Page 21 of The Wicked

I nodded. “What do you want me to do about it?”

He frowned. “What?”

“You want me to apologize for abandoning you, hm? You want me to hug you and tell you how much you mean to me? To beg you to go back to Los Angeles, live your best life, and stay away from crime?”

He didn’t respond, but his eyes flared.

“By all means,Devil.Carry on with your thieving addiction and the little minions you consider family. But remember that I own you now—not as a brother, but as a man who stole from me. You want to separate yourself from me, tell me you don’t know me—fine, I have no problem with that because, honestly, it gives me one less thing to worry about.”

“I’m good with that,” he bit out.

Taking a sip from my glass, I began walking toward him again, this time getting in his face. He didn’t flinch.

“I am glad you are good with it. Do you know why?”

His nose flared.

“Because I won’t have to think of you when I put a bullet in the head of one of yourfamily—when I kill them right in front of your eyes, slowly—very slowly because I would desire for you to hear them scream while their lives slip away from their eyes, and then after I’ve done that”—I inched closer to him, directing my mouth to his ear—“I’ll point a gun to your fucking head and do what I should have done years ago. I’m sure your cunt of a mother would appreciate it.”

He shoved me so hard that the glass fell from my hand, shattering on the ground. The shout of anger from Elia was the only warning I got before he pounced on me, and we both fell to the ground.

When his fist connected with my face, I let it happen. I let himhit me repeatedly, and when he yelled, “Fight back!” I didn’t protect myself from him; I allowed him to inflict what little damage he could. I let him pour out his anger.

I let him take what he wanted from me.

Only a few seconds later did the sound of the door busting open reach my ears, and then Elia was being hurled away from me.

About a dozen men were in the room; Casmiro pointed his gun at Elia’s head.

“Don’t you dare!” My voice boomed through the space. Everyone except Elia looked confused.

I jumped to my feet like a madman; my heart was racing, my whole body vibrating with anger and—andfear.Suddenly I was fifteen years old again, and there was a gun pointed at my brother.

Quickly, I pulled him behind me, putting myself between him and Casmiro’s gun.

Immediately, Casmiro lowered his gun, and so did the other men around him.

“Anyone who touches a hair on his head will not live to see the second after. That’s a fucking promise.”

My breathing was harsh, the panic inside me uncurling. Fifteen-year-old Elio was back in my body, and the image of my father was as clear as day in my head: his gun—Elia’s small frame—the tangy smell of blood coming from his dead mother.

Elia yanked his hand away from my hold and bolted from the office without a second glance our way.

I tried to calm my breathing—I tried to count in my head like I used to do all those years ago—but I suddenly forgot how to count, I forgot numbers—I forgot everything. My name, where I was, who I was—everything. My brain was completely empty.

“E, what the fuck just happened? How—”

“Out.” My voice was clipped, short, and unfamiliar.

“What—”

“Out—everyone, get the hell out. Now.”

I heard footsteps retreating, followed by the sound of the door closing and then… silence.

I sank to my knees, unable to stand any longer. My hands shook and my breathing was short.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to remember how to count again—but I couldn’t. I felt like a stranger in my own body, and I craved a sense of familiarity more than I craved air at this moment.