“Of course you’d think that. The two of you are cut from the same cloth. Blood and madness are your middle names, so it’s only natural for you to find her interesting. No offense, by the way.”
I chuckle. “None taken. I love myself some blood and madness. It’s fun, therapeutic.”
“Therapeutic?” Aras repeats, then laughs. “Like I said:madness.”
“You’re a killer too, though, aren’t you? Surely you enjoy the things you just listed.”
Aras polishes off his scotch and sets the empty glass next to the ashtray. “I kill, yes, but I don’t like making a mess, Ledger. I end lives quickly, neatly. I told you earlier: I don’t like getting my hands dirty. As much as I enjoy witnessing torture, I don’t exactly enjoy delivering it. I’m a crazy motherfucker, but I do have preferences.”
“I can respect that.” I take one more pull from my cigarette, then kill it on the ashtray and exhale a dull puff of smoke. “So, about Safiya…”
He laughs again. “Seriously?”
“Did I stutter, Lutkus?”
He sighs, then fixes the collar of his black shirt. “Well, let’s just say that the Gaddafi and Lutkus families were going to unite in marriage through Safiya and my brother around three years ago, but didn’t because Safiya stole something from us and denied having taken it. Now, we’re always at each other’s throats becausewethink they are liars, andtheythink we’re false accusers.”
“Why invite her to the gala, then, if your families don’t see eye-to-eye?”
“Curtesy. And also, to avoid unnecessary gossip – or worse, ascandal,” Aras provides. “The conflict between our families – it’s a personal affair. And I’d very much like it if it stayed that way. If Safiya hadn’t attended the gala tonight, her absence wouldn’t have gone unnoticed by the other upper classes. She knew that too, which is why she showed up here. She hates my guts just as much as I hate hers, but seeing each other’s faces every once in a while is better than seeing our names in a newspaper-columnwritten by bored, invasive journalists. We just have to pick the necessary evil when there’s no other choices, so to speak.”
I let out a low whistle. “Man, I’ve barely stepped foot into this world, and I already think this shit is way out of my level of expertise.”
Aras grunts in agreement. “Welcome to Anaheim, my friend. The mafia bullshit here isn’t for everyone, that’s for sure. You try to stay on one family’s good side, and accidentally end up offending the other. It’s a whole ballgame, I’m tellin’ ya.”
“I do not doubt it,” I say. “But I’m sure you don’t mind offending the Byrons, given that you want me to kill Fredrick’s son.”
“Fred can kiss my ass,” Aras spits out. “And so can Timothy.”
I laugh. “Now, wouldn’t that be–”
My phone pings back-to-back with new messages, so I immediately pull it out before looking at the screen. I can feel Aras watching me, but he’s respectfully keeping his distance, which I appreciate.
Cigs:You know what I just realized????????????
Cigs:You have peacock-blue eyes! Yes, that’s it! YOU HAVE PEACOCK EYES, DORRAN!
Cigs:DORRAN?????????????
Cigs:Baaabyyyyyyy????????
“Oh, forfuck’ssake.”
“Everything okay?” Aras asks.
I look up. “Just someone I love being a goddamn menace, that’s all,” I hiss.
“Uh…”
I push my fingers through my hair. “I gotta go, man; I’m sorry for being abrupt.”
“No problem at all. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“I wish,” I mutter, then give Aras a pat on the arm before all but jogging down the stairs to go find my now-drunk girlfriend.
I’d asked one thing of her.
Justone.
