Chapter Thirty-Eight
Zahra
I’d always been able to tell whenever someone was about to die.
I used to hate it—the thick smell of gunpowder, capable of making you gag once a bullet hit a living person; the scent of blood and fear tainted the atmosphere before you saw the person falling to the ground.
I used to hate all of it, even if the victim deserved it.
But it had been years since I flinched before pulling a trigger or slitting a throat; and it didn’t take long enough to attune my senses to the nearness of death.
Right now, standing in front of the room Casmiro was lying in, I knew death wasn’t around the corner, and the feeling that came with that realization didn’t exactly sit well with me.
I knocked twice before I opened the door and stepped in.
Upper was the only one there when I closed the door behind me, the sound making him look up from his phone.
Casmiro still wasn’t awake, and according to what I’d heard when Elio and I arrived after the sun came up, his vitals were looking good, and he was responding well to treatments.
“Hey,” Upper said with a small smile.
“Hi … Still here?”
He thinned his lips, looking at Casmiro’s still form, the heart monitor beeping steadily by the side of the bed.
My gaze lingered on it for a second before I looked back at Upper, who blew out a breath, getting to his feet.
“Where else would I be? I tried calling; you never came back last night. What happened?”
“My phone was dead.”
He gave me a disbelieving look. “Yeah … and you just randomly disappeared with the boss?”
“No. We went back to his house here because he was upset about Casmiro. But the building was secured, and he passed out after taking a pill since he has sleeping problems, as he said. They took one of the shooters in for questioning, though.”
“Yes, Angelo informed me.” Upper eyed me, and I knew he wanted to probe. His suspicions about Elio and me were written all over his face.
To hell if I’m going to divulge anything.
“I’m sure Devil would have blown up my phone with worried texts. Did he text you?” I asked, changing the topic.
Upper’s curious stare turned into discomfort as he answered, “Yes.” His fingers brushed Casmiro’s bedpost. “He couldn’t reach you either, so he texted. We never text—but like, yeah, he wanted to ask about you,” he said, gaze flickering to mine. “But I told him you were okay.”
I nodded. “Okay … Are you okay?”
His head snapped up to look at me. “What?”
“You look like you’ve barely slept,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, the whole, um—anxiety over what happened with Cas and those gunmen and everything. I’m all right though; I probably just need to bathe in coffee.” He let out a shaky laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.
I glanced at Casmiro’s sleeping figure and then at Upper. “You can go get coffee; I’ll stay with Cassie while you’re out.”
He frowned, hesitating as his gaze flickered between Casmiro and me. “You’re sure? I know you’re not his biggest fan,” he said wearily.
“Yeah, about that.” I blew out a breath. “I was insensitive earlier—and like, just in the heat of the moment, and I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I had so many thoughts run through my mind … What could have happened and not? But I’m glad he didn’t die.”
Upper smiled at me. “I know, it was scary. We’ve done crazy jobs, but never one that had us running from stray bullets. These guys do that on a regular basis.”
“And now we’re working for them.” My tongue poked the inner side of my cheek.
He eyed me. “You know how to work a gun, so I’m not too worried.”
I opened my mouth to say something.
“It’s okay.” He chuckled. “Your secret is safe with me, and it’s all good if you don’t want to elaborate.”
I really did not want to elaborate, so I smiled in appreciation instead. “Thank you.”
“That’s all right; I kind of owe you one for keeping the secret about me leaving Street after we find the gold.”
“Upper—”
“I’ll go get that coffee,” he cut me off. “Want one?”
A small smile grazed my lips, and I dropped that topic. “Yeah, I could use a cup.”
He nodded before walking past me and out the door.
I watched the closed door for exactly five seconds before looking back at the man on the bed. The room was silent, save for the beeping of the heart monitor.
I walked over, taking the seat Upper had been in, as I soaked in Casmiro’s unconscious state. The rise and fall of his chest, his breath bouncing to the top of his oxygen mask as he breathed out, and dropping as he breathed in. The sound steady and in sync with the beep of the machine.
I sighed in exasperation, looking up and around the room.
No CCTV cameras.
“Are they stupid, or are they stupid?” I muttered, only to be met with silence.
