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“Blood begs for blood.” His thick accent wraps around the words, making them sound ominous and thorny.
They’re such a contrast to his composed and benign appearance. Or maybe I’ve grown so used to the shadows and the dark that I don’t see them anymore. I’m indifferent and absolved of their hold on me.
Blood begs for blood. Sangre llama a sangre. Sangue implora por sangue.
“It’s true,” I tell him.
I sip my drink, and he sips his more generous pouring. A thimble for me and a double measure for him.
“It’s a canto, a Portuguese tragic song. Some say it’s a prayer.”
“For revenge?”
A chuckle parts his lips. They’re perfectly sculpted with a sharp Cupid’s bow and that dip cutting through the bottom one that makes it look plump. Almost innocent.
“No. Not revenge.”
The more time that passes without Casper, the more I think about finding the people that hurt him and being the person I wanted to be when I gave him my soul. I have no idea where to start or how to go about it, but the fire is blazing in my chest, stronger with every day that passes.
“Then what?” I drink what’s left in my glass in one gulp, the numbing burn doing nothing for me.
“What do you want?” Filipe finishes his drink, depositing his glass on the coffee table before rolling his sleeves up.
I’m surprised by the bold tattoo on his forearm, the head of a lion morphing into the body of a dragon and the tail of a seahorse. It’s not fancy; it has the simplicity of an old-time sailor’s ink.
Leaning forward so that his elbows rest on his knees, he holds my stare. “What is burning inside you?”
“Revenge.” My answer is direct, holding no qualms. “I want to hurt everyone that hurt him, that hurt me…my baby.” I wipe away the tear that slips down one of my cheeks, adding, “I want to hurt Casper for leaving me.”
There’s no reaction to the words I’ve spoken, except for his softened stare. “Why?”
“Because he was mine…” Whether he wanted it or not. “Casper was mine.”
“Yours?” he laughs.
“Yes. Mine.”
“Why?”
“Because I love him.”
“Ah…” He stands and comes to a stop in front of me. “So, it’s not revenge inside you. Is it?”
I don’t understand what he’s saying. A part of me is angry that he’s so cool about all this. His grandson is gone and he’s…
“It’s a prayer of love.”
“Prayers don’t mean anything to me.”
“Me either.” He shrugs.
“Then why…”
“Because it’s the truth. Blood begs for blood. It calls to its own, and when it’s threatened or spilled…it bleeds in unison. Blood and family are bonds tied by love.”
“My family is all gone, then. It’s me and her.”
He shakes his head, lifting me to stand with him as he walks me to a door beside the fireplace. Opening it, he stands back to usher me through.
