Page 96 of Tragic Empire

“Oh my gosh, this is Elliot,” Ana gushes, waving the polaroid for all of us to see. “His mum Heather, she works at St. Mary’s full time. And she was eight months along when she went into labor during a snowstorm! I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, but I was the only person around. So an EMT coached me through the phone and I caught him as she delivered. Scariest shift of mylife.”

“You delivered a whole freaking baby?” Colton exclaims. “That’s fucking bad ass, doll.”

I hardly hear it as Armani agrees with him, my ears starting to whoosh, sound becoming muffled. My eyes are glued to the photo, a sickness churning deep in my gut.

Afterbirth and blood painting pale skin.

Dark hair stuck to a tiny head.

It’s like I’m punched in the stomach and violently attacked by remembrance. I’m not seeing the little boy Ana describes.

I’m not seeing Elliot.

I’m seeing Angel.

I need to leave.

Pretending to be alerted by my phone, I pant a distracted kiss on the top of Ana’s head and remove myself from the group.

“I’ll be back soon,” I tell them, voice strained.

“Where are you?—”

I can’t hear the end of my wife’s question because the door is already swinging shut behind me. Rushing to the parking garage on unsteady feet, I send a text, praying for a quick response.

Cassio

Are you still in New York?

Just as I start the engine of my Aston Martin, an affirmative response lights up my screen. I breathe out hard, and fucking drive. A blur of traffic and buildings whirl around me as I try to control whatever the fuck is happening to me. I feel like I’m losing it, and I don’t know how much longer I can take this agony.

Parking illegally on the street outside a Moretti-owned hotel, I toss my keys at the concierge and storm into an elevator. I press the correct button rapidly until the door shut, breathing wildly until the telltale ding sounds, delivering me where I need to go.

I pass by familiar guards, watching as they examine me and then respectfully avert their eyes. Knocking hard on a solid oak door, I pound until it swings open, revealing the man I’m here to see.

The floodgates of emotion burst open and I’m lost.

“Cass?” Leon asks, eyes wide. “What’s wrong? You look like?—”

He can’t finish his question as tears spill down my face. I step inside, slamming the door shut behind me, collapsing into my brother’s frame.

“My s-son is dead,” I stutter, gasping for air. “He’s dead. I c-can’t?—”

“Oh fuck. Hey, hey, shhh.” Leon hushes me, patting my back hard. “I know Cassio, shit. You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

It was exactly like this before, finding Leon a week after Angel’s passing. He’s the only brother I’ve cried in front of, the only one I’ve ever brought myself to open up with. We were so close as kids, and I’ve leaned on him more than I deserve to. I constantly push him away and pull him back since losing my son, and he’s never complained.

“It’s all right, let it out,” Leon tells me softly. “No one else is here.”

I think about my son every day without fail. He’s always on my mind and in my heart. But today is different. Today I saw him, saw his lifeless tiny body flash in my mind. And it fucking broke me all over again.

“It’s not fair,” I lament, choking back a sob. “My son, Leon. My fucking son. Why?”

“Just breathe,” my brother rasps. “I got you, Cass. Just breathe.”

I don’t know how long the tears flow, but when I’ve finally begun to calm down, I have a pounding headache and my eyes burn.

“Tell me what happened,” Leon says, guiding me into a leather armchair. “Talk through it, Cassio. You’ll feel better after.”