Tentatively, I sat up and leaned in, shifting the chair closer to his bed, before lifting my hand and removing his oxygen mask.
I leaned back and watched, tilting my head to the side as his lips parted slightly, his body unconsciously seeking oxygen assistance.
It took mere seconds for the sound of the beeping sequence to falter a little.
Seconds for my mind to wander and bring to my mind’s eye different scenarios that could take place after cutting off his oxygen … His heart could fail without the assistance; his body could go into shock, and the machine would beep like crazy before it drew a flatline.
I shook my head free of those thoughts, leaned back in, and placed his mask back on, dropping my hands to my thighs and watching him.
“Oh, Cassie, you are one stubborn motherfucker,” I mused.
“I was hoping you’d die. It was three fucking bullets, damn it.
” I rubbed the side of my head, feeling the faint headache grow more profound. “What a mess.”
I willed my brain to stop thinking about this and my heart to stop freezing every second with the fear of Elio walking in here and giving me that look of suspicion—
No, I am not thinking about this.
Not thinking about the man I’d spent all night thinking about. The fact that he wanted to break that rule, how he had looked at me before he said he wanted to break the rule, how he had dropped every suspicion, believing me on the spot.
While I was thankful for that, it still had me a bit wary. He was unpredictable; he saw right through and beyond me.
I wondered how he’d question the idiot they caught; I wondered what the idiot would say in the heat of Elio’s torture.
I knew Casmiro and Elio were close, but not this much, not so much that it kept him up all night, restless.
He wanted to go back but had changed his mind for some reason.
He didn’t tell me, didn’t speak much. When we arrived, he told me to stay here until he returned from wherever he, Angelo, and a few of his soldiers went to interrogate the idiot.
Angelo had only supplied me with a silent nod as a greeting.
Like Casmiro, I knew he didn’t trust or like me, and it bothered me because I hadn’t exactly done anything to warrant that …
aside from messing around with their boss.
Talking back at him or diverting his attention from what really mattered—that was it, and I didn’t do all of that because of some ill intention.
I just genuinely liked toying with him and getting him to loosen up and get frustrated.
Not my fault that he looked insanely hot when he frowned or yelled … It was fun messing with him … fun seeing him lose himself buried inside me … fun hearing him moan my name, so hot and breathy as he came inside me and I collapsed against him … God, he really was good with his cock and his hands.
His touch, every single fucking graze, had been deliberate, like he wanted to explore so that he could see the way I’d react when he touched a part of my body.
The sex was more like a quickie, but goddamn, did I feel it right to the tips of my toes. The impact of his thrusts, his grip on me, the pure fucking need in his eyes as he owned me and fucked me into delusion.
I closed my eyes, shaking my head. This might not be the first time playing with fire, but it would most definitely be the first time I’d been burned by it; the only concerning thing was how much I didn’t care about that burn.
Hours later, we arrived back in Milan. Casmiro was transferred to the hospital within the compound, and Upper followed.
Elio hadn’t said a word to me yet, and I waited for Angelo to finish talking to him before I approached. He didn’t turn to me even after he finished; he just walked towards his house. If he wanted me to stop following him, he said nothing about it.
I took my time to study the interior of the ample space, having not had the time to really look around the last time I’d been here.
It was pretty basic, nothing homey, just a dead quiet capable of sending chills down your spine.
The couches had no color, just a plain smooth black that seemed like no one had ever sat on them.
Unlike the house in Turin, this one had no pictures, almost like the space wasn’t his, and he had just been placed here because it was convenient.
I followed him to another corner of the house; this place harbored one couch, a center table, a floor-to-ceiling window, and an elegant bar area filled with different expensive-looking drinks, a closed glass shelf with packs of cigars arranged perfectly inside, and another one filled with different kinds of wineglasses—
“Any purposive reason you’re following me?” he asked, shrugging off his jacket, glancing at me before properly hanging it, and moving to his collection of vinyl. A few seconds later, some ominous classical music filled the air.
He moved to the bar area.
“I wanted to find out what happened with the guy you questioned; did he say anything?”
Elio went behind the counter, brows down as he fixed himself a drink, pulling out a cigar when he was done.
I reached him and leaned on the counter, waiting for his response.