“Fine. I think your dad is an asshole though,” he says, and I laugh.
“He’s worse than that, Simon. Don’t trust anyone here and give nothing about your life away. Just stick to my boys, got it?”
“Yeah,” he says, and follows Mark into the house, who is being guided by Caio. Which means the crazy looking one, Diogo, is assisting me.
“This way, Mr. Silva,” he says, walking ahead of me.
“Call me Carlos. I’m not your boss.”
“You’re the boss's son, which makes you our boss.”
“Please don’t piss me off, Diogo. I’m too tired to be polite. Just call me Carlos as I’ve asked.”
He looks over his shoulder at me as we climb the large staircase in the center of the entrance.
“I heard you were the crazy one of the family. A psycho,” he says, chuckling.
“Yet here you are challenging me. Is that wise?”
We reach the top of the stairs and turn right, walking through the large hallways that I used to play in as a child. The place even smells the same.
“I like the crazy ones. You can trust them. It's the sane ones you need to worry about.”
“I agree.”
He opens a familiar door that used to be my old room.
“I didn’t need showing to my old bedroom, I remembered the way.”
He shrugs.
“Just following orders. Dinner is in an hour and your cases are already inside the room.”
I nod and walk into my room. Diogo hovers behind me, and I’m not sure why he is still here.
“Do you need something?” I ask.
“Can I ask you something?”
“If you must.”
“Why did you leave? If I could have all this, you would have to carry me out of here kicking and screaming.”
“That’s because you’re just a guard. A different life to the son of Gabriel.”
“I guess, but still, why did you go?”
“I hate my father. I hate my brother, but it was an opportunity to make it on my own, so I took it at my brother's expense. This business and life is not for me. Nobody controls me.”
“I like you, Carlos.”
I smile and go to close the door in his face.
“And I think you’re a nosy bastard whose curiosity will get you killed someday. Try to control it, Diogo,” I advise before shutting the door.
I stand with my back to the door, carved mahogany, polished to a shine, thick enough to muffle screams.
The room hasn’t changed. Not one bit.
