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“Let’s pray it’s our imagination going wild.”
“No matter what,” I end the conversation. “If he doesn’t know about our connection to the ghost, we must ensure he never traces the phantom back to us.”
Chapter 27
The Art Of War
Jasmine
Even once back at Dario's apartment, I can't shake off the uneasy feeling that has settled in my chest ever since our meeting with his trusted allies.
It's clear the burden weighs heavy on Dario too when he speaks out at last. "Jasmine," Dario says softly, his voice strained as the door clicks shut behind us. "I don't know what to make of all this."
His eyes, usually so confident, are now clouded with doubt. I can see the internal conflict brewing inside him, threatening to consume him. It must be tearing him apart, questioning his loyalty to his own father.
"Talk to me, Dario," I urge him, trying to offer some comfort. "You don't have to face this alone."
He hesitates for a moment before allowing himself to open up. "All my life, I've looked up to my father. He taught me everything I know about honor, loyalty, and trust. But now…now I wonder if those lessons were just a facade. If his words were just words and if, in fact,"
His voice cracks, and I can see the pain etched across his face. He takes a deep breath and continues. "If, in fact he trained me to be honorable, loyal and trusting just towards him. But the same doesn't apply to him now, does it?"
"Hey," I say gently, placing a hand on his arm. "It's okay to question things. It doesn't make you disloyal. It makes you human."
Dario nods, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "You're right. I need to find out the truth, no matter where it leads me. I owe it to myself and to my family. To my mother."
"Your mother?" I ask, quizzically.
"Years ago," he begins to tell me about his father's lie and cover-up of his mother's death. When he tells me how he came across her grave, my heart lurches into my stomach. By the time he finishes, I know I have no shred of respect left for Don Marchetti.
That man is as evil as one comes, but right now, Dario needs to reach his own conclusions.
I squeeze his arm reassuringly, my heart aching for him. This isn't just about exposing possible criminal activities anymore; it's about Dario finding his place in this world and determining where his loyalties truly lie.
"I'm so sorry, Dario," I whisper. "To have to deal with those feelings of abandonment for all those years, just to discover she didn’t abandon you, and then having to deal with the anger and resentment from finding out that she is dead. I can't imagine how hard that must be."
"My father never allowed me to grieve," he says, mournfully. "It feels like I lost her twice. The first time around, when he told me she ran off. And the second, when I found her grave. It's difficult, losing a person twice."
"Whatever happens, Dario, I'm here for you," I promise him. "If you ever need to speak about this. It must have been a lonely road."
He gazes into my eyes, gratitude shining in his own. "Thank you, Jasmine," he says softly, reaching out to take my hand in his. "It was a lonely journey, but it doesn't feel all that lonely now."
"Oh, Dario," I whisper, reaching over and giving him a gentle kiss on his cheek. He smiles, sighs, and closes his eyes, lost in the moment. When I pull away, he pulls me back into a long, lingering embrace.
My neck rests on his shoulder, and we stand like that for minutes, my arms around him, his around me. I can smell the day on him, and his hair tickles my cheeks, but I don't want to move an inch. I can hear his anxious breathing begin to settle, and to know I give him comfort brings me joy.
At last, he whispers in my ear. "Jasmine, I've been thinking about my father's possible motives. If he is involved in criminal activities, there must be a reason behind it -- a strategic purpose."
"Tell me more," I urge, pulling away now, eager to learn from him. I can see that old determination back in his eyes and I know I have my Dario back.
He takes a seat beside me, his face inches away from mine. "During times of war, great leaders used tactics that were often underhanded or morally ambiguous to gain an advantage over their enemies.
Take, for example, Sun Tzu's 'The Art of War.' He believed that deception was essential in order to achieve victory."
"Like using spies to gather intel," I add, following his line of thinking.
"Exactly," he nods. "Now, what if my father's actions are driven by some sort of strategy? What if there's a greater purpose behind all of this? It can't be greed alone, for everything already belongs to him."
"Perhaps he's covering up a greater crime?" I ask. "Sometimes, one gets stuck in a loop."
