Chapter Thirteen
Elio
It wasn’t the fact that she put up a fight. Her stealth and the absence of hesitation when she raised the gun and pulled the trigger was the thing that threw me off. I couldn’t for the life of me stop thinking about that—about her.
Why had she occupied more space than Elia had in my mind?
Why was I having an inner monologue about a woman?
Not just any woman; the one who should die for even pointing a gun at me.
A woman who didn’t even know how close she was to razing my whole plan.
If that bullet had killed me, my soul would have never known peace.
“The girl has to go.”
Angelo’s gaze rose to me. “We had a deal with them. We can’t exactly go back on our word.”
“I can.”
He sighed. “Your word is law, remember?”
“I relieved you of your duty years ago, remember? I don’t need your advice, Mancini.”
He shook his head, sticking a needle in to sew the wound on my arm. “I will still offer it as long as I’m here, Marino.”
I looked at him. “Then leave.”
He nodded. “And give you the chance and space to off yourself? Yeah, no. Not going to happen on my watch.”
This time, when he pressed the sharp point of the needle into my skin, I flinched.
Angelo made me very uncomfortable. It never used to be that way before he saved me.
He usually just did his job and managed his affairs with his men.
He was the only other person who understood how politics worked, and he would have been fun to talk to if he didn’t watch me like a hawk every time we were in the same space.
It didn’t help that he was probably the only one who didn’t believe I had an ounce of wickedness inside of me.
It was unsettling.
I frowned. “I’ve given you a good opportunity for a life outside this business; why won’t you just take it and get out of my way.”
He met my eyes. “Because this is my life, and you have no control over what I choose to do with it.”
“That’s why you came to stitch me up instead of calling our medic?”
“Yes. If our people find out you were shot by a woman, who is supposed to be your hostage, they will kill her and question your leadership. We can’t have that now, can we?”
“I want her dead.”
“Okay, that can be arranged. After they do what they’re here for. As much as their presence brings chaos, we need access to the Pablos. The intel on that painting is required, and Street is the best bet we got.”
Silence followed after he said that. He put in the last stitch, applied ointment, and dressed the wound.
I broke the silence when he pulled back to cobble the first aid kit together.
“You thought I did it to myself, didn’t you? That’s why you came running.”
With his back to me, I noted how his form grew tense, but he didn’t respond.
“You should stop worrying about that,” I said, picking up the well-folded shirt beside me and slipping it on.
“It’s never going to happen again. I’m over it.
I’m fine. I’ve got too much to live for, and it was a mere slip-up.
A mistake. You shouldn’t use that as an excuse to remain in this business. ”
He let out a sharp breath before turning and pinning me with a pained expression he tried to mask but couldn’t. “You know I lost my sister to suicide, right?”
I watched him as I buttoned up my shirt. “Yes, I’m well-informed about that.”
“Before she finally … left, I’d saved her; I think—three, four times. It was never fun. It was traumatizing, and I still have nightmares featuring scenarios of the many ways I could have saved her if I had been there in time.”
I blinked at him, unsure if I should mention how proud I was of his sister or apologize and do the “I am sorry for your loss” thing.
“What does that have to do with me?” I asked instead.
“Your excuse and your ‘I’m fine’ is something I’ve heard before. The rise and fall of your voice showed the false reassurance you just tried to give me. I’m not a fool, Marino.”
“You’re a fool for wanting to remain here with me, Mancini. I’m not worth it. You should go live your life.”
“No … no, you should live your life. Leave the four walls of this—this cursed library—leave the freaking books with their fake words and lies woven to twist your mind into a fucking web of unrealistic scenarios and fucking socialize. Talk to real people. Go to real places. And for once in your life, don’t be a mastermind.
” He breathed, watching me as if pleading for his words to sink in.
The silence stretched for a few seconds before I responded.
“I’m good.”
His shoulders sagged. “You need therapy.”
“Please.” I got up from the stool and walked to the nearest shelf. “You see these books, Mancini? They’re the only therapy I need. Whenever I read them, it’s like my sister’s here, reading them to me.”
“But she’s not.” Pity softened his voice.
I ignored it.
“Mariana loved reading books. She’d spend so much money on the little books she could get without our father knowing.
He never liked them. Thought they were silly.
My mother never objected to his reasoning.
She never objected to many of his twisted thoughts and actions.
It was probably her only flaw. Aside from that, Mother was perfect,” I said, picking up a book from the shelf.
“I always teased Mariana because she loved filling her head up with these romance books. As you called them … fake scenarios, I did that too. And she would glare at me so fiercely I’d cower.”
