Page 31 of Pursuing the Egoist
THE STORM STOPPEDaround six a.m., after burying the ground in knee-deep snow. The connection that had been lost to the blizzard hours ago magically returned with messages being delivered.
Fifty missed calls, twenty voicemails, one hundred and forty-three texts. Yugo ignored them all as he thumbed the call icon. The click sounded, but before he managed a word, gabbled speech filled his ears. “Yugo, my secretary tried to reach you all night. I swear to God, I had no idea.”
“Is that so?” Yugo murmured, trying to keep his voice calm, but the mayor swallowed on the other side of the line as if sensing his anger. “I heard differently. ‘According to the Chief of Police, this is the result of a tremendous, months-long operation.’On the news, you confirmed this fact.”
“What did you want me to say? I needed to look good on camera. I have an election to win. I just used the opportunity. The damage was already done, so I thought–”
“The opportunity, huh? You are pretty quick with finding them, as I can see.” Yugo’s voice exuded honey. “Now, I trust you to find another opportunity and return my product.”
A deathly hush filled the line. A second passed, then another, as Yugo waited for the mayor to find words. Instead, the sound of shoveling, coming from the outside, chafed Yugo’s nerves.
He approached the window, opened it, and looked out into the immense blueness. The sky had cleared, and not a single cloud reminded Yugo of the storm. Pinkish mist rippled the horizon, but above it, everything was still dressed in sparkling indigo. Yugo filled his lungs with crisp air, finding comfort in its freshness, then looked down.
Below the window, a hale old man hummed “Come Prima” as he enthusiastically shoveled the porch, each screech of metal on stone hammering a heavy migraine into Yugo’s head.
He wanted to tell the doorkeeper to stop but lost his words. About two hundred feet away, in the deep shadow of an old oak, a blue sport motorbike stood snowbound; its silverish side glittering in the soft outdoor lights. Blood slammed into his face, muffling everything with a perpetual din.
For the whole night, watching his business go to hell, Yugo had managed to stay calm, but the mere sight of Mio’s motorbike among the snowdrifts snapped the tiny thread of his patience.
“I’m afraid it’s impossible,” the mayor broke the pause, voice defeated.
Yugo blinked, remembering he was still on the phone, but the call no longer interested him.
“You didn’t understand me, Elias. It’s not a request.” Yugo’s voice gained a metallic ring. “I madeyoupossible so you can always find a way to solve my problems. Don’t ever forget this, or I will replace you with someone more diligent.” Yugo hung up.
Slowly, fighting through the suddenly dense air, Yugo put the phone on the windowsill, then walked out of the office, descended the grand marble staircase, covered with a burgundy stair runner.Upon passing the light-gray, marble hall, he opened a storage closet, grabbed a baseball bat, then strolled out of the mansion, losing his jacket on the way.
“Buongiorno, signore[3],” the old man said.
Yugo ignored him as he strode through the snow toward the old oak. The first swing swished through the air and smashed the headlight of the motorbike. The second one left a major dent in the gas tank. Hit after hit, Yugo poured his aggression onto Mio’s bike, muscles singing with angry adrenaline.
His wet shirt clung to his body; his lungs burned from the cold air.
“No!” Mio yelled. Engrossed in the pure euphoria of distraction, Yugo didn’t notice him approaching until tiny hands grabbed his right biceps, and Mio hung on his arm in a powerless attempt to stop him. “What are you doing?”
Without looking back, Yugo shoved him away. Blood boiling, he kept pouring his frustration onto the small vehicle.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
He didn’t know how much time passed, but when the motorbike fell to his feet in a pile of scrap metal and his hands throbbed from the impact, he let a breath out, threw the bat into the snow, and turned around.
Mio sat in the snowdrift, eyes wide, dry, and full of alarm. Barefoot, with a terrycloth bathrobe hanging loosely around his tiny body, he glared at Yugo with a mixture of hurt and indignation. Yugo didn’t care.
Approaching his nephew, he grabbed his elbow and yanked him upright. Without waiting for him to find his feet, he bent forward, threw Mio over his shoulder, and stomped toward the mansion.
He kicked the front door open and went upstairs into the master bathroom. Approaching the shower, he put Mio down in the cubicle.
Quick hands turned the water on, and hot streams hit Mio’s head. Absorbing the water, the terrycloth lost the fluffy texture and hung heavily on Mio’s scrawny shoulders, making him look like he was about to break under its weight.
Yugo reached forward to help him out of the bathrobe, but Mio shrunk away. Flattening himself against the wall, he watched Yugo with the same alarmed expression.
Fuck…Frightening Mio had never been his plan. Yugo closed his eyes, the weight of the night crushing his shoulders. He needed rest, yet he couldn’t afford it.
When he opened his eyes, Mio watched him with the utmost attention.
“From now on, wherever you go, you will be escorted by bodyguards,” Yugo said, then crouched down. When he took Mio’s foot into his hands, it burned his palms with ice. Carefully, gently, he started rubbing, but Mio still gave out a squeak. Looking into the blown pupils, Yugo added, “If I ever see you on a motorbike again, I’ll be very disappointed and mad. Do you understand?”
Mio’s lips twitched, his brows squished together, but he nodded. Yugo kept massaging. When Mio’s skin burned between his fingers, he placed it on the floor and grabbed the other foot, making Mio cling to the tile wall for balance.
