Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
“You mentioned that shit once before, and I told you I hadn’t done anything to him, but tried to raise and take care of the boy. I should be applauded instead of scrutinized! His daddy was dead, and all he had was a mama with stars and butterflies in her head. A Wanna-Be Ms. Sylvia Brown who lived near a damn funeral parlor and graveyard. Kage was born crazy! Let me tell ya, this boy would draw all kinds of disturbing drawings. People being murdered and tortured, but he was only a child! And you know what? The drawings were good! He could even draw reflections on a gotdamn glass. Won all kinds of drawing awards and shit. Detailed down to the pores on a bastard’s skin. Talented or not, Kage is out of his fucking mind, and I don’t think I like your tone this afternoon, or this line of questioning one gotdamn bit. I don’t have to answer to you. This is family business! What the fuck are you tryna pull?”
“I’m just trying to clear the air.” He smiled at him as he tossed up his hands. “Make things perfectly understandable. I want to get my mitts around this because you see,” he leaned forward and clasped his hands, “if we’re going to continue to work together, brother, and be business partners, then hell, I gotta trust you, right?” He grinned. “Surely you can understand that, Cyrus. So, let me ask you one more motherfucking time, Old Wilde Bull of Houston, Texas—why in the world would a young child, a mere boy who barely had pubic hair, who at one point adored you and spent almost every moment of his life with you up until that point, suddenly decide that Grandpa must die?”
Just then, two of his men came into the office, each holding guns. Cyrus casually tossed them each a glance, then directed his gaze back at him.
“I. TOLD. YOU. He’s crazy. There’s no need for any rhyme or reason with craziness. It just comes! Hell, maybe he had some sort of delusions, or maybe he was resentful? Who knows?!”
“And he never told you the reason?”
“No!”
“And you were never curious enough to ask?”
“I did, but he wouldn’t tell me!”
“Hmmm, I see… Well, Cyrus, I did a little more digging into your activities this past year or so… Funny, instead of answers, I found more questions—like, was your grandson Lennox, the gym rat, now successful gym franchise owner, who married that sexy little siren of a lawyer, former exotic dancer, in need of a good hurtin’, too? Was he crazy as well? Had he tried to kill you, ol’ Cyrus, out of the clear blue? Is that why you tried to ruin him, threaten to put him behind bars and God only knows what else? How about your other grandson, Roman Wilde? The pretty boy Marine with a mind for numbers, wicked sense of humor, and the charming gift of gab? Was that Wall Street mogul insane in the membrane, too, motherfucker? So much so that you tried to extort him? Your own flesh and blood? How about his daddy—your own son? Was he a fucking lunatic, too?!
“You put a hit out on your own fuckin’ son while he rotted away in prison! What kinda man are ya?! Now, don’t get me wrong. There’s nothin’ wrong with family working together. You know I support such a thing, and encourage it—but not like that, Cyrus. That’s not the way you do it.”
“Do you really think I care about your opinion regardin’ this, bastard? Do you really think that you’re in any position to be doling out advice on how family matters should play out? I don’t recall calling you and asking you a gotdamn thing, Francesco.”
“Yeah, that’s true… you didn’t ask.” He shrugged. “You don’t ask a lot of things, that you should, Cyrus. You just DO SHIT. A lot of fucked up, nauseating, imprudent, exorbitant shit. But here’s my opinion anyway. Seems you had it out for both of your grandsons. And now, you’re puttin’ the squeeze on Kage. Only Kage, ya see, has dragged me into this war, too, because of what he did, but he did it because of what YOU did.” He pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You know how I feel about family, Cyrus… the family that plays together and prays together stays together. You’re not treatin’ these boys like blood. You demand honor, loyalty and respect, but give none. These are not little children… they’re grown men who’ve told you they’re not interested in your business proposal. But you want them to stay. No, that’s not love. That’s hatred.”
“Is this some sort of self-help seminar? A Dr. Phil episode?”
“You’re treatin’ those men like cattle. You can be disappointed in them. You can wish the best for them—nothin’ wrong with wanting these fellas to join your business—there’s strength in the blood, I get it—but to force your will on them because you have very specific desires and they won’t comply is, well, sinister at best.”