Page 91 of City Of Thieves
I don’t know what I expected to find in Room 609, but it wasn’t pristine white walls, an immaculate tiled floor, and showroom furniture. The last time I stood here, it was the color of carnage—red blood stains, flashing blue lights, yellow caution tape…
It’s been three months since Nero died in this room. I was stupid to think the hotel wouldn’t clean and renovate it. It’s not a fucking shrine. Still knowing that countless guests have come and gone since then is hard to reconcile.
Didn’t they feel this heaviness lingering in the air?
This darkness…
His ghost.
A few coats of paint and a new carpet may have hidden the stains, but they will never erase the tragedy that caused them last October.
“You want me to stay?”I ask, but I already know his answer.
“I’m good.” Nero sets his gun on the small desk by the window and tosses his suit jacket across the back of the chair. “Besides, what the fuck are you going to do, Renzo? Sit there and nod like a mute? You know jack shit about that painting.”
Flipping him off, I head for the door.
“Hey, Renzo?” Something in his voice has me pausing in the doorway. It sounds conflicted, almost regretful... Very un-Nero-like.
I glance over my shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Promise me something.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. I’m not promising shit. Thirty plus years of resentment doesn’t just vanish overnight. Me and him? We’re still a work in progress.
“If anything happens to me, you’ll step up and take my place, right?”
Right…
I turn back around. “Goodbye, Nero.”
“I’m serious, Lorenzo.”
He never uses my full name. Only our father does that. When I glance back again, he’s standing in front of the painting he’s brokering a deal for tonight.
“There’s something going on that’s bigger than all this bullshit rivalry between us. I need someone I can trust with me, and blood is stronger than any oath. Me and you, Renzo, we’re brothers. We’re in this together ‘till the end.”
“What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you acting so strange?”
“Just fucking promise me, all right?”
“Fine, Jesus, I promise.”
He nods, but the lines in his face are still there. His smooth-as-glass exterior is a choppy ocean with a ninety-foot swell.
Instinct kicks in, and I take a few steps back inside. “You sure you don’t want me to stick around?”
“Nah.” Retrieving his gun from the table, he checks the clip and then slides it into his holster. “I’m doing this one alone.”
“Suit yourself.” I catch him staring at the painting again. “I don’t get it. Why would anyone pay millions of dollars for something that looks like a kid threw up on it?”
Nero laughs, but the key is off. It’s too brittle.
“Art has its own signature, Renzo. These collectors… They’re always digging for the ones that tell them stories.”
“Whatever you say. Good luck with the meeting. I’ll see you on the flip side.”
He flashes me a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll be waiting.”
