Page 90 of The Right Garza
The two exchange some kind of silent communication, then Lorenzo grunts and walks out.
Stefano waves me to him. “You’re coming with us, Lexi.” He then points at Slim like he’s a dog and tells him, “Don’t set even a foot out of this building until I say you can.”
I take two steps forward, then halt.
I like neither men, but I know the lesser of the two evils is Slim. He wouldn’t hurt me, at least not in the way the Castellos would. It’s not who he is. But at the same time, he can’t save me either. He’s even more terrified of these men than I am.
“Come, Lexi,” Stefano sternly beckons.
Knowing I have no choice here, I go to him.
He takes my chin between his fingers and turns my face to the side. “Oh dear,” he mutters, then flicks his gaze over my head to Slim. “You better pray this bruise fades by the time my cousin gets here. I wouldnotwant to be you if it doesn’t.”
With that, he takes my hand and leads me to the elevator.
~
“Are you hungry?”
I drag my dazed attention from the window and direct it to the man sitting next to me. We’re in the back of an Escalade, chauffeured by one of his suited men. Another suit is seated in the passenger seat up front. Identical Escalades drive both ahead of us and behind us, as if they’re escorting the president or something.
Stefano watches me expectantly, and even though my appetite at the moment is nonexistent—who can eat at a time like this?—I have a feeling there’s only one answer to this question, so I reply, “Yes.”
“Good.” He gets out his phone. “What do you want?”
“Um, a cheeseburger…and fries.”
“Nope.” He shakes his head.“Grease and dairy don’t go well with fear.”
“How would you know?” I ask him. “You don’t strike me as someone who fears.”
“No.” He lifts the phone to his ear. “But I have fed a lot of men before I killed them. The grease makes them vomit, the dairy makes them shit themselves. Makes for a messy cleanup.”
Who talks this casually about murder? How on earth are Trent and these people related?
Into the phone, he says, “Seafood from Calla’s. Two fish and vegetables. One shark, one salmon.” As he hangs up and returns the phone to his jacket pocket, he mutters, almost to himself, “For some reason, when people think they are about to die they ask for cheeseburgers. What’s so goddamn special about cheese fucking burgers?”
I don’t even attempt to offer any kind of clarity. He’s a strange individual. “Are you really related to the Garzas?”
“Yes.”
“But… I grew up with them. Lived right across the street from them,” I say, unable to hide the disbelief from my voice. “I’ve never seen or heard of you—Castellos.”
Stefano eyes me with mild curiosity. “That’s because we were not allowed to visit them. They visited us.”
“Why were you not allowed to visit?”
“The Jamaican goddess.”
“You mean Monica?”
At the hum of a dull buzz, he holds up a finger and gets out his phone to take a call.
The phone call lasts for several long minutes, but as soon as he hangs up I ask, “What did Monica do?”
For a moment he frowns at me with a confused expression, as if he’s forgotten our conversation already.
I’m about to remind him when he snaps his fingers with an “Ah” as though the conversation has just returned to him. And I imagine what the thoughts inside his head must be like.
