A mind-video of me slashing a throat, scanning a file, traveling three regions away from Milan, slashing more throats,painting walls red, muffling screams, and carving out flesh filled my vision but vanished with a blink.
“Unsuccessfully.”
“And you killed him just like that?”
“Yes.”
“So… How do you suppose we find the people responsible for the shooting at my racing company?”
“Word has been sent to our associates in Sicily. They will handle it. You need not bother.”
I heard him sigh. “I have been… meaning to ask,” he started, taking my silence as a cue to continue. “It has been two weeks since Street left. I asked my people, and they say you haven’t properly addressed our search for the painting. May I know if they left because of the media chaos after the bus incident?”
“What other reason is there?”
“We sorted out the media alongside some of our associates in America, and the painting is no longer of interest to the masses.” I saw him shift in my periphery. “I think we should bring Street back in. I still communicate with one of them, Upper. And he says they are close to—”
“Casmiro.”
“Yes?”
“Your presence is a bother to me,” I said, raising my head to regard him. “Do you mind leaving.” It was not a question.
He blinked at me, a frown pulling down his brows. “Did something happen?”
“Casmiro.” I closed the magazine. “Leave.”
“Why?”
“Does my command mean nothing now. Have we grown too familiar that you do not understand a simple statement.” Those were also not questions.
His frown remained, and he didn’t make any move to leave. “Now I know why nobody dared say a word when Iasked about you. You’re in a mood. But we don’t have time for your moods. The stakes are higher; we need to get moving if we—”
“We leave for Mexico next week.”
His frown deepened. “Why am I just hearing this?”
“Because I am just deciding it. Now leave.”
“Tell me what happened. Who pissed you off?”
I groaned, regretting not bringing a cigar or a drink with me.
“You are not going to leave me alone, are you?”
“No. You’re acting worse than you usually do. Everyone is waiting for you to snap, so they’re working extra hard, making sure you’ll see no reason to snap and—”
“I made a mistake.” I cut him off, watching how his frown morphed slowly into surprise. I knew that statement might have sounded foreign to him.
“You…” he drawled, not comprehending, “made a mistake.”
“Yes.”
“Can you elaborate?”
“How comfortable are you with discussing matters regarding my brother?”
His eyes searched mine before he asked, “Why would you assume I’m uncomfortable talking about your brother?”
