"Look at you, all composed. Are you a man or a robot, Moor?" Roderigo snapped.
"How many of my people are loyal to Iago?" Othello asked, shutting down Roderigo's ramblings.
Roderigo didn't answer, and Othello looked at Zoraki, who got his message. Zoraki pointed to one of his men, who pulled out a gun with a silencer and shot Roderigo in the right leg, causing the man to scream bloody murder. No one moved to help him. Roderigo writhed and moaned in his chair as the scent of blood and burning flesh filled the room.
"I suggest you answer the question before you lose your other leg," Othello said. "How many of my men have gone over to Iago's side?"
Roderigo groaned in pain, and Othello grew impatient and annoyed the more time Roderigo took to answer.
“Why are you doing this?” Roderigo whimpered.
“You three sat around and plotted how to kill me, and you ask why?” Othello snarled.
“How did you find out?” Roderigo asked.
“Stop stalling and answer my question,” Othello snapped.
“Are you going to kill me?” Roderigo panted, sweat coating his face.
“Stupid question,” Othello said, rolling his eyes.
“Are you going to kill Iago?”
Roderigo asked the one thing he’d been wondering himself. It had been a couple of hours since Othello learned about Iago’s deceit, and he was still trying to wrap his head and heart around it.
“I don’t know,” Othello whispered, then stood, staring at Roderigo. “I planned on burning this place down with you in it since I know how much you love this place. But it was the drugsand money you had hidden that you cared about more. Too bad it’s no longer yours.”
“Moor, what are you planning? I’ll tell you, none. Not one of your men would side with Iago. They don’t trust him. Please don't kill me. I'll finally listen and stay away,” Roderigo shouted, but Othello ignored him and looked at Zoraki.
“I don’t care how you do it; just make sure it’s nice and clean,” he told Zoraki. “His father won’t care that he’s dead. His mother, on the other hand, is a different story.”
Othello walked away, ignoring Rodrigo shouting his name. He then walked out of the storage room and over to the bar, pouring himself a glass of bourbon. He picked it up to drink it but growled angrily and threw his glass across the room just as Zoraki walked over to the bar. Othello was angry with himself. He wanted to feel some joy in torturing and killing Roderigo, but he felt unsatisfied and empty.
“It’s hard when those closest to you betray you,” Zoraki said. “What’s harder is knowing that you can’t let him live.”
Othello knew what Zoraki said was the truth. He couldn’t let Iago live. He was about to say something when his cellphone vibrated. Pulling it from his jacket pocket, his brows furrowed when he saw Iago's name on the screen. He gasped, staring at the screen, unsure of what to do. His thumb trembled as he hesitated before he connected the call.
“Yeah,” he answered, his throat scratchy and tight.
“O, I need your help,” Iago said hurriedly.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
“It’s Emilia. She didn’t come home. I called her phone, but it kept going to voicemail. Fuck, O, I think something might have happened to Emilia and the twins. I need you to help me find them.”
Othello was a little shocked by the worry in Iago’s voice. It was as if he really loved her.
“Didn’t you say she went to see a friend?”
“Yeah, but that was hours ago. She should have been home already.”
“Did you call the friend she went to see?”
“I—I don’t know who she was with. I actually don’t know any of her friends.”
“Un-fucking-believable,” Othello cursed, closing his eyes, not meaning to voice his thoughts. Emilia was right; the man knew nothing about the woman he had claimed to love for many years.
“Wait. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Othello told him.
