Page 62 of The Wicked

He shook his head. “That shipment will come six months from this one. They shifted the date to accommodate two added containers.”

I frowned. “More barrels?”

Casmiro shrugged. “It’s a shipment for the MCSS. We’re only aiding. I signed off on it because I didn’t want to have to go to their headquarters or bother you with it. It only delayed the shipment by six months.”

The MCSS, Marino Caporegime Sovereign Society. A tight-knit, decades-old society in the body of the Marino empire. They had several associations with different Caporegimes from different families, inside and outside Italy. The society had been created under the supervision of my great-grandfather, and they brought in the second most significant illegal funds, from whatever criminalistic business they depended on to keep the association standing.

Although I had a vague idea of this business, I didn’t care enough to investigate further. They were sovereign, only in my name. They could do whatever they wanted. I was just supposed to make sure they did it without hurting the family name, which I didn’t care about.

They took 30 percent of the gains, gave the official Marino empire account about 30 percent, and the remaining 40 percent, for some reason, went directly to my account.

They’d been trying to rope me into their little cult. Every month, I got emails about the proceedings. They kept me in theloop like I was their god, and each email was like a prayer for me to answer.

I never gave them the time of day because I had more important things to worry about—like burning it all to the ground.

“So, which shipment are you going to oversee?” I asked Casmiro, bringing my mind back to the conversation at hand.

“A thousand oil barrels are coming from associates in South Africa.”

“Oh.” It clicked in my head. “Payment for the favor I granted.”

Casmiro nodded, concentrating on the newspaper.

The silence dragged on until I spoke again.

“But that was almost four years ago; I didn’t ask for a return,” I said.

He sighed in exasperation as if my voice annoyed him. “Nobodywants to owe you favors, Marino. The oil barrels were an outfromthe favor. They managed to gather it as payment.”

I nodded, impressed. “Fair enough,” I said.

He rustled the newspaper pointedly, indicating he didn’t want to talk to me.

“Where in heaven’s sake is that old man? I am very compelled to leave.”

Casmiro ignored me.

I pressed the cigar to the ashtray. The silence made me uncomfortable. It was unlike Casmiro to keep silent when we were in a space together. He always liked picking my brain, wanting to engage me in conversations.

It seemed he was intent on continuing this… malice. We had even taken separate vehicles to get here. It was unsettling and borderline childish.

This was why I preferred to avoid forming relationships. I should have never agreed to involve him in my matters and become his “friend” again. We worked better when our childhood shenanigans were only a memory, never to be remembered. But he had begged me to let him in and trust him, and I hadbeen candid with him. It appeared he thought my warnings were nothing and that there was no way I could mess up our friendship.

“You can ask someone to cover the shipment overseeing for you. The exhibit is a medium for you to learn more about how politics work. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“It is. But I have to oversee things myself and report back to you. That’s myjob,” he said, and I didn’t miss the bite in his tone.

It was silent again, and my drumming increased. His grip on the newspaper tightened at the sound, and I decided to make the last push.

“What is so interesting in tha—”

He cut me off by slamming the newspaper on the table, and a few heads turned towards us. “So this is what you meant by being overbearing and talkative?”

“You agreed to lend your ears.”

“Well, would it help if I said I don’t feel like talking to you?”

My eyes remained on his. “But you have to.”