“You do.”
“But I didn’t knowthis.”
“Now you do,” I answered. “Besides, it is not of any importance. I am the same person you have always known.”
“You are not.” He clarified, “At first, when you came back from the army, I assumed your change was because of all you had had to do there; people are never the same when they return. But something else changed.”
“This conversation is irrelevant.”
“It’s not. You don’t realize it, but you became so much like Ricardo. The beliefs you once swore against were now your motto. You trusted no one; you had these new methods of torture that at first scared the shit out of me. The way you talked, the words you used. You just weren’t the same.”
“How does your new lightbulb moment help our current predicament?”
“It doesn’t, because we are not talking about that; we are talking about you, how to undo whatever those people did to you.”
I tilted my head, watching him. “What if I don’t want to?”
“What?”
“What if I like what they did to me?”
“What if you were made to think that you like it?”
“What if I like that I was made to think I like it?”
Casmiro shook his head. “I hate that there is no winning with you.”
“There is nothing to be won, just like there is no issue here. Hm? I do not need help, nor do I have the desire to get any—nor the time, for that matter. I am almost at the finish line, finding that painting, getting the ultimate power over everyone with power.” I straightened in my chair. “That should be your focus right now, Casmiro. That and trying your best not to be obvious about your interest toward my ex-consigliere.”
His lips lifted in a snarl. “Keep your voice down.”
I looked around. “He’s long gone.”
“There are soldiers around, for fuck’s sake.”
“We both know they won’t talk.” I leveled him with a taunting stare. “We both know you want me to keep my voice down so you don’t have to hear me say it.”
I knew I had successfully taken his attention off my health when he glared at me and said, “You are wrong.”
“Ah… am I?”
“Yes. It’s not what you think. I just wasn’t prepared for his arrival.”
I shook my head.
Angelo’s family had been with the Marinos for decades, although Angelo himself was never around when we were young. He’d lived predominantly in America where he was schooled all his life, but he visited the compound at least five times a year.
Casmiro had been irrationally obsessed with him. But he never talked to him. He just stalked from afar. When Angelo took over for his father as the consigliere, Casmiro made sure to keep his distance, and Angelo, well, didn’t suspect anything.
Now, they conversed when necessary. They weren’t friends, nor were they enemies; they were like coworkers in the same department. Except one was obsessed with the other, who was oblivious and probably didn’t care if the obsessed one existed or not.
I didn’t care. I could politely ignore it as long as I wasn’t put in the middle and affected by it.
“Your helpless pining is beginning to move into pathetic territory. How long has it been? Since we were, like, fourteen, and he was twelve?”
“Says the guy who slept with his brother’s girlfriend.”
“Is that supposed to make me… back off?”
