Avenge :Romanian Mob Chronicles(97)

Defensive. Always one of his giveaways. Something had happened, and as soon as I got Lily alone, she would tell me what.





Thirteen





Lily





“Here you go, Mr. Constantin,” I said later that day as I lifted a cigarette toward him.

I’d wanted to leave after what I’d seen, but doing so would be suspicious. Christoph Senior needed me more than ever, even if the most I could do was give him pain medicine and sneak him an occasional cigarette.

Not that his comfort, what I could do to increase it, mattered, I reminded myself. Though that knowledge seemed small in the sea of sympathy that suddenly washed over me as I looked at him.

He doesn’t deserve your sympathy, Lily. Remember who he is; remember what he did.

I repeated the thought over and over, but with each second that voice got smaller and smaller and the idea that maybe, possibly, Christoph Senior was more than a monster seemed to grow.

“Thank you dear,” he replied, bringing me out of my head.

He closed trembling lips around the butt of the cigarette and inhaled deeply.

“These are still bad for you,” I said when he reached for the burning stick.

His hand trembled even more now than it ever had before, and I knew he wouldn’t be able to hold the cigarette up, something Christoph Senior seemed to admit a moment later when he dropped his hand back to his side.

“I should lament this, reflect on the fact that I’m too weak to even hold up my own cigarette, but I guess it would be a waste of breath, and I’d rather use that to smoke,” he said.

“Sometimes we take what we can get,” I said.

“Smart girl. Wish I’d been half as smart as you when I was your age,” he whispered.

He took another puff and then fell back against the pillows, the low rattle in his chest no longer one that alarmed, just another of the sounds that gave truth to his condition.

I snuffed out the cigarette and then regarded him. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Ignore me, Lily. Pay no mind to the ramblings of a dying old man,” he said. Then he looked at me. “I always hated that, the men who felt the need to talk before the end. I swore I’d never do that, that I would be dignified. But I understand now. Facing your end loosens the tongue.”

He waved weakly in dismissal. “But don’t subject yourself to this. You have better things to do.”

I ignored the part about the others who had faced their ends, homed in on the rest of what he’d said. “No. I want to hear,” I said.

And I did, desperately, some small part of me hoping that maybe, perhaps, he had some knowledge. Could help me understand what I felt, help me decide what I would do next.

He eyed me, assessing, bushy eyebrows drawn down as he examined my face. A moment later he began. “So much of my life was spent following rules, keeping order. I missed important things, didn’t say some things that needed to be said. Didn’t do some things that needed to be done.”

“That’s rather vague, Mr. Constantin,” I replied.

He shifted his head ever so slightly, turned yellow eyes that were now usually clouded with the effects of the pain medication on me, and I noticed that in this moment, they were bright, lucid.

“Everything’s vague right now, Lily. I told you I was just a rambling old man,” he said.

I shook my head. “No. I don’t think so. I think you’re talking about something specific. Want to share? It’ll be our secret,” I said.

It was his turn to shake his head, the movement so slight I might have missed it if I weren’t looking directly at him.

“No. I have no more room for secrets, Lily. And a dying old man’s regrets are probably even less welcome than his ramblings.”

“You have regrets, Mr. Constantin?” I asked, trying for a different approach, not sure why this conversation meant so much, but knowing that it did.

“Not as many as I should,” he said.

He went silent, still, and so did I. I’d never anticipated this moment, but knowing Anton as I did now, being confronted with the idea of how I felt about him, even after all I knew about him, left me in a world of confusion.

That confusion was bleeding into my perspective on Christoph Senior. There was nothing else that could explain why I felt anything for him but pure hatred. But maybe talking to Christoph Senior would help. Maybe he could say something, anything, that would help me understand what I was feeling, that would help make the prospect of something real between me and Anton possible, where now it was completely impossible.

“What do you regret?” I asked a few moments later.

He paused, considering, and then said, “I failed someone that I owed better. And I never made amends.”