Gilded Agony

by K. A. Merikan

  Seth would have felt different about the aloofness of locals if it was a question of him being intimidating, which he surely also was. But he couldn’t lie to himself and knew that the real reason behind their passivity was the man walking behind Seth with a rifle, and the shadow of Toro, which reached Seth regardless of where Domenico was. It drove him nuts.

  With the yute bag gradually getting heavy with fruit and vegetables, they continued down the street to pick up baking products from the supermarket. Miguel seemed unusually silent, even for him, to the point when it was becoming unbearable. It was like that time when Miguel had avoided Seth for a month after they’d wrestled and Miguel had ended up with an erection. Seth’s attempts to turn it all into a joke hadn’t helped, but fortunately once Miguel came around, he was his usual grim yet present self. Neither of them ever mentioned that awkward boner, nor did they ever wrestle again.

  If Miguel were a normal person, Seth might have believed he was uncomfortable because of all the eyes actively avoiding the rifle on his shoulder, but the reasons likely lay somewhere else.

  “What’s up?” Seth asked in the end, unable to stand the silence anymore. He placed his bag into a shopping cart and led the way down the supermarket aisle.

  It was almost as if Miguel had waited for that question, because his answer came like a sequence of shots. “If you like to do your own shopping, why haven’t you learned basic Spanish yet?”

  Seth was so surprised by the outburst that he slowed down halfway through the produce section. “I ah— I do know some of it. You know, like tomate, cebolla, or manzana.” He knew more words than tomato, onion, and apple, but there was no denying that since he spent the vast majority of his time at home, separated from native Spanish speakers like a prince locked up in a castle, his contact with the language was severely limited. There was Miguel, of course, but since his English was so good, it felt natural to communicate in the language that allowed them to speak of not only mundane things but also abstract concepts.

  Miguel’s brow, the one that had three skulls tattooed above it, trailed up in a display of scepticism.

  Seth exhaled and pushed the cart. “I don’t know. I guess I never use it much.”

  “Yes, but you won’t always live here, right?” asked Miguel, adjusting his gun when an employee gravitated too close. The gesture was enough to scare the guy away.

  Seth shrugged, mindlessly packing some cream cheese into the cart. He, kind of, enjoyed being around the fridges, since they provided a much-needed opportunity to cool down after walking in the heat outside.

  “No, we won’t,” he said with certainty, even though there couldn’t be any about their future. The truth was that Domenico had dismissed Seth’s attempts at learning Spanish, calling them unnecessary. And deep down, Seth avoided studying because it felt like a commitment he didn’t want to make, roots he didn’t want to put down.

  “So wouldn’t it be useful when you move to Bogotá, or some place like that? You have a lot of time on your hands now anyway.”

  And there it was. That little spiky comment that showed what Miguel really thought.

  “Who said we’ll be staying in Colombia?”

  Miguel shrugged and led the way to the home baking section where Seth tossed some products he still had in the pantry into the cart. He’d use them up at some point. Just like the extra rum and wine. They came in handy in the kitchen, and lately Domenico had forgotten to buy them when asked, so Seth would stock up.

  “Things will change one day, Miguel…”

  And just like that, Miguel’s eyes became so dark they appeared close to black. “I hope they will. Only then will Domenico let me off his leash.”

  ‘So that I can kill Raul Moreno instead of indirectly aiding his business’ was the part of the sentence left unsaid. Seth felt sorry for Miguel. After almost two and a half years, the man was stuck working under Domenico for Raul’s benefit, and having to stand Moreno’s son visiting El Encanto as his father’s representative every now and then. At least neither of the Morenos knew who Miguel was, so at least he was spared that indignity.

  “It’s not that short of a leash though, is it?” Seth said cheerfully and held up two wines to distract Miguel with choice.

  Miguel’s face twisted even more, but when he turned his gaze away, his jaw dropped. Before Seth could find out what happened, a rich baritone cut into their little bubble of untouchability.

  “How about I pay for the drinks this time, hm?”

  Seth pulled the bottles to his chest, watching Miguel lower the front of his body, as if he were ready to fight.

  “You’re welcome to buy some for Seth,” he hissed out with such intensity Seth barely understood him.

  “I’m hosting the party,” Seth mumbled, still startled by Nero Moreno appearing out of nowhere. And as if his sudden presence in Seth’s favorite supermarket weren’t surreal enough, he was wearing a Santa hat that obscured whatever crazy hair color he had at the moment. Was Seth hallucinating, or was the young Moreno really here? Did Domenico know about his presence? He’d only mentioned an associate of Moreno’s, who was to arrive soon, but wouldn’t he had named Nero if he’d meant him?

  Nero grinned, presenting his shark-like teeth with pride and pulled up his basket, which contained chips and two bottles of liquor, as if he were a student getting ready for the weekend, not a cartel member. “I’m having one of my own tonight, in the hotel room. Care to join me, Miguel?” he asked and managed a brief pat to Miguel’s pec before his hand was unceremoniously slapped away.

  “I’m good,” was all Miguel had to say, pushing out more invisible spikes.

  Seth snorted. “I’ve heard there’s a cruising area by the docks.” His mind wouldn’t stop rattling in his skull. Did Nero’s presence have anything to do with the late transport Domenico had mentioned?

  “Yeah, I know. Your boy is a common sight there.”

  Miguel frowned. “Funny you’d say that. You only come over once in a while.”

  Nero’s sharpened teeth pulled over his full bottom lip, and he tapped his forehead. “Miguel, you know I keep tabs on all the hot meat in this town, don’t you?”

  Seth sighed and pushed the trolley forward. “That’s disgusting. And just so we’re clear, Mark is not meat.” Even though he most definitely was a slut.

  Miguel followed his lead, but kept his eyes on their unexpected companion. “I’ve heard there’s a stall with freshly fried pork just outside. Maybe you should go check it out.”

  “You mean the working boys? They only come out later. Besides, they aren’t really my type. I like a man who knows how to handle his gun, if you catch my drift,” Nero said, obscenely licking his lips when his gaze pointedly trailed up and down Miguel’s rifle.

  "No, I mean literal fried pork— Why do I even bother?" Miguel curled his lip in annoyance, and the hopeless expression seemed to only make Nero prouder of his offensive innuendos.

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Miguel. One day, you will taste a piece of this and never look back,” Nero said and patted his ass before walking off toward the cash registers.

  Miguel shifted uncomfortably. “Are we done here?”

  After a moment of hesitation, Seth grabbed a bottle of tequila off the shelf. Better safe than sorry. “Yep.”

  Domenico couldn’t be reached, and neither could Mark, which could only mean one thing—they were in the goddamn bunker where Toro, both the former and current bearer of that name, conducted his dirtiest business. Sealed within thick concrete walls, the tomb-like structure within the main house on the property didn’t allow ultrawaves to come through, and that included cell phone signal.

  Seth waited an hour.

  Two hours.

  But in the end, the tension became too great. Domenico needed to know that Nero Moreno was in town. And while the things Seth had seen there left scars, the truth was that their family’s safety was more important than Seth’s discomfort. Besides, he doubted that after the bloodbath he’
d witnessed during the takeover, anything hidden beyond the secret entrance behind a painting could shock him anymore.

  He left the safe confines of their family villa and made his way across the giant lawn, all the way to where the whole endeavour sourced its power. The bowels of the modern palace stank of blood, fear, suffering, and the money that Toro derived from all that. Seth never liked this place, but he put in the code and walked down the hidden stairs without being stopped by anyone.

  He defied curious glances and walked the concrete corridors as if he owned the place. Because he fucking did. What was Domenico’s, was his. Or so at least Domenico claimed, so he better not go back on his word. Seth would only stay for a moment either way, just to make sure that Domenico knew what was going on in his town. Maybe this was all a misunderstanding and the vulgar menace would actually be a guest at their party? Seth did need to know how many people would be there.

  Since Dom wasn’t in his underground office, Seth approached the first man in his way.

  “Where’s Toro?” he asked sharply, and the man did a double-take. For a moment, Seth worried the guy knew no English, but in the end, the friendly, middle-aged face twisted into an uncomfortable smile.

  “Oh. Now’s not the right time. He busy.”

  “I’ll only be a second. How busy can he be?”

  “Busy,” the man said with more force, and something buzzed inside of Seth as if a swarm of hornets came alive inside his heart.

  He met the man’s gaze and wouldn’t even blink. “Are you denying me entry to a room in my own house?”

  The man blinked, raising the hairy mice he had for eyebrows as if he had no idea what Seth was talking about. “Don’t get so angry. My house is my wife’s also, but that doesn’t mean she can look through my desk.”

  Shame hit Seth in the face like a red hot poker out of pits in hell. He grabbed the man by the T-shirt so rapidly he lifted him for a second before the fabric ripped. “Do I look like your wife?! Because if I do, she’s a fucking ugly woman!” Blood wouldn’t stop pounding in his head as if a vessel in his brain were about to pop.

  There was a moment of sheer surprise on the man’s face, and Seth pulled him in so close he could see all the huge blackheads in the bulbous nose. The heavily tanned arms moved, as if the guy’s instinct was to fight back, but how could he against someone he considered his boss’s wife. He wouldn’t give Seth the excuse for violence he so craved.

  Seth hoped the fucker’s house got flooded, and then, once it dried out—burned down after being hit by lightning.

  “Calm down, please. Nothing to worry about. I tell Mr. Toro you wanted him when he is ready.”

  “Fuck ready. I’m here now. Where is he?” Seth looked down the corridor, itching to unleash more violence on the man, but it was hard with him not fighting back. He wouldn’t admit it, but the adrenaline now flooding his veins was making him giddy as if it were a spike in blood sugar.

  Mark’s head popped out from a door down the corridor, and the boy stalled, watching Seth as if he’d seen a ghost. Seth took the opportunity for distraction and shoved the guard at the wall, passing him quickly and heading for the door like an icebreaker.

  Mark slid outside and raised his hand, his face the picture of the childlike confusion that used to be a permanent feature when they first met. “Seth? What are you doing here? Did something happen?”

  “All I want to do is have a few words with Domenico. Is that so much to ask? I will only be a minute, and there’s no fucking phone reception down here.”

  “But—”

  Seth shoved Mark to the side and walked inside.

  He stopped so abruptly it felt as if his brain hit the inside of his skull. Domenico stood behind a plastic chair that seated a girl barely months older than their Angelica. The toddler’s face was blood red, and when she saw Seth, fresh tears joined streaks that were already present on her face.

  A thin man who stood in the middle of the room bent so low it almost seemed like he had a hunched back, looked Seth’s way with pure desperation radiating from his bony face.

  Seth swallowed. Maybe he shouldn’t have interrupted after all?

  “I-I wanted to talk,” he whispered in Italian, glued to the floor as if he were wearing concrete shoes.

  Domenico went visibly pale, and several seconds passed in silence broken only by the little girl’s cries. “This… girl got lost,” he said in the end, and it was the most blatant, unskillful lie he’d ever told Seth.

  “And… you found her?” Seth raised his eyebrows, stuck in a reality he didn’t want to acknowledge.

  Domenico nodded but squeezed his hands on the kid’s shoulders when she tried to slide off the chair, which only resulted in more sobbing. “What do you want? We’re busy passing her back to her dad.”

  “The Caiman’s son is here. In El Encanto.” Seth used the code word to avoid saying Nero’s name, just in case.

  Domenico frowned. “Yes, I told you we’re having two more guests. Is that a reason to just barge in here? I’m busy. If no one’s dying, don’t bother me with bullshit when I’m at work!”

  Seth put his hands into his pockets, desperately avoiding the little girl’s gaze. “You knew? You only spoke about some Moreno man.”

  Domenico clenched his teeth so hard the screech actually echoed through the room. He let go of the little girl, and she ran straight into her father’s arms, crying loudly. “Mark, get that happy, reunited family out of here, will you?”

  Mark nodded, and said something in Spanish to the two people. There was no hint of the attitude he’d shown in the morning. Professional and collected, he was no longer a ‘boy’. They exchanged glances with Domenico, and Seth wasn’t sure anymore if it had been a good idea to come here. The bare concrete walls looked as if they were about to start encroaching on Seth any minute.

  When steps were already resonating down the corridor, Seth stared back at Domenico. “I thought… I mean… with the turmoil going on…”

  “You told me you didn’t want to do any of this, and I promised you that you wouldn’t have to see or deal with any dirty business, so what the hell are you doing here? Since when do you have any interest in my work, huh?” Domenico’s forehead was streaked by deep grooves, like a well-plowed field.

  Seth swallowed, watching Domenico take a step closer. He squeezed his fingers into fists from the sudden stress. “I wanted to help. Just in case. Was that… the girl, was she an element of what’s going on?”

  Domenico swung his arm, sending the plastic chair flying at the wall. “What? You wanna lecture me? So fucking easy from where you stand. Our livelihood, our security, and our future are all on my shoulders, so yes, sometimes I have to do things I don’t like, so that you can lounge in the fucking pool without a worry in the world!”

  Seth flinched, but his tongue was quicker than his brain. “Oh, so it’s my fault somehow? Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have come here, but—”

  “No, you shouldn’t have, and from now on, you won’t. If you want to communicate with me when I’m down here, send someone with a goddamn message,” Domenico roared and kicked the fallen chair for good measure. His chest worked at a rapid speed, as if there wasn’t enough air to fill his lungs.

  Seth took a step back and spread his arms. “What are you gonna do? Change the locks?” Logically, he knew agitating Domenico when he was in this state wasn’t a wise move, but on the other hand, did he not have the right to speak his mind? To raise concerns when he thought they were valid?

  Domenico let out an unpleasant laugh. “Maybe I should change the codes to our home. Would be more efficient.”

  Seth shifted his weight uncomfortably. He’d taken a step too far, and now his stomach twisted in fear of the aftershocks. “You wouldn’t…”

  Domenico rolled his shoulders, as if trying to unknot them, and took a deep breath before speaking in a somewhat calmer tone. “It’s for your own good.”

  Seth wouldn’t take any more of this humiliating co
nversation and stormed out of the room. His whole body ached as if constricted in a sarcophagus lined with nails. No matter how much he avoided looking at the guard still standing outside, the mockery in the man’s expression was obvious. How was Seth supposed to worry about the goddamn party now? Bake tarts as if everything was fine, as if he wasn’t trapped in his own house?

  Like a hornet captured under a glass, he could only buzz with inconsequential anger.

  Chapter 5 - Mark

  Mark showed their unwilling guests to the gate. He still couldn’t get over the fact that Seth would barge into an interrogation room like that.

  “We will find out if you haven’t told us everything you know,” Mark said to the frightened man, just to up the intimidation factor, although he doubted that was the case. Things hadn’t gone as planned, but at least the threat should be enough. Mark avoided looking into the little girl’s eyes and was glad he was sending them home unharmed.

  He dreaded to think what they would have to do if push came to shove. They wouldn’t hurt or kill the child—Domenico had clear rules about that—but perhaps she would have been imprisoned until her father talked? If so then for how long? In what conditions?

  It instantly made Mark think of Angelica, and the way Domenico insisted on a strict safety protocol for her made even more sense in light of what Mark had witnessed today. The guards on duty nodded at him as he left them behind, heading for the main house.

  Mark had teased Seth many times about his drinking, or about him not doing much, but he hadn’t yet heard Domenico yell at Seth about it. So far, he’d always insisted it was necessary for Seth to live in peace, and although he used to defend Seth when Mark complained about this, it seemed Dom wasn’t as content with the arrangement as he’d made it seem.

  Witnessing the vicious argument had left a queasy feeling in his stomach. Then again, why should he feel sorry for a grown-ass man, ten years his senior, if he couldn’t handle his own husband, or even manage his own life? If Seth had declared he wished to stay out of business, then he needed to stay the fuck out of business, not prance around and ruin an interrogation because he needed to ask how many people were coming to dinner.