Page 84 of The Wicked
And yes, I was proven right when I woke up to a bright day, the fire quenched with light smoke erupting from the ashes, and the man in black nowhere to be found.
I cursed, got to my feet, and called out his name, but I got no response.
He didn’t just leave me here, did he?
I looked around and noticed the morning fog dissipating and the sun rising in the distance.
“Motherfucker,” I muttered with grit, shrugging the trench coat off my body in anger. “That bastard.”
I turned on my heel the moment something sharp whizzed past me, landing with a soft thud on a tree. I turned to the tree, squinting my eyes to see a small red syringe—“Ouch!” A sharp pain pricked my neck, and I quickly moved to pull out another syringe, bringing it to my view—
“Oh, fuck me.”
I lost control of my legs and fell straight to the ground, dizziness tugging at my eyelids as echoing footsteps reached my ear.
From my blurry vision, I saw them dressed in all black, with masks covering their faces.
One of them bent down and took off their mask… I spotted a grin as he said, “Dors bien.”
I might be crazy, and my knowledge of that language might be rough, but that sounded so much like—French for…sleep well?
My vision blackened, but I heard someone else speak.
“Carry her; let’s go.”
It was too late, but it dawned on me that the Russians weren’t the only ones hunting for that painting…
What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into here?
And then I felt my body lifted from the ground, and I was thrown over a shoulder, the earth zooming in and out in a stomach-turning way. My tongue was heavy, my body numb, and I finally… finally gave in to the darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Elio
Control, unpredictability, and the ability to make decisions for the sake of the greater good have always been my strong suits. Some of my father’s many lessons and why I had lasted so long in this business, in this world. I didn’t throw temper tantrums; I didn’t do things incapable of benefitting me; I didn’t go off my self-made script. I was always ten steps ahead of a situation.
For example, the ugly but priceless chihuahua painting. It didn’t look like much, just a square-framed blue-and-gray picture of a chihuahua with too-wide eyes, a crooked mouth, with her head bent at an odd angle, a head I’d had the pleasure of patting once… Many people wouldn’t believe it—but that chihuahua, though odd-looking, was one of the sweetest pets that had ever gotten to grace this world.
Arturo Garza, the owner of the chihuahua, a dark-skinned, burly man who was untouchable to the point that he had the pleasure of dying at an old age, had been quite influential during his reign. This man knew everyone who was anyone. He could answer any question with the right incentive—a nutcase on his best days—but I still admired him.
Why? He had been the mastermind of all masterminds. There was also the fact that he was the first man my father had cowered in front of. I was eighteen when we first traveled to Mexico to find him. Then, I didn’t know why, but my father had said Arturo was a man never to be crossed; he said he could squash us with just a snap of his fingers.
When we’d gotten to Arturo’s manor, my father had beensweaty and shaky. Though I waited outside, I could hear my father’s angry voice, yelling at Arturo, trying to intimidate the man, but the man’s response was always level, not shaky or lacking composure.
My father had opened the door, and I caught a glimpse of Arturo, a cigar between his lips and a small dog in his arms; our gazes connected before the door closed, and my father pulled me out with him.
On the way back, my father had been reeling with anger, and I just watched him. Feeling some peace from seeing him so unsettled.
At twenty-six, a few years after I’d taken over the empire, I took a trip to Mexico, seeking Arturo.
The man recognized me, and the dog perked up at the sight of my figure, tail wagging from left to right. I had crouched down, patting her. I liked her; she was odd but confident.
She reminded me of myself, and I temporarily forgot where I was until Casmiro discreetly kicked me.
I looked up, catching Arturo’s interested gaze as he ushered me to his study.
He told me I was the first to look at his dog for over a second.“People are always threatened by things they don’t understand,”he had said, and he had been right. He sounded so wise and made me feel comfortable enough to ask him anything.
