In God We Trust [SPORADIC UPDATES]

NUEVE

chapter nine ✗ traición

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"WHAT THE FUCK?"

My mouth fell open and I'm sure my eye twitched a little.  My brain was bugging out with this newfound information. Out of all the possible candidates... Marco was the one working for my father? Marco was the traitor? It didn't make sense to me. How was he the turncoat, the double-agent? If I was forced to pick anyone betraying Mateo, it would be Alessandro-- he had been the only person that had shown the slightest bit of humanity towards my emotions.

 I wouldn't have guessed in a million years that it was Marco-- the first person I disrespected, the man who had hit me with the gun. I simply wasn't buying it. "I'm not buying it," I said stubbornly. After all, who would? It made no logical sense.

"Listen, principessa, I don't have time to sit here and convince you. You believe me or you don't. What would I get out of lying to you about this?" His blue eyes drifted to the door again. 

He was right, though. There was nothing that would benefit him by lying to me. Mateo wasn't someone to fuck around or make pointless jokes just to fuck with my head-- he was manipulative. All of his previous actions were intended to have an influence on him that only could convenience him, which meant, he wasn't setting this up. It was true, Marco was working for my father. 

"Why?" I asked him, tightening the hold on my towel, "Why are you doing this double-agent bullshit? Is it money, is that it?"

"Partly," He said lowly, "I'm also tired of working under Mateo. He acts like he's the shit," He scoffed, "Your dad offered me a position as his second-in-command."

I held back a snort. He was stupider than I originally pegged him to be. Did he seriously think my father would take him in? He was delusional, but I wasn't going to tell him that. My father was smart, he knew that if Marco was willing to give up Mateo simply for money or power, he was willing to give my father up given the right circumstances. Once he served his purpose, his corruptness would eat away at him and if my father did kill him first, Mateo would. I almost felt bad for the guy-- he was naive and completely unaware to the fact that once he was done, he'd die.

Instead, I smiled deceivingly. "Is that so? Great. When is my dad coming?"

"Not just your dad," He answered, "Your brother too. They're furious and are planning to shoot up the entire place. Then they rescue you and me, and we all live happily ever after, snorting cocaína to our heart's content."

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AFTER MARCO'S LITTLE confession, I ushered him out so I could change and have a little time to myself, I desperately needed it. I sat on my bed, a few inches away from where he was and contemplated where I was. At some point, I was having fun-- going to parties, clubs, getting high or drunk and having one night stands were included of my wild lifestyle-- and it all changed the moment I had been kidnapped. In fact, now that I think about it, my kidnapping didn't start when I was taken, it started way back to when my father called me in to do a job for him.

I wondered now, did he blame himself? Did he blame my brother? Did he regret sending me in or did he know that it was means of business and what happened was purely coincidental? No. He didn't. My dad was smart and financially savvy, he was a businessman, a clever one at that. Mix criminality and intelligence, and you get a cocaine-producing, cartel-running drug lord evil genius. He and my brother were going to rescue me and in no time, I'd be back to the way I was before.

At least, I hoped so.

I huffed and slumped against the bar of the estate, my hand wrapped around a bottle of white Bacardi in my fist, sighing slightly. I rested my head on my shoulder and lifted the rim to my lips, taking a large gulp. I scrunched my face up at the warm feeling of it sliding down my throat, making my tongue tingle with the bitter alcoholic flavour. It felt tepid as it settled in my stomach, promising me a belly and headache.

"Rough day?" A familiar voice asked from behind me, sliding into the bar stool next to mine.

I looked at Alessandro through bloodshot eyes, "What the fuck do you want?"

"Well aren't you just a ball of sunshine," He muttered mockingly.

I took another swig, "What the fuck do you want?" My voice was painted with irritation.

He shrugged, "Ever considered the fact that maybe I want to drink with you?"

I laughed, "You're into that vanilla type of shit. When I drink, I go hard."

"What makes you think I don't?" He tilted his head to the side in confusion, a lock of dark, curly hair falling onto his tanned forehead. 

I scoffed, "Have you ever looked in the mirror? You don't look like the kind of person to mix alcohol and drugs."

"Who said anything about drugs?" He frowned, brushing it away. 

I rolled my eyes, "You're only proving my point," I said in a sing-song voice. "If you don't have anything to contribute, you can go." I shifted on my seat, resting my head back down on my arm, a sign of blatant disrespect. I didn't care that he probably had a gun on him, I didn't care that he could report my drinking or request for a high to Mateo. All I had to was stick through these next few weeks and I would be back home in Ottowa. 

When I heard the smack of a bag on the counter, I looked up. I gazed at the small pack of cocaine in a bag that Alessandro had dropped on the marble in front of me, then I looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"You're an addict," He huffed, moving to reach into his back pocket for his wallet.

I glared at him, "No I'm not. I get high from time to time. That's it."

He slipped a golden-brown hundred dollar Canadian bill on the counter, "Same difference."

"Excessive much?" I asked Alessandro, picking it up to roll it up, opening the packet of the white substance. 

He shrugged again, "I have money to burn, doll. Why not use it on a pretty girl and some cocaine?" He grabbed the bottle of Bacardi, taking a gulp. He winced slightly and continued, taking another gulp then another.

"You're frugal," I said sarcastically, spilling the cocaine onto the counter, lazily splitting it into messy lines, the white, sifted powder contrasting against the black surface. "So, you going to get high with me, white boy?" 

He grinned, "Why not?"

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short ass chapter hahahahahahahhah i want death