Chapter Sixteen
Elio
With one bag of late-night greasy food in my left hand, I filtered through the bundle of keys in my right, inserting the correct one and twisting until I heard a click.
As always, I looked left and right down the hallway and then at the security cameras before pushing the door open, entering the room, and kicking the door closed behind me.
I was at a washed-up motel a few miles out of town, away from protection and my last name.
The first time I had come here, I thought it would serve as a breath of fresh air, but it didn’t. It never did. Because he was here. The man currently sitting in a rocking chair facing the window was none other than Ricardo Marino—the former boss of the Marino empire.
My father.
“You opened the windows again. Were you missing the outside world?” I asked, shrugging off my suit jacket before dumping the keys on the small wall shelf by the side of the door.
He didn’t respond.
I kicked off my shoes, stretching my neck from left to right before walking to stand beside him. The wind that blew in from the netted window was chilling, and it made me let out a breath. “I see why. It’s peaceful out there.”
I moved to sit at the windowsill, outstretching the food bag to him, which he eagerly collected. “Slow down; you haven’t eaten in a day. I can’t afford you choking yourself to death—as much as I’d love to see it.”
I studied the starved man in front of me. His pale skin, chapped lips, and red-rimmed eyes. He looked so much older than his age. The wrinkles on his face and the sagging of his skin had worsened. He looked like a dead man with life. It was irritating, but it pleased me.
Despite my warning about him rushing his food, he still gobbled it, and I shook my head, watching with pity.
He had stopped fighting me years ago, now he just … complied. If defeat were a person, it would be him.
“Not long now, Father. Everything is going according to plan. It would have been sooner, but there was a bit of a holdup.”
Dread smeared his face, and a whimper escaped him.
“I know, it’s infuriating,” I said with a sigh of distress.
“Elia showed up with this band of thieves. The foolish boy has been in Italy for years, can you imagine that? He’s been committing petty crimes just for the fun of it.
I wouldn’t say he did it because he was hungry and needed the money.
All the legal funds of the Marino empire will be going to his name.
I had his entire life planned for him. He was settled, and all that remained was Casmiro and Angelo because they had worked so hard to be left with nothing.
But then—Elia showed up; I can’t burn it all with him in it.
It makes all these years of planning useless. ”
My father whined. It was scratchy and irritating to hear when he spoke. “Just—kill me.”
I sighed. “Have you heard a word I’ve been saying, old man?
I can’t do it yet—I kill you, and I kill me too, and I can’t die until I am sure everyone else won’t be affected by it.
I need to make sure Elia is happy and away—far, far away from Italy.
When that is done, you and I, we’re going to have a lot of fun,” I told him.
“You—you need help, Elio—please get help,” he said. His eyes drained as he looked at me with pity, shaking his head slowly like he actually cared.
An image of me wrapping my hands around his throat, squeezing until I killed his body and his fucking soul because it didn’t deserve to be judged, popped into my head. His soul deserved to rot as his flesh would.
Instead of putting my thoughts into action, I nodded. “You should have told my mother to get help. She needed it more. Who knows, maybe we wouldn’t be here, and you wouldn’t have to watch everything our predecessors have worked so hard for—”
“Kill me, boy.” He jerked from the rocking chair. “I don’t want to see it—I refuse to see you destroy my name—our legacy. Just kill me and be done with it, isn’t that what you want?”
I observed him a bit, before looking away out the netted windows, seeing the light droplets of rain showering down, headlights shining and dimming.
“You don’t even know me,” I said, but it was so low I barely heard myself. “You did this to me … I’m fucked up because of you and you still don’t know what I want. That’s not fair.”
Silence stretched, and I swallowed.
Since I took over the syndicate, I’d worked my head off to bring our name to insanely incredible heights. We were legal; we were in the political spotlight. We were gigantic, made for life. The family’s inner business ran smoothly. No complications, no hiccups.
“I don’t just want to kill you, Father. I want to make you suffer.
I want to drive you mad, and I want to see you weep when you watch it all burn.
You’re so lucky because I’ll be standing by your side, holding your hand.
At least you’ll have me as company. The sinner you created.
The best fucking poetic justice. Mother would be proud of me. ”
He whimpered.
I looked back at him. “Would you be proud of me?”
He kept quiet.
“Speak, or the next time you’ll see me will be weeks from this one.”
“What do you want me to say?” he snapped.
“Tell me you’re proud of me.”
Silence stretched, and his eyes filled with pity and something else I refused to cling to. “I am proud of you,” he said.
I breathed, holding my head high as relief flooded through me. “Thank you, Papà.”
I looked out the window again. “This gang Elia brought about will allow me to cover more ground. I want to start with Pablo. I will discover what he knows about Arturo’s painting, and then destroy our alliance and create a war.”
My father shook his head. “You can’t ruin decades of alignment with the Pablos, Elio. Y-you can’t do this to the family.”
