Lucas leaves without question while I get Simon to lie on his front on the bed.
“Fucking dumbass. Lifting and throwing things when your back is like this? It’ll never heal if you keep pulling stunts like this.”
“Oh fuck off, Carlos. Go be with your whore.”
“Pedro is no whore and I explained who he is. You need to control this jealousy.”
“I’m not jealous. I’m pissed. Because of you I’m like this, then you parade that…that…that harlot under my window!”
“Harlot?” I can’t help but laugh. “Have you been reading a lot, Simon?”
“Fuck. You. Just get out.”
“No. You want me here.”
“I don’t.”
“You do. You can’t be jealous and say you don’t want me.”
We are interrupted by the doctor who swiftly checks Simon’s back.
“Fortunately it's nothing too bad. I’ve re-stitched the area that came apart. It shouldn't slow down healing, but if you insist on doing too much, you could be looking at months of recovery, so no lifting and throwing for at least another three weeks.”
“Are you listening, Simon?” I ask as he hasn’t responded.
“Yes I get it. Can you all just leave, please? I’ve got a headache.”
The doctor and Lucas both leave the room and I’m unsure whether I was included in the dismissal.
“Do you want me to stay?” I ask.
“This is so toxic, Carlos. I can’t do this with you. Please just leave.”
The old Simon is coming back, shutting me out, but I get it. Time is what we need.
“You rest. You’ll need your strength for later,” I say before leaving Simon on the bed, motionless and no doubt his head swirling with all kinds of shit.
The priority is to get him home. Then it's to get Simon to come back from the dark hole he is buried in. Even if I have to force him.
34
CARLOS
T he time has arrived. To see if my plan works and if Igor Marin is a man of his word.
I stand in the front courtyard, my father next to me, awaiting the arrival of our guests.
“Where is your brother?” he asks.
“Some of the guys said he went out this morning, hasn’t returned. You know what he’s like.”
“We will have to think of a way to make him tow the line. He needs to be focused.”
“Our visitors have arrived,” I say. Just as Bruno appears on the steps next to us. Of course that nosy old fucker has to be here.
The gates are already open as the Marins arrive.
Black SUVs roll in like a silent invasion, headlights off, the hum of their engines low but lethal. At the entrance, my father’s men, some seasoned, others young, tightened the grips on their rifles, unsure whether to raise them.
