Chapter 77

They heard her wheels squeaking as Lina pushed her away from them, leaving them in the silence that filled the room, sprayed with guilt and regret.

Derinem raked his hand through his sweaty hair, staring at the gun, feeling empty and shaken. He couldn't believe that after everything he and his father did to cover Leona's death, Greta had still found out. 

That she found out from them made it even more unbelievable.

All the rage he felt melted like butter on heat; this wasn't how it was supposed to go! Like, why on Earth did everything have to go wrong?

He raised his head to see Damon struggling to stand up on his feet and collapsing back on the floor, fingers caressing his wounded face.

Derinem looked down at Damon's wounded chest, which was bleeding so much he was wondering how he was still focused enough.

"You need medical attention right now," he pointedly told him before he grimaced at the pain.

"Mind your own damn business, man!" He retorted, "I hate when you do that shite; nobody can be that good; stop pretending."

Derinem stared at him without blinking, with one thing on his mind. He wondered where Gretta went and how he would face her after she heard everything...

"I don't have time for this," his voice was calm, almost like they were talking about the weather or even meals instead of something as serious as the shit they were in. "We can continue later."

Damon exhaled, pushing his body back and up against a wall and asking, "What do we do now?"

"I don't know."

Damon suddenly had a sad, sarcastic smile on his face. "That's a first; you usually have a solution for everything."

Derinem pushed himself to his feet, limping to the table at the other end, where a bottle sat, and picking up a glass.

He would get numb in this and blur his following action with intoxication. 

He poured himself a healthy dose, downing the glass in one go, conscious of Damon watching him as he poured another drink.

"When we were growing up, Derinem, I envied you." Damon nodded when his brother looked at him blankly and said, "Before I understood what you were, pleasing people to be liked..."

Derinem laughed, "If I wanted to be liked, I wouldn't be Don."

"Deep down, you don't want to, but you're doing it because that's what Laura wanted."

"None of her decisions affected mine; she was twisted, and it wasn't my fault she turned it on you," he glanced at the bottle, his surprise growing as he realized that he had downed half of it in seconds. "Maybe one day you'll get it."

Damon struggled to get up, and when he finally did, it was to walk toward the door. He wasn't going to numb this pain; he needed it.

"You need salvation more than I do."

As he trekked to the door, suddenly, Lina came running back into the room, breathing heavily. She looked astounded, trying to remember why she was there.

"Lina, what's going on?" Derinem asked, beginning to feel numbness, and it cascaded down like he wanted it to. It would be easier to live today.

Lina sobbed, catching their attention, "Greta had a heart attack."

They both turned to each other, each calculating.

"Where is she now?" Derinem asked 

"Luca drove her to the hospital." She gnawed on her nails so much that Derinem hoped it wouldn't reach her fingers.

"Thank you, Lina," he nodded, and she left slowly, sending confused glances at the Dons, who seemed to be self-occupied.

Derinem dragged his hand down his face and pressed his face against the ceiling. He looked down at the gun before throwing it at Damon, who quickly caught it.

"That's your stuff,"

Damon laughed, shaking the gun. "You think I'll pull the trigger on you? That'll be too fucking easy. There's no escape from this pain, Derinem; feel it."

And with that, he limped out of the room, leaving Derinem staring at the trail of blood behind him.

*

That day, the manor got dark, the darkness so thick that it was even hard to breathe. The servants whispered amongst themselves so the Dons wouldn't hear them.

Maya's fingers trembled as she sat on one of the settees, watching the door for Luca—if he was coming back that day.

The sudden attack had consumed Greta; her body became stiff as Maya opened the door for Luca and George to take her to the car, with Lina sobbing behind them.

Since then, she had sat there watching the door. Damon was in the room, and she hadn't seen Sir Derinem. The guilt she had seen on Maestro's face told her a lot.

Greta knew. Nothing was ever going to remain the same again.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Luca walked in, wiping nervous sweat from his face. Maya stood up and ran to him, and when she was before him, she searched his eyes, waiting for answers.

"She's dead," Luca said.

Her breath stopped, and she staggered back a little. She hugged herself, rubbing her hands in comfort.

"God no," she breathed, "please no."

"About two hours ago," he rubbed his head, "fuck! How will I tell Lina; she's already so distraught. God, I can't."

Lina was a mess. Maya agreed, but she had to know anyway, and she knew Luca knew that, too.

Luca walked past her towards Lina's room.

She turned, looking up the stairs, to see him holding the rail and watching them, his brown pupils extracting, as it seemed Sir Derinem heard. He turned his back on them before walking back towards the guest room.

After Luca had left, about five minutes later, she heard Lina scream so much that she had to close her eyes. Her cries were laced with heart-shattering agony.

Maya felt her tears drop. Today was going to be longer than she thought.

She walked up the stairs to Maestro's room, placing her ear on the door. Finding it quiet, she inhaled deeply before opening the door.

Gasping in surprise, she saw him standing by the window and staring out of it, his hands in his pockets.

Hearing the door open, he turned to look at her and began walking towards her, his eyes searching her face.

"I saw Luca come in. How's she..."

She blinked, wondering how to say it. She didn't want to be in this place or talk more about being the bearer of bad news to Damon.

Seeing her eyes wavering, he knew his answer; he shut his eyes and, to her surprise, walked up to the wall behind her and began punching it.

Her eyes widened as she ran before him, closing her eyes, knowing if he didn't stop as quickly as she appeared, her body would be writhing on the ground in agony.

The punch wasn't coming; instead, his voice said, "Maya, move."

She opened her eyes to see him glaring at her with fury. She knew he wasn't angry at her but at himself, and