Page 19 of The Wicked

I watched them all file out before looking over at Casmiro and Angelo and raising a brow.

Casmiro frowned. “Us too?”

“Yes, Casmiro.”

His eyes shifted between Devil and me before he asked, “Is everything good?”

“Everything is perfect,” I answered.

“Okay,” Casmiro said, nodding to Angelo as they both walked to the door before Casmiro turned back to me. “Hey, if he tries—”

“If he tries to stab me in the neck, I’ll cry for help; now leave.” My knee was bouncing rapidly underneath the table.

Rolling his eyes, he and Angelo walked out. I allowed a minute of silence, closed my eyes, and let out a long, controlled breath before speaking.

“What thefuckhave you gotten yourself into, Elia?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Elio

I found out my father was having an affair when I was eight.

And when I was nine, I saw my half-brother for the first time. Father had named him Elia; he was so tiny, fragile, and innocent. I used to be angry that my father had forgotten his vow to my mother. I knew he lacked common morals, but I’d always respected that even though he didn’t show it, he loved my mother—well, until the day I saw him kissing a dark-haired woman in his car.

My father told me that no matter what I did, I couldn’t tell my mother, my sister, or my brother that we had another blood relative. I felt guilty whenever my father would take me to see Elia, guilty that my family didn’t get to meet him, to see how precious he was, and guilty for denying Elia the opportunity to meet them.

I vowed that one day I would get my father out of my head, and I would make sure everyone knew about Elia. I swore that I’d give Elia a chance to know my family; but that was until my father decided he didn’t want anything to do with Elia nor his mother after he found out Elia’s mother had seen something she shouldn’t have, and the next solution he could come up with was to get rid of them.

I was fifteen, and Elia was just six when we watched my father and his mother lash each other with words, a scenario that led to a bullet right between her eyes. It took me a good two minutes to remember Elia wasn’t supposed to see that, but before I could shield his eyes from his mother’s lifeless body, he’d seen it all. But I still held him, and my grip tightened when my father turned his furious and sick gaze to us, pointing the gun in Elia’s direction.

“Step away, Elio,” my father had said, his voice molded with hatred and determination. “I don’t want you stained with the sinner’s blood.”

I remember how the gun resting at the back of my pants burned at my skin. I wanted to shoot him—to kill my father. The urge was strong, but I knew I couldn’t do it. I’d never killed anyone; I didn’t have the guts to do it.

“Move, Elio,” he said with an impatience that had me blurting out the first words I could think of.

“I’ll do it.”

My father raised his brow in confusion and question. “Repeat that.”

I gulped, my form rigid with panic and decision. “I will kill him myself.” I lifted my chin and hardened my gaze. “No one betrays Marino and lives. The sinner doesn’t exist if your bullet ends up in them.”

My father studied me for eight damning seconds before lowering his gun and slowly walking over to me. He placed his hand on my shoulder, and I was baffled at how I didn’t jump out of my skin.

He looked me in the eye as he said, “I renounce Elia as my flesh and blood. When you kill him, you kill the last of his bloodline.”

I gave a single firm nod.

“I am proud of you, Elio. Make sure I see proof.”

“I will, sir.”

He nodded and looked at Elia in disgust. His gaze was hard enough that I visibly flinched, and then he was gone.

I released a breath, my ears ringing in alarm because I knew I wouldn’t do it—but I knew coming to a decision about Elia was inevitable. I knew I had to provide proof. I knew I needed a bucket full of luck if I wanted to save Elia’s life—and I did save him, but it came at a cost I knew I would never be able to pay, and a part of me I knew I would never be able to get back.

I learned three things that day. My father was a sinner, and like the many he killed, he also didn’t deserve to live, but unfortunately, the same now applied to me.