“Marino—”
“When Mariana died, I created this little library. I bought every single book she had ever wanted to read.” I brought the spine of the book to my view.
“And engraved her name into the spine of these hardcovers. I swore to myself that I’d read it all on her behalf.
” My thumb grazed the spine before I placed it back on the shelf and turned to Angelo.
“I don’t have time to socialize, to make friends, and to talk to real people.
I’d rather spend every free minute reading words Mariana would have loved to read.
So yes, you have nothing to worry about; I am not dying until I read every single thing on this shelf.
I will have slip-ups. I will make mistakes.
” I raised my sleeve to my forearm, pointing to the bandaged wound.
“I’ll hurt myself because, for me, that’s my normal.
That’s my life and the way it is. I’m not spiraling; it’s just me. It’s normal for me.”
Angelo sighed. “It’s not normal to want to hurt yourself, Marino. Or to give yourself a death date … or a fucking timeline. It’s—you need help—at least, get it for the books you might not be able to read if you slip, make a mistake, and never come back from it.”
“That won’t happen.”
“It almost did. And if it weren’t for me, you’d be dead.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“That’s what my sister said the first time she attempted it. And it happened again, and again, and again until she didn’t live to give me the same excuse.”
I am not his sister.
“Listen,” he said, “I don’t want to pretend to know what goes through that head of yours.
I don’t even want to imagine how it must have felt to have everyone who’s ever heard your name believe you’re some killer.
But I want you to know I understand what it feels like to be too late.
The guilt. The pain. The grief you can’t bring yourself to feel.
You were too late, and I know how your father twisted the whole shit in his favor.
But you’ve got to know that none of it was your fault. ”
“Your advice means nothing, Mancini. I am not your sister.”
“I know—”
“I’m not talking about this anymore.”
“You have to come to terms with—”
“I am done talking about this.”
Almost as if the universe were listening, Casmiro walked into the room with a scowl, shrugging off his jacket, and throwing it carelessly on the table.
“The amount of money lost today is fucking unforgivable. These Street people have no control,” he said, helping himself to a drink at the bar, sneaking a glance at Angelo.
I walked to the table, picked up his jacket, and hung it on the clothes valet.
“Have you tightened the security?” Angelo asked him.
“Yes. Those rats knocked them clean, locked them up, and stole from them. They didn’t deserve that briefcase.”
“She won.” I walked to the bar area.
Casmiro got two extra glasses, filling them up for Angelo and me. “I don’t trust her.”
Angelo hummed in agreement. “I know her kind. Always searching for ways to mess with people for their gain,” he said. “What I don’t understand is how she almost killed our boss.”
They both looked at me, waiting to hear how I had let that happen.
I looked between them before shrugging. “She was faster than me. It was quite impressive.”
“There aren’t many who would have the guys even pick up a gun in your presence, let alone shoot at you or punch you in the nose,” Angelo said.
“She’s the one we need to watch. We know nothing about her, and I have a gut feeling that the little we know is—staged; it’s what we’re meant to see when we do our research.”
Casmiro sighed. “They’re useful, but they’re trouble.”
I took in a breath. “Here’s what we can do. Their security will have to be assigned shifts to avoid any familiarity. We keep a close eye on them. No cameras. Physical watch only. No one touches any of them. No matter what.”
“We could take one of them. An example to keep the rest in check,” Casmiro suggested.
“No.”
“How do we control them, then? You lost the chess game, giving them the right to return to the casino.”
“Let them.”
Casmiro glared. “What exactly do these people have on you, E?”
“Don’t question me.”
“It’s hard not to.”
I sighed. “Is it that you are blind, or you’ve just decided to block your sense of reasoning for the night? Mancini, please explain to this dumb friend of mine why we can’t make an example of one of them?”
Angelo put down his glass. “Because they complement each other; hurt one, hurt them all.”
“So what the fuck do we do about them? We can’t let their intrusion at the casino go. I have double my task tomorrow thanks to them. People were angry; bets were lost. The casino was chaos after they left.”
“It will be handled.”
“How?”
“We just need a scapegoat, one provided by their own hands.”
Casmiro frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I have seen them interact,” I told him. “I have them under my roof, and they have a job to finish for me. I know one of them is messy and impulsive, and I have a gut feeling she is bound to make a mistake at some point.”
“She makes a mistake, then what?” he asked.
I picked up my glass. “Then I intervene,” I said, downing the drink and dropping the glass back on the table, leveling him with a stare. “And make her a scapegoat.”