I look at Lucas with a grin I know is sinister.
“I’m going to give it to them. For a price.”
“Carlos, are you sure you want to get dragged back into all of this? It could follow you home. It's bad enough Dima and Lev are going to get tangled in this.”
“I’m not getting dragged into anything. I’m finished. Tying up loose ends. Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then work with me on this. Whatever he says to me we can’t react, not until we have support. We can’t physically take this on with just the three of us. But I need you to be there for whatever happens to Simon. We’re going to have to act our asses off down there.”
“Let's go do this,” Luca says, pumped up and ready. We both leave my room and as we get to the end of the hallway, the guard, Caio, stands there, armed, waiting for us.
“Your father has instructed me to take you to him. Don’t try anything, either of you.”
I raise my hands in fake surrender.
“I wouldn't dream of defying the dear old man.”
Caio frowns at me and starts walking, as we follow behind him. On the outside I’m composed, cold and detached. But on the inside I’m screaming, filled with dread at what I will see. To have to look Simon in the eye, knowing I will have to lie to save us.
The walk to the meeting room seems to take forever. It's in the oldest part of the house, an area that's kept away from the ‘home’. I’ve seen many men tortured and die in that room. The amount of ghosts that haunt it makes it feel like a tomb. My father is a sadistic man though, loves to instill fear and cause maximum damage. I would say I’m the same, but this is different, this involves someone that belongs to me in all ways.
When we arrive at the large dark double antique wooden doors, I take in a breath. Praying that I can pull this off.
The doors creak open and I’m relieved to have Lucas by my side, grounding me, because I need an anchor right now. As we walk inside, the room feels like it's been frozen in time. An oppressive weight presses down on me from every corner. Corners of the room that have witnessed all the horrors that have taken place here. The air smells faintly of old leather, cigar smoke and something metallic, like blood, that clings to my nostrils. Low, red tinted lighting barely fights against the black walls, casting long, eerie shadows that stretch and shift as if they have a mind of their own.
The atmosphere is heavy with the weight of forgotten years. Velvet curtains in deep red hang from the walls, pooling on the floor like blood stains. Gold accents flash in the dimness—ornate frames, tarnished chandeliers and gilded trim on the furniture, giving the place an almost regal, yet grotesque feel. Individual leather chairs that are worn from the years of use are scattered about the room, intentionally keeping the people separated, isolated in their own misery. A small bar sits at the back of the room, a dark mahogany bar top stretches across the wall, bottles of hard liquor lined up like sentinels.
But my main focus is in the center of the room—a small elevated stage surrounded by thick, heavy curtains where Simon stands in only his underwear, with his arms bound above his head, tied to a metal pole. He is gagged with a thick silk piece of material and when he sees me, hope flares in those beautiful brown eyes. He starts to pull against his restraints, muffled cries for help float across the room, making my ears bleed in distress.
I go to take a step toward him, heart racing, an uncontrollable roar of anger burns through me like wildfire. I won’t leave him, but I can’t help him right now. We’d all be killed on the spot. My nails dig into my palms, my pulse surging with the need to break the bastards who hold this place together, to rip them apart leaving a pile of bodies in my wake. And I will. Just not yet.
“Don’t get any closer, and take a seat, son,” my father says. I didn’t see him standing behind me. It takes all my energy to not leap on him, but I have to be smart. Lucas, sensing my dilemma, nudges my arm, reminding me of what we need to do. We both walk over to two vacant seats, directly opposite Simon, and sit next to each other. The confusion and plea in Simon’s eyes is tearing every fiber in my body. I stare at him intensely, trying to convey what's happening, but it's of no use. He has no fucking idea what’s happening.
My father casually walks onto the stage next to Simon, and addresses the room where there is me, Lucas, Caio and two other of my father’s guards. I’m surprised not to see Enrico here. I really hope Mark managed to contact Dima and Pedro as I need them both more than ever.
“Can we get on with this without all the dramatic build up?” I say, feigning boredom as I watch my piece of shit father revel in his ego.
“As you wish. I didn’t want to have to do this, but your stubborn refusal to do the right thing has pushed my patience too far. You’ve had your time. America has done nothing but fill your mind with perverse ways of living. I know about those men you do business with. That would never be allowed here. You should be ashamed.”
“Homophobia. So predictable. The problem is I love dick. I will always want a man and I will never obey and marry some woman you have lined up for me. So if this is your way of manipulating, you need to do better.”
“Do not talk like that, Carlos. Respect your father,” a voice booms from the door. Bruno. I wondered where that old fuck had gone after picking us up from the airport.
“Be careful, Bruno. From what I’ve heard, you’ve been known to fool around with younger men in your time.”
Bruno’s face is as red as a tomato as he prepares to rush over to me to take me on.
“Enough!” my father shouts.
“This,” my father says, pointing to Simon. “This is your problem. Making you believe you could have a normal relationship.”
“He has done no such thing.”
“But it's what you want, isn’t it? To be with him? Finally I’ve found a chink in your armor, son.”
“It doesn't matter either way. We’ve already had this discussion, and I made my feelings perfectly clear about what would happen if you touched him.”
