Page 10 of The Villain
The waitress brings me a tumbler of whiskey. “I’m sure you missed me.”
Severin snorts.
“We have a problem, Cassian,” Sybil says.
“And I handled it, Sybil.”
She leans back in her seat and takes a cigarette out of a gold box like she’s a fucking movie star. “How exactly did you handle it?”
“The less you know the better, isn’t that right,Sev?” I ask, shifting my attention to the older Blackstone brother. His jaw ticks. He hates when I use the shortened form of his name. Severin is now head of Blackstone Holdings. Sybil doesn’t have a head for business as much as she may delude herself into thinking she does.
“Go outside and have your cigarette, mother,” Severin tells her. “I’ll handle this.”
She draws in a tight breath, and I wonder for the millionth time what my father saw in her. I mean, she’s beautiful, obviously, but it’s fake. Her face is so full of injectables it doesn’t move. Her hair comes from hours at the hairdresser every three weeks, and the rest of her time she’s either with her personal trainer or shopping. She is a woman who contributes nothing to the world. A waste of space. He certainly didn’t have to marry her to fuck her, and yet he did, and she’s been a thorn in my side for the last seven years.
Severin waits until she’s out of earshot before turning to me. He’s a few months shy of thirty. Our birthdays are only a few weeks apart. Jet is two years younger. I often wonder if he was an accident. Sybil doesn’t hide the fact that her affections for her sons varies.
“Feds came by the casino this week, Cassian.”
I know this. “And?” I sip my whiskey.
“I don’t have to tell you it doesn’t look good for a casino to have Federal investigators poking around.”
“No, I can see that, but it’s handled. Problem solved. They won’t be back.”
“Not good enough. It should never have been a problem to begin with.”
“Well, shit happens, and if I recall, I own the building that houses the casino, so it impacts me as much as it does you.”
“No, your father owns it,” Jet says.
I turn to study him. He gives me an entertained smirk and swallows the last of his whiskey. When Jethro stirs the shit, it usually means he’s bored.
“Stay out of it, Jet,” Severin tells him.
Jet doesn’t bother to acknowledge his older brother. He’s unreadable as ever but he’s been a friend as often as he’s been a foe, and he has his uses. “Your business at the Moretti house? That how you handled it?” he asks me. He’s always been too curious about Trevino business for my liking although if it irritates Severin, that’s a win.
I don’t answer. I won’t need to. I watch the brothers.
“Jet, I told you to fucking stay out of it,” Severin snaps.
“Yeah, Jet, stay out of it.” I lean toward him. “Keep your hands clean. Oh wait, too late.” I shift my gaze to Severin. “They got dirty the minute you took our money to save your necks.”
Severin’s gaze shifts from me to Jet. He pushes his chair back loudly and stands. “I’m here to tell you I don’t want fucking Feds near the casino so handle your shit however you fucking need to handle it or else?—”
“Or else what?” I ask with a smirk. He wants a fight. Severin always wants a fucking fight. And sometimes I really want to give it to him. He’s not stupid though. I can read his hate in his glare, his fisted hands.
“Jethro. Let’s go,” he barks as he turns to leave.
“I’ll catch up,” Jet says casually. He enjoys watching Severin get all riled up.
Severin pauses, opens his mouth to say something to his younger brother but Jet raises his hand to stop him.
I know what Severin was about to say. I’ve heard it a hundred times before. Jet’s curiosity in the Trevino family business makes him nervous. I get it. We are mafia, after all. Severin doesn’t want his kid brother to be a part of our dirty, blood-soaked world, but he’s fine to take our money. To wash it clean and shave off a little for himself. Hell, they all are. Fucking hypocrites. All but Jet, I suppose, to some extent at least.
Jet raises his hand to signal the waitress who refills our glasses.
“Was he surprised?” he asks. He’s referring to Michael Moretti.
