“We need to think and plan,” he states. Of course, the Machiavelli boss needs a calculated strategy before moving.
The fuck with that. “Think?” I spit out. “Who knows how long Mario will be here?”
“Why would he leave?” Marco tries to reason with me, but I’m too on edge for that.
“I want that fucker dead!” I hiss, tossing the other knife. I yank my shoulder away, forcing Seb’s hand off me. What the fuck is with all the touching?
“It’s not working,” Marco suddenly says, looking at Seb. “Just stop.”
“Stop what?” My eyes move from one to the other.
“Neurolinguistic programming,“ Seb simply states after a moment.
“Neuro what?” I’m so close to punching both of them.
“The power of suggestion.” Marco’s words confuse me even more.
“I don’t get it,” Fly voices my exact thought—in a much nicer way.
“There are techniques aimed at altering behavioral patterns, methods to train the mind to react to triggers in a predetermined way. Like patting someone’s shoulders to calm them down.” Marco lifts his hand and wiggles his fingers.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I snap at them.
“So…patting his shoulder stops his anger?” Fly goes for a clearer explanation.
I try to remember all the times those two fuckers touched my damn shoulder. I’m panting like a bull ready to charge as I wonder if that is even fucking possible. Seb is too damn analytical to waste time on something with no logical reasoning. Suddenly my memories add another person to the list, and my eyes lock with Seb’s.
“Don Massimo,” I utter softly. He used to pat my shoulder every time he talked to me. I always connected it with affection and a sense of solace.
“Yes,” Seb confirms. “That’s how my father stopped you from spiraling.”
Don Massimo started this?
“He was worried about you. We all were. Do you remember when you turned fourteen? You drove a car into that storage facility because you thought Jack Enzino was there,” Marco reminds me.
I still have the scar on my foot, but the place was deserted, and I only broke my ankle.
“The doctor at the hospital told Don Massimo you were showing kamikaze tendencies.” Marco keeps going. “He didn’t believe him. Boys will be boys, right? But then the port incident happened a month later, where you almost fucking drowned. Then the one with the bullet body shape at Coretti’s club, and the time you got drunk and we had to tie you to your bed to stop you from going on a killing fucking spree. You were struggling, Luca, watching the two men responsible for your family’s death continuing their lives like nothing had happened.”
I take a step back, looking up at the ceiling. I remember wanting to get rid of them at any cost. I didn’t care if I died in the process or hurt someone else. I was trapped in a loop of repetitive, negative thoughts.
Those fuckers didn’t even know who I was—they still don’t, one reason could be because I have my mother’s surname. But they killed so many people that they forgot about most of them, like insignificant ants you step on while walking.
“The doctors kept recommending mental facilities to help you cope with your destructive feelings. But I told my father separating us three wasn’t an option.” Seb’s piercing gaze zeroesin on mine. The resolution in his voice is clear as day. “So I looked for a different approach until I talked to him about neurolinguistic programming. Although he was skeptical, he tried anyway. The pat on the shoulder was his way to express his care toward the three of us. So we used that. A familiar, positive trigger has more chances to work. And it did.”
“Can the pat actually calm him down?” Fly talks for me again.
“It makes him think more…logically.” Marco nods.
How didn’t I see this before? How is this even possible?
“You mean, you fucking got inside my head,” I hiss. The betrayal runs deep, but the benevolent reason behind their actions mollifies me a little and also infuriates me to no end. I can’t even hate them properly for fucking tricking me since they were doing it in good faith.
“We hacked into your head and assuaged your…detrimental avenging urge.” Marco raises his palms up, pretty sure Seb said that at one point, and he’s just repeating it.
A sudden thought shows up. “What…what else did you do?” Did they fuck with my head some more? Art. Did they do something to make me feel like this toward him?
“To you? Nothing else,” Seb says, and I know it’s the truth because he never lies to us. But then he looks Marco’s way.
