep it in place.
“According to my mother, it is important to care for your hair. To care for it like it is a child; because, like children, your hair is clueless on how to take care of itself,” I said, successfully tying her hair in a tiny ponytail, as far high as the short length could go.
“She says you can always tell about a person’s neatness by the state of their hair.
Now I know how messy you are. That is not information you want your employer to know.
” And then I stepped back, assessing my work and nodding. “Better.”
She blinked at me, giving me a very familiar look. One I usually received from people after saying or doing something that didn’t fit their assumptions of me.
I returned to leaning on the railing, watching her swallow as she shook her head.
“You’re … very … weird.”
“I am aware. To avoid situations like this in the future, make sure you’re well-arranged before speaking to me. I can’t control the urge to fix things. And I do not care if I offend you by my actions.”
“Aún no tiene sentido,” she muttered under her breath. Still doesn’t make sense.
I blinked in clear surprise. “?Tú hablas espanol?” Hiding the excitement in my voice was impossible. You speak Spanish?
She shot me a sweet but taunting smile. “Sí, ?por qué?” Yes, why?
I raised my brows, nodding because I was genuinely impressed; her Spanish was clean, smooth, and accented. “Where did you learn?” I asked in Spanish.
“None of your business.”
The look that flashed through her eyes told me it was indeed none of my business.
I still pushed the conversation in Spanish. “What kind of relationship do you share with my brother?” I asked.
She eyed me carefully, probably wondering why I continued the conversation instead of having her locked away for interrupting my peace.
She was right to wonder because I was wondering the same thing.
She was the opposite of a person I’d want to spend my time with.
Nothing was captivating about her or her presence, yet she was still here.
“He’s my best friend and partner in crime.”
I frowned. “That cannot be right. You two have another relationship.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I am not blind. Aside from the thieving addiction you both share with the other members, I know you and him have something more.”
“So what if we do? What’s it to you?” There was a defensive tone to her voice as she pinned me with a glare.
I couldn’t stop my eyes from taking her in from head to toe and back to her head. “He’s my blood. It concerns me the kind of woman he chooses to get intimate with.”
She let out a humorless laugh. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”
I paused, trying to find what was wrong with her physically; when I couldn’t find anything, I shook my head and said, “You’re a bad influence on him. You and the others.”
Her glare hardened, and she took two steps towards me, the wind sweeping the seductive smell of her hair toward me. “Talk shit about me all you want, but leave the others out.”
“They are also to blame for who my brother is today.”
“Maybe you need to grow up and realize that Devil is not a kid but an adult who can very well choose the kind of people he wants to fuck with.”
I shoved both my hands into my pockets, looking around the vast expanse.
I took a step closer to her, and she took one back.
I sniffed slightly. I leaned down, my gaze pinning hers.
“Or … I could kill you”—I switched back to English—“and the others, and then make my brother do whatever the fuck I want. Because I fucking can, and because it would give me nothing but joy to see him far away from you … criminals.”
She watched me for a few seconds before she laughed. Laughed in my face until I was the one inching away.
“Not only are you fucking weird, but you’re also funny.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes. You call us criminals? Have you met yourself? What we do is steal to fucking survive. But you, you kill people for power, betray family for status; you don’t give two shits about how your actions affect the lives of people around you.
People call you The Wicked; for fuck’s sake, you hurt innocent people just because they’re related to those who offend you. You think that’s not criminal?”
I allowed her words to sink in, and I took another step back.
“What I do is not criminal. It’s worse. I should die for it.
I will die for it eventually. But my brother is the sweetest kid I’ve ever known …
this life, this world that I live in, he doesn’t deserve to live it.
I have done … things just to make sure he doesn’t have to live it, to give him what I never had. To give him happiness, and normalcy.”
“Haven’t you ever considered that he doesn’t want that? Why are you projecting your idea of a normal, happy life onto him? He’s not you, Elio. He’s Devil; he’s his own person.”
Elio … My eyes roamed her face, wondering if she realized her use of my first name. It felt unfamiliar to hear a stranger speak my name out loud without fear, and it felt odd that I … wanted to hear it again.
“I know it’s none of my business, but no matter what you think, Devil’s my family too, and I’m only trying to look out for him. You should respect his own life choices—”
“You do not understand,” I said. “I lived this life, I’m currently living it, and I don’t want him to experience what I have.
I don’t care about you, but I still think there are better ways you can survive.
You’re young; you could find decent work, live a life where you don’t have to watch your back every second. ”
Her brows lowered. “You think I don’t want that?
The same way you got into this business without a fucking choice is the same way I found Street.
You don’t know what it’s like out there, the fucking horrors I’ve been through, so forgive me if I can’t stomach the thought of being around normal people who would judge me because of my mental and physical scars. ”
Annoyed, I massaged my head. “You’re missing the point, Sport.”
“No, Dad, I’m not.”
I cringed, irritation crawling up my spine. “What the—”
“Just because your father put a gun in your hand when you were just a little boy doesn’t mean you try to push your opinion into someone else’s life.”
I kept quiet.
“If you want to build a relationship with your brother, try not to be controlling and be more accepting. If you’re clueless on how to start with that, maybe begin by actually telling people that you’re both related because if you don’t know, that shit hurts him more than you abandoning him.”
She turned to leave, taking a few steps away from me before turning and walking back to me, this time with a venom in her eyes that had me backing up.
“And don’t you ever, in your fucking life, call me Sport, or any other fucking derogatory nicknames, because I’ll back that shit up with daddy jokes that’ll make you feel like ants are crawling up your fucking ass.
Don’t test me.” Then she was off; I blinked and watched her disappear out the roof door.
Silence encased me again, mouth dry, speechless … With my gaze still trained on the door, I shook my head, looking away and absentmindedly reaching for my cigar pack. I got one stick out and shoved it between my lips—pausing shortly after to stare at the roof door again.
I scoffed in amusement, shaking my head yet again.