“I can. I want to do it. I crave destruction. I crave to see the look on your face when it happens. The one thing—the only thing you have ever cared about, falling to pieces all around you. Ah … the bliss that would bring.”
“Just kill me,” the man whimpered again, looking on the verge of tears, and I wanted to smile. I so badly wanted my lips to curve up in a smile, but that invisible force kept them firm, denying me that relief.
It reminded me that though I had control over my father, his actions in the past still had complete control over my mind; there was still an inkling of fear when I looked at his face, a small piece of want for his approval in everything I did.
It only fueled my determination to finish what I had started.
And I would … soon.
Angelo approached me at the gazebo by the poolside; his stance held a stiffness that told me I was about to be given bad news. I refilled my whiskey glass, taking my eyes off him as I placed the bottle on the small table that held three lit scented candles, my cigar box, lighter, and a book.
The last thing I needed was any sort of disturbance. I took my “me” time very seriously, and Angelo might just be at the receiving end of however my response would come out.
Depending on whatever it was he wanted to tell me.
“Marino,” he greeted when he reached me. “Looked for you earlier. Where did you go?”
“Monitoring my movements now?” I asked him, taking out a cigar and lighting it.
“You left the compound without security,” he stated in displeasure.
I took a long drag from the cigar, blowing it out before settling my gaze on him. “What business do you have with that? Hm? Can’t I leave my own home without soldiers tailing me like flies to shit?”
“Where did you go?” he asked again, eyeing me suspiciously.
Surprise had me widening my eyes. “Where did I—” I paused, shaking my head. “I went to a motel to see my dead father; what else would you like to know? The food I ate on the way? A greasy, unhealthy burger. Would you like to know if I stopped by the side of the road to piss and refuel my car?”
Angelo sighed, clearly not believing a word I said.
Elio Marino would never eat greasy roadside food.
He would never be so foolish as to drive alone; he would never stop by a shady gas station to refuel his car; there was no way he could see his father because Ricardo Marino had been dead for years.
“I am only asking because you shouldn’t just leave like that—at least let someone know your whereabouts, and it’s not a must if you have soldiers tailing you; they can stand back and only come to you when you need help.
” Angelo sighed. “Also, if you would just get a phone, so maybe I can call next time you choose to disappear.”
“No.”
He cursed under his breath. “You need a phone—”
“No. I carry too much with me. There is no space for a phone.”
“Marino—”
I frowned in mock confusion. “I feel like I’m being repetitive. I feel this sense of déjà vu—like—like we have had this conversation before, and my response was exactly the same as the one I’m giving you now. Do you feel it too?”
Angelo dropped his head, a small chuckle leaving him. “No phone … got it.”
“Excellent. Anything else?”
He stood straighter. “Yes”—he cleared his throat—“Street returned from the mission an hour ago.”
“That was today?”
“Yes,” he answered, his features suddenly tight.
“I take it we have what we need, then.”
“Yes, we do.”
I raised a brow. “But…”
“There was a little deviation from their original plan, and they—”
“Who died?” I asked, hoping it sounded like I cared as I dragged in a lungful of the smoke, leaving it in my body for a few seconds before letting it out. “One of the Street people?”
“No,” Angelo said.
“One of Dion’s people?”
Angelo cleared his throat again. “No. Dion Juan Pablo is the one who’s … dead.”
I paused and frowned. My gaze sharpened on him. “I beg your pardon?”
“She said it was a form of self-defense; he was pumped full of drugs and he tried to hurt her, so she protected herself.”
“Which girl? The pretty one with the beverage name?”
Angelo shook his head.
I raised both my brows, nodding. “Ah, the other one.” I mused aloud and sat up, pressing the cigar into the ashtray. Finally …
“Nobody knows they did it.”
“It doesn’t matter. Their mission was to steal. Not to kill. There is no excuse for carelessness. Have her brought here.”
“Marino, she was almost abused—”
“Have her brought to me. Where is Casmiro?”
“Handling it. Dion’s boss, Edoardo himself, will be seeking answers. Casmiro is making sure those answers don’t lead back to us.”
“If it does lead back to us … a betrayal of this kind is unforgivable. This will most definitely give me a decent amount of inconvenience. Somebody has to pay for it.”
“She was a victim.”
“I was a victim; you were a victim. Did the world go easy on us? No. They lack discipline. She, in particular, needs a reality check. I am happy to deliver it.”
“Dion was—”
“Have some soldiers bring her here. Do not let other members interrupt. Especially Devil. And tell Casmiro to meet me at my home lounge in an hour,” I said, getting my gun and checking the chamber before swiftly cocking the weapon and flicking the safety back on.
“What do you plan to do?” Angelo asked, eying the gun in my hand.
My thumb rubbed against the surface of the gun as I responded. “Kill a sinner and everyone they share blood with. It has been a while.”