Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Where was she?
There was no time to think on this. A second after I stepped back into the hall, a pale-faced Eduardo stood at the open doorway of his quarters. I opened my mouth to ask him what was wrong, but he cut me off with, “I need you to find Miguel. Find him and come back to me.” He blinked as sweat formed on his brow. He spoke quietly. “Find him. Now.”
Wanting to maintain an air of respect for this man, I did as I was told. I found Miguel and Ling in the kitchen, and not a minute later, we were ushered into Eduardo Castillo’s safe haven, having the door locked behind us.
Miguel was the first to ask, “Papa? What’s wrong?”
Without a response, Eduardo motioned for us to sit then held the remote up to the TV.
The soundless, black-and-white footage played on the massive screen. We watched in complete silence. We watched wide-eyed. I watched seemingly in slow motion, every beat of my heart turning into a weak, dull thud in my chest.
We were in trouble.
As the Russian mobster, and known psychopath, Maxim Nikulin, pierced Raul Mendoza’s heart for the last time, he knelt over his body in the bar’s parking lot, laughing.
Dino Gambino didn’t kill Raul.
Maxim Nikulin killed Raul.
This was not a jealousy-fuelled hate killing.
It was a less convoluted loss of a soldier in a turf war.
Lives have been lost for less. Which only meant one thing.
In my present state, anger bubbled up from a place stored deep inside of me, from the place I told myself didn’t exist. The truth was, I prided myself for being cool, calm and collected, but when something set me off, I could do damage. Granted, it took a lot to set me off. And right now… I was set off.
Standing, I ball my hands into fists, turn to face Miguel and hiss, “Where is she?”
It’s time for damage control.
I’d never needed to do so before. You can say I’m feeling sore about it.
Miguel turns to Eduardo, and utters, “What now?”
Eduardo, rubbing his hands down his face, looks at his son. “We call Vito, show him the video.” Sighing, he stands, walking over to his desk. “Show him that his son has been vindicated. An hour after his death. I’m sure Vito will understand.” He nods absently. “I’m sure he will understand that his son, his firstborn, was put to death”—his voice rises—“because of a false accusation—” face turning red, he roars—“put forth by my son and daughter, Dino’s own wife!” Slamming his hand down on his desk, with one clean swipe, papers, ornaments and office supplies are sent careening to the ground with a crash and clatter. Turning to face us, he blasts sarcastically, “Yes. I’m sure with a simple explanation, all will be well.”
Ling flinches but says nothing.
Miguel blanches. “Papa, I had every reason to believe Dino did it. If Alejandra hadn’t—”
Cutting him off midsentence, Eduardo dips his chin. “This is the end of an alliance. A good alliance. A great alliance. And I want to know why.” Closing his eyes, he utters a hoarse, “Bring me Alejandra.” Sighing through his nostrils, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Bring me my daughter.”
Searching for the better part of an hour brought forth the conclusion that Alejandra had fled. Miguel had called her cell over twenty times, left countless messages on her voice mail telling her he wasn’t angry at her, that he just wanted to know why she did it and he wanted to know if she was okay.
Fuck that.
I was angry. I demanded to know why she lied. And I did not give a flying fuck about her wellbeing. Not right now, anyway.
Vito had arrived shortly after with his sons. His face lowered in shame, Miguel walked them upstairs. Eduardo motioned for the men to sit, and before they started to watch, I wedged myself between the Castillos and Gambinos. Although it would be warranted, violence would not be solving the problems right now.
The video played, and I watched closely as Vito Gambino broke down and cried. The youngest son, Luc, placed his arm around his father and consoled him. The reaction of the middle son, Gio, now the oldest, I suppose, had me puzzled.
He watched Raul Mendoza be slaughtered in cold blood with a smirk on his face.
Vito Gambino stood, guns blazing. “My son!” He looked from Eduardo to Miguel, and snarled, “My son is dead, because of your vermin!”
I expected Eduardo to snap back, to respond snarkily. I hid my surprise as Eduardo came forward, face apologetic, placing one hand on Vito’s shaking shoulder. “I know.” As Vito dipped his chin to cry, Eduardo embraced him like a brother and held him as he mourned, offering him solace and strength in his time of need. “I know. And I cannot express how sorry I am, Vito.” Patting his back, he uttered a firm, “I will fix this.”