Chapter Twenty-Three #2
His gaze flicked to me, and I took that second to appreciate how pretty his eyes were. His eyelashes made the color even more pronounced, designed to draw you in and keep your attention. When he looked back at the fire, he responded, “I don’t understand your question.”
“You hesitated before you caused the explosion. Why?”
He let the silence drag on before answering. “I told you. I wasn’t in the mood to kill anyone.”
I frowned. “I don’t understand, you kill people all the time.”
“I do?” he asked.
“Seriously? You tried to kill me a few days ago.”
“I had a reason to. I don’t kill people without a valid reason. I don’t hurt people I don’t know.”
I scoffed. “Right, what about the families of the people you killed? Did you know them?”
He went silent, and I thought he wouldn’t answer until he … did. “No,” he said. “But I know grief. I danced with it. Lived with it. I kill them for their sake. The grief of losing a loved one is … brain-damaging. No one deserves to go through that.”
I shook my head, watching him closely. “You can’t just choose to kill innocent people because you think you’re saving them.”
“I know; that’s why I don’t shoot anyone without a valid reason. If I do shoot, I don’t shoot to kill. The healing scar on your shoulder is proof of that. If I need someone dead, I have people around me who can do it. Well—unless I’m in a mood, then, you can guess the rest.”
“So … all those people yesterday…”
“It wasn’t my intention.” He filled in, “I’ll pay for it one way or another.”
“What does that mean?”
He raised his gaze to me again before looking away, not answering the question.
When silence came again, I had the urge to fill it.
“You know … it’s not your fault. I believe in reasons. Everything that went down yesterday happened because it was meant to. No matter how bad it was. If we weren’t there, somehow a fire would have started, and there would still have been an explosion, maybe even worse than the one we caused.”
This time, when he looked up, he didn’t immediately look away. He just stared at me.
I felt my stomach clench with the feeling that came with his stare, and I sucked in a breath, swallowing to ease my suddenly dry throat.
“What?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing,” he let out before looking away, adding wood to the fire.
“Was that a moment?” I asked.
He frowned, side-eying me.
“Did we just have a moment there?” I repeated, keeping my tone light.
“No.”
“That was definitely a moment; I know a moment when I see one—”
“Do you ever shut up?”
“Yes…” I let a soft edge enter my voice, calling his attention. He fully looked at me now, waiting for me to complete my statement. “Only when there’s a dick in my mouth.”
“Okay.” He moved to stand and walk towards me, and a laugh bubbled out of my chest.
“Wait, wait … sit down,” I said between laughs. “I was just fucking around. Calm your tits, Dad.”
He settled back down, shaking his head. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t look annoyed either.
I shifted my position, wondering why the hell the thought of that actually happening didn’t sound so bad. I mentally shook off the images my brain supplied, and the sudden awareness of the heat his coat supplied to my body.
“Where’s your sense of humor?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t give anything away. “If Street were here, they’d get the joke.”
He didn’t say anything to that.
I rested my hand on my cheek, watching him with interest.
“Do you have friends, Elio?”
I don’t know why I asked that … but I continued because where’s the fun in silence?
“I mean, aside from Casmiro … like outside your whole syndicate circle … do you have a group of friends from, like, college? Oh, and you said you were in the army for a year? Did you have friends there?”
His brows drew down as if he were thinking, and then he locked eyes with me briefly before speaking. “Friends are another level of weakness. When you have friends, you’re open to betrayal, inessential drama—”
“Less loneliness,” I cut in. “I could totally be your friend if you stop trying to kill me.” And then I backed up. “Why are you trying to kill me?”
“Many reasons.”
“Okay, I turn you on, next?”
“That is not part of—” He sighed. “You stole from me,” he said.
“See, that’s where it gets confusing. I wasn’t the only one who stole from you, yet you singled me out. I don’t see you trying to drown my friends, and we’ve registered the fact that Devil joined Street of his own free will.”
“You still manipulate him, and you will eventually end up hurting him when he finds out you’re not who you say you are.”
“Devil and I aren’t in a relationship. He’s my best friend, and I know little about him, just like he knows little about me; it’s mutual.”
“Well, there’s the fact that you seem to be too skilled for Street. You’ve only caused me headaches since we met, and you have managed to disobey direct orders, undermine me in front of my people, and act like you have once obtained the same role as me.”
He wasn’t wrong. “That’s my personality. You want to kill me because of my personality?”
“No.”
“Then…”
“You talk too much. You make me talk too much.”
“Talking is good, but that’s not reason enough to kill me.”
“I just don’t like you … your presence … it’s—for reasons best known to me, I’d prefer you dead. Let’s leave it at that.”
I tsked, shaking my head.
“Why do you want me dead?” he asked.
I shrugged. “You shot me, left a scar on me. Nobody does that and lives. Because of Devil, I’m lenient. Getting your name on my shit list would only take one action. I hope, for both our sakes, your name never gets on it.”
“There it is, that tone. It’s why I want you dead.”
I laughed, eying him before relaxing back on the tree. “Get used to it, Dad. It’s not going anywhere.”
He didn’t respond, and I no longer tried to fill in the silence. I closed my eyes, replaying the whole conversation in my head.
Elio’s personality confused me, and I could feel my obsession to fix things tingle, but I reined it in. Despite all he had revealed, he was still The Wicked. He still shot me and tried to drown me. He couldn’t be trusted.
And yes, I was proven right when I woke up to a bright day, the fire quenched with light smoke erupting from the ashes, and the man in black nowhere to be found.
I cursed, got to my feet, and called out his name, but I got no response.
He didn’t just leave me here, did he?
I looked around and noticed the morning fog dissipating and the sun rising in the distance.
“Motherfucker,” I muttered with grit, shrugging the trench coat off my body in anger. “That bastard.”
I turned on my heel the moment something sharp whizzed past me, landing with a soft thud on a tree. I turned to the tree, squinting my eyes to see a small red syringe—“Ouch!” A sharp pain pricked my neck, and I quickly moved to pull out another syringe, bringing it to my view—
“Oh, fuck me.”
I lost control of my legs and fell straight to the ground, dizziness tugging at my eyelids as echoing footsteps reached my ear.
From my blurry vision, I saw them dressed in all black, with masks covering their faces.
One of them bent down and took off their mask … I spotted a grin as he said, “Dors bien.”
I might be crazy, and my knowledge of that language might be rough, but that sounded so much like—French for … sleep well?
My vision blackened, but I heard someone else speak.
“Carry her; let’s go.”
It was too late, but it dawned on me that the Russians weren’t the only ones hunting for that painting …
What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into here?
And then I felt my body lifted from the ground, and I was thrown over a shoulder, the earth zooming in and out in a stomach-turning way. My tongue was heavy, my body numb, and I finally … finally gave in to the darkness.