Louis
Although I tried to control my anger, I couldn't always keep it in check. Enzo frustrated me the most, second only to Camille. I realized that Camille was one of those people who only knew how to complain. If I did nine good things and one bad thing, the only thing she remembered was the one mistake—and she would harp on about it for days.
And then there was Enzo, sneaking out of the house, even though he wasn't familiar with the area. I knew he'd gotten into a fight; his lip was swollen and bruised. I hated that I had slapped him again. I didn't want to hit him or yell at him, but he made me so mad—and scared—going off like that. Why couldn't he just take a guard with him?
I knew I had to tell Pedro about Enzo's behavior and let him deal with it.
"Hey, what's wrong with you? Why the hell did you slap him like that?" Cardo confronted me, practically accusing me. It seemed like he'd appointed himself as Enzo's new protector. How did Enzo always manage to find someone to defend him?
"Well, it's a matter between me and my brother. You'd better stay out of it," I said, looking down at this kid, who was at least eleven years younger than me.
"You can't keep treating him like that. He told me everything about how you all treat him at home," Cardo said angrily, and I felt my mouth go dry. Had Enzo actually told him?
"Listen, I didn't mean to slap him. He's not supposed to go out alone," I replied, unsure why I was even trying to justify myself to this kid.
"Well, you've made him sick. He's unwell now," Cardo said sharply, and guilt hit me hard. I rushed to Enzo's room, and there he was, lying in bed, looking truly sick.
"Enzo," I leaned in and said softly.
He opened his eyes and looked at me. Seeing the red mark on his cheek made me feel worse. But this was on him. If he had just followed the rules and acted responsibly, none of this would've happened. He always found a way to make things harder.
"What? Go away, dog," he murmured.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"What's wrong with you? Do you have split personality disorder or something? Can you even remember what you did a few minutes ago? Are you Louis, or is there another personality in there?" Enzo asked, glaring.
"I don't have SPD. I just got angry. I don't like hurting you, but you always make me angry, Enzo. You know I can't control my temper, but I really hate hurting you," I said, my voice shaking. It wasn't easy for me to express how I felt, and admitting it out loud was almost embarrassing.
"I think that's exactly what Pedro said," Enzo replied without the slightest concern for how hard it was for me to open up.
"Why don't you understand that we want you to be safe? We don't want you going out alone because we just want you to be protected, Enzo. Why can't you see that?" I asked, almost pleading.
"Hey, I have my gun, my knife, and everything. I even know how to fight. Why would I need a guard? And Papa..." he trailed off.
"Papa? What about Papa?" I asked.
"Nothing," he muttered, but I saw the fear flash in his eyes.
"Oh, I get it. He's here, isn't he? He can't stay away from his precious little angel for even a year, can he? You told him where you are, and he came right away," I said, standing up.
"Louis, no... No," Enzo said, getting up. He didn't have to say anything more; the look on his face told me everything.
"I'll tell Papa, and you know what? He'll fire him this time. You're never going to see him again," I heard myself say to Enzo, my voice thick with anger and rage.
"No, Louis. Don't do that. Why are you always doing this to me?" Enzo pleaded, tugging at my shirt, his dark eyes filled with tears.
To be honest, I didn't know why I kept doing this. It was like I was addicted to this behavior. Deep down, I hated what I was doing in that moment. But my pride wouldn't let me say, "I'm sorry," or "I didn't mean what I just said. I won't do it again." As always, my pride won out, and I pushed him back onto the bed, storming off to find Papa and tell him about Manuel. I was angrier than ever that Enzo had disobeyed us.
Louis
We couldn't find Manuel anywhere. I was pretty sure Enzo had tipped him off that we'd found out about him. When we called his phone, he didn't pick up.
"I hate that guy. I only keep him around because of Enzo," Papa said. And I knew exactly why he despised Manuel—nothing angered him more than someone who broke his rules.
"Are we going to fire him?" Pedro asked, his expression tense.
"Yes," Papa replied, and, to be honest, I didn't feel great hearing it. I shouldn't have told Papa about Manuel, but now it was too late.
I glanced over at Pedro and could see that he wasn't happy about it either.
"That's good, Papa. I hate Manuel. Fire him," Juana said, taking a drag from her cigarette. "And I hate Enzo too. Maybe you should fire him from the family while you're at it. Give him to Manuel instead." Papa looked at her with anger for the first time.
"Enzo is my son. I'm not giving any of my children to anyone," Papa said firmly, his eyes fixed on Juana.
"But you hate him. You even tried to kill him," Juana replied, unfazed.
"Shut up, Juana. I never tried to kill him. It was an accident," Papa growled, but Juana laughed.
"Oh, come on, Papa. You always wished he'd died instead of Mama," she said casually, not caring about his anger. I saw Papa shaking with rage, and a part of me felt a twisted satisfaction at seeing someone say that to his face. After Juana's words, Papa went silent, because we all knew it was the truth. Yes, Juana—tell him more.
"Don't fire Manuel. That would be too much for Enzo," Pedro said. "I don't like Manuel either, but that's going too far."
"No, it's not. He needs to learn to live without him. Maybe I'll kill Manuel and his family. Then we won't have to worry about them anymore," Papa said calmly.
"What if Enzo finds out about that?" I asked.
"What if he does? He can't do anything about it," Papa replied, his voice eerily steady, and Juana laughed.
"He'll cry like a helpless baby. That's all he can do," Juana sneered.
"Oh, he'll definitely kill himself this time," I muttered, getting up. This conversation was making me feel sick. I realized how foolish I'd been; this wasn't what I wanted at all. But I'd done it anyway, and now I felt a deep discomfort gnawing at me. I should've taken time to cool off before telling anyone about Manuel. Or I should've just confided in Pedro. Suddenly, my anger toward Enzo was gone, replaced by the sinking feeling that I'd messed everything up.
"Where are you going?" Juana asked as I left the room.
"To find Enzo," I said, hurrying toward his room, but he wasn't there.
"Where's Enzo?" I asked Cardo, who was in the living room.
"He's in bed. Said he has a headache and wants to be left alone—probably because of what you did to him," Cardo said, his tone sharp.
I asked everyone in the house if they'd seen Enzo, but he was nowhere to be found.
"Where the hell is Enzo? Did anyone see Enzo?" I yelled, and everyone stared at me, stunned.
"ENZO!"
"ENZO!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, desperation rising within me.
