“He didn’t buy it,” Devil said. “He was the one who rented it, and Zahra—with her pride, she didn’t want Elio to let us know that he did it—made him lie.”
“Still sounds like bullshit to me,” Dog said, his eyes trying to parse out the truth as he watched me.
“Whatever. We’ll have our fun and break for a month, and then head back to Milan. Elio told me he would arrange a place for us outside the compound, but within the district, so that’s awesome. But for now—all animosity aside, we need to fill our pockets because a lot was spent on that cruise, and, well, a little thievery here and there wouldn’t hurt, would it?”
“Sounds like fun if we survive this drug, as Milk pointed out,” Upper said.
“You’ll survive it, and I’ll make up for it—”
“Oh, you will,” Dog said. “All fucking errands will be run by you. You’re our little puppet until we leave Mexico.”
“I accept without complaint,” I answered, knowing it would all be forgotten when we woke up more refreshed tomorrow.
For now, I ate my food.
Easy and jabbing conversations passed around the table swiftly while glares turned into smiles and smiles turned into laughter, and we didn’t even notice when evening turned into night.
I was relaxed, content, in my element, and with my favorite people.
I looked forward to our break because when the time came to work, relaxation would be the furthest thing from our minds, and fortunately, we were more than prepared.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
A month later
Elio
The room smelled like blood and spilled guts.
The odor was repellent, circulating in the area that had once been cold but was now warm due to the mutilated bodies around me and the body heat from four of my soldiers who would, unfortunately, have to clean the mess that had resulted from my anger and empty mind.
I flexed the muscles around my neck, blowing out a breath of relief as one of the soldiers passed me a cigar and a lighter. The moment my gaze settled on my hand as it collected the items, I struggled to see my skin. All that met my vision was blood; coated around my hand, splashed on my forearms, and digging under my nails.
It irritated me, and the urge to soak myself in clean water pulled strong.
I placed the cigar between my lips, lit up the end, and inhaled the smoke until it stroked every nerve ending in my body. I turned back to the massacre.
Five bodies… there were supposed to be six. The Elite people I’d hired were supposed to be fucking six. One of them had escaped. One dead man was still breathing, and a sense of unfinished business touched a nerve that made me picture a gruesome punishment for every man involved in finding these people—for their carelessness and inability to get the job done—Angelo and Casmiro included.
I knew my actions were a little… erratic. The Elite hadno idea who had paid them for the job. Still, it wasme—they diverted, made noise, made things inconvenient for me, and I despised flaws in schemes I had taken the time and energy to build. They brought in flaws—greedy thieves with no regard for courtesy.
I had waited two weeks to do this and wanted to wait a few more weeks—make them sweat a little—but today, my mind had been a void of its own making, webs of anger and a need for blood, and relief had woven itself around my insides, and the urge to visit this little team had plagued me till I succumbed.
Waking up, I wondered why the neutral mood I had carried from the day before never followed me to the new day. In fact, I had been on a phone call with Zahra and, at some point, fell asleep naturally—without taking any pills to aid it.
We had been talking about anything and nothing for hours on end. It started from the time they reached a club, and she’d retired to a private corner to speak with me, distracting me from reading, as she talked about the most random things. She refused to disconnect the phone—for some reason—thinking I was bored to death and her company was the only thing she thought would keep me sane.
I didn’t mind because I enjoyed hearing her voice and the voices of her friends in the background.
Even when she returned to their penthouse, and they had dinner, I was still connected to the call until she went to her bedroom, and I finally settled into bed and drifted off with her still talking and on the brink of sleep herself.
One would think that after all that and a night of perfect sleep, I would wake up feeling light and regular—but no—I felt heavy, and when I picked up my phone to check the time and then caught the date, I knew why I felt like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders.
It was December 1st, my birthday, and I hadn’t mentally been prepared for it.
After my nineteenth birthday, I always took care by schooling my mind a day before my birthday, but things had been going smoothly for the past few weeks. I was happy, I was content, and everything was normal; but somehow, today became so gray. I tried to think of reasons to be happy and grateful, but thinking about them made them gray, too, and the feeling ignited anger. Uncontrollable anger that seemed to sink into my skin and body.
I had taken the longest shower, went back to the bedroom to arrange my bed, and did not like the little crease by the side, so I redid the whole thing; there was a little crease in the middle, and I redid it again—up to five times before I was satisfied—but the work made me angrier.
