Page 9 of Bastian

Thankfully, the ringing of a phone brings my thoughts back from the dark.

Sandoval’s phone.

He picks it up and immediately starts to argue with the person on the other end of the line. From the loud screeching, it is obvious that it is a woman. His wife?

I watch him hang up and throw the phone down at the table after calling her a vindictive bitch.

Sensing the mood growing dark, I ask him, changing the topic. “How do you do it? How do you stay with a woman who’s sucking the soul right out of you?”

He takes another drag of his cigar and throws back what’s left of his drink before sighing. “She’s my punishment.” The miserable bastard says staring straight at me with soulless eyes then a mocking smile appears on his face. “Besides good women…good women who bring heaven to men like us don’t exist.”

Good women.

Heaven.

Lighting up a cigar, I take a quick drag, exhaling the smoke upwards. “I had that once.” I had that, and I fucked it up. I hurt her, and there’s no going back from that, yet I still try. I tried countless times to find her, but she made it impossible for me to do so.

“What?” Sandoval asks while looking straight at me with brows furrowed.

“A good girl. The best girl.” I find myself getting angry with myself all over, knowing damn well that there is no healing from the scars her heartbreak left. “She was my heaven on Earth, and I hurt her.”

A long silence follows before Sandoval speaks. “Are you referring to that pretty blonde prime pussy from years ago?” Raising my head, my grip on my cigar tightens, and I pin him with a look that says, ‘say that shit again and you'll find yourself with my cigar shoved inside your eye socket.’ But Sandoval could care less about insulting me or anyone close to me, aside from my child. He never goes there nor do I think he ever will. “You know…Seba. What you did to that girl was cold, and that’s coming from a cold fucker like me. The whole goddamn world witnessed that girl–” I interrupt him before his words cut me deeper, more than they already have. “Shut the fuck up, Sandoval.” I know what I did. I didn’t need him reminding me of my monumental fuck up. Besides, the son of a bitch has no moral ground to talk about what happened. The asshole ambushed an innocent woman and her kid. Luckily for them, he got his head out of his ass in time and didn’t go through with murdering a world-renowned fashion designer and her young child.

Kids are off limits, and he knows it too.

He shrugs, “La verdad duele, Sebastian. Don’t blame me for your stupidity and, instead, deal with it.” He mumbles while looking at his dealt cards. “Nobody likes a whiny bitch.”

Scoffing, I let that one slide because going back and forth with Thiago Sandoval sometimes, no, most of the time, feels like arguing with a child.

One of his men approaches the table and whispers something in his ear that makes him tense. “Cabrón.” He growls before whispering something back to his man and dismissing him.

“Problem?” I ask him.

“Nothing that concerns you. Just Detroit filth stinking up my city. I’ll handle it as I always do.” He says darkly before adding more chips to his bet.

Doing the same, I speak. “Nicolasi or the Volpe family?”

“Both.”

It hurts to say the fucking name, but there’s no use since Kadra Parisi always stays away from petty dramas between the cities. Her only issue is with New York, from what I have heard.

New York and Philly.

The two cities are run by the Russians and the Irish.

Sandoval, on the other hand, has issues with Lucan Volpe and Lorenzo Nicolasi. One is the son of the man who murdered his daughter, sister, and mother, and the other punk posing as a capo is the one who murdered Rodrigo in retaliation.

Feeling the hassle of the day get to me suddenly, I find myself exhausted and ready to go back home to Washington. Ready to get back to my Ellaiza.

I had to leave her behind with Banning and half of my security back at the White House to attend three social events here in Chicago for two of my organizations.

Where I had to put on my best smile and pretend.

I was used to pretending before, but I was numb to it all. I am not numb now, and I feel everything. I have to admit that it is getting to me.

Emptying my glass of whiskey, I show Sandoval my cards, knowing I lost this game. My head just wasn’t in it. “I guess I’ll be vacationing in PR soon, Seba.” My longtime friend shows me his cards, declaring himself the winner, yet he doesn’t smile, and there’s only a blank look on his face.

“My lawyer will be drawing the papers, naming you the new owner of the resort,” I tell him at the same time I stand up from the chair, and the moment I do, the wall of criminals standing guard behind their boss face off against my team of men.

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