Caim

- Chapter 66 -

Silas

I watch Charles blood drip onto the concrete floor, counting each drop like a metronome. Three hours. Three hours of careful work, and still nothing substantial about their planned retaliation. The metallic scent fills the room, mixing with the musty underground air of the compound. Almost reminds me of Alex.

"Your family's loyalty is admirable," I say, adjusting my cufflinks. An old habit. It's been forever since I've had to do anything like this.

Charles spits blood onto the floor. "You took Alex from us. Turned him against his own blood."

The accusation should anger me, but I've learned to use others' anger as my calmness. "Alex made his choice when Marco crossed a line." I hear the slight tremor in my voice - invisible to most, but it bothers me that I can't completely suppress it. "Marco has never been sane, this was just the breaking point. At the end of the day, you know it."

"So what if he was diagnosed?" Charles says, and I catch something in his tone that sets off warning bells. I've interrogated enough men to know when they're testing for weak spots. "Come on Silas, can't you seriously think your any more sane than him. Look at yourself! A mafia boss."

"That's where your wrong Charles. Me and Marco may have had the same job, but we will never be the same. Sure, anyone is this business has to be a little crazy, but not like him. His obsession with Aurélia, with me. It was all to far." I shudder thinking of all the things he could've done without my knowledge.

Charles scoffs. "Get over your damn self. Marco had what it took, he would go farther than anyone else. I'm not gonna let that boys work go to waste. He's got a son, doesn't he? With that girl, you know. Gosh, I ain't to good with names." He says looking around thoughtfully.

My jaw clenches. "You'll have nothing to do with that girl or her son. That baby has nothing to do with him Charles, don't be an idiotic." I dismiss whatever fucked up revenge he started scheming.

"That's funny, you think you can stop me." He chuckles loudly. My fist tightens, swinging without a thought. "I'll kill you before I let you use that child to get to me Charles, I promise you that." I shake my hand as he glared at me.

"You'll regret ever messing with the Smiths Silas, you'll regret this all." He smiles evilly at me.

The door opens. "Sir," one of Alex's interrupts, "there's a situation that needs your attention. It's about Ms. Aurélia."

Her name cuts through everything else. I release Giovanni immediately, muscle memory taking over as I straighten my jacket. "We're not finished," I say, but my mind is already racing. What kind of situation? Is she safe? Has Marco's family-"

"Of course not," Charles replies, and something in his tone nags at me, but I'm already moving toward the door.

In the hallway, the man briefs me about a suspicious cars near Aurélia's and Amelia's location. As we round the corner toward the surveillance room, the pieces suddenly click together. Charles careful provocations. The timing of the interruption about Aurélia. My predictable reaction.

I spin around, already knowing what I'll find. The distant sound of a service door closing confirms my failure. He played me perfectly - used Dreia, the baby and Aurélia's safety against me. Amateur mistakes. Father would be disappointed.

"Lock down the building," I order The man, but we both know it's too late. I pull out my phone to call Alex. We need to move quickly - Charles has information about our operation now, our weaknesses. But worse than that, he saw beneath my carefully maintained facade. Saw the cracks I've spent years hiding.

The perfect don isn't so perfect after all.

Father's voice echoes in my head as I dial: "Perfection isn't about being flawless, Silas. It's about what you do when you fail."

I press call, already planning our next move. Charles may have escaped, but he's about to learn why even an imperfect don is still dangerous.

-

"He's smart enough to lay low for at least a day," Alex says after a long pause. "You tracking his movements won't change that."

I press my fingers against my temples, staring at the maps until the markers blur together. He's right, but admitting it feels like another failure. "And what do you suggest?"

"I suggest you get out of that security room and come have dinner. Aurélia's already approaching eight months and you've barely spent time with her. Be with her before you life changes completely."

The mention of her pregnancy almost breaks through my focus. Almost. "I need to-"

"What you need," Alex interrupts, "is to stop acting like "boss" for five minutes. Charles seen enough of that version of you already."

Low blow. But effective. I lean back in my chair, letting out a slow breath. "Aurélia knows?"

"That you let yourself get played? No. That you're probably brooding in some dark room planning counterstrategies? Absolutely."

Despite everything, I feel my lips twitch. "I don't brood."

"Sure. And I don't have trust issues. Are you coming or do I have to send her to drag you out?"

The thought of Aurélia walking into the compound in her current mood - likely armed with a wooden spoon and choice words about my workaholic tendencies - finally breaks through. "Give me twenty minutes."

"You have ten. She's already doing those weird pregnancy rituals. Get her before she's knocked out."

I end the call, looking at the monitors one last time. The maps, the traces, the patterns - they'll all still be here tomorrow. Charles intel won't be any less dangerous after a few hours.

"Sir?" The man hovers uncertainly by the door. "Should we continue tracking-"

"No." I stand, straightening my jacket. "Set up basic surveillance protocols. Anything urgent comes to my phone. Otherwise, it can wait until morning."

The drive to the house takes exactly eight minutes. I know because I count each one, fighting the urge to turn back to the compound. But when I walk in and smell garlic and wine mixing with the sound of Aurélia standing in the kitchen with a night gown and a face treatment lightens my heart.

"Oh, hey," she calls out without turning around, mixing something weird up.

"Traffic," I lie, coming up behind her to kiss her neck.

She snorts, tilting her head to give me better access. "Liar. You were brooding in the security room."

"I don't brood."

"Silas, you're the king of brooding. Pretty sure it's a job requirement for being a don." She turns in my arms, studying my face with those eyes that see too much. "Want to talk about it?"

For a moment, I consider telling her everything. About Charles escape, about my father, about the cracks in my armor. But her weird concoction is intriguing.

"No," I say, looking over the pot. "I want to spend time with you."

Her smile tells me it's the right answer, even if we both know it's only a temporary reprieve. "Okay, so I've recently been craving boiled chicken and mustard. Wanna try?"

"Uhh, no thanks, I let you enjoy that." I say as polite as I can. "Fine if you insist. I ordered food for myself anyways, I might be able to spare some for you." She replies sarcastically.

Words: 1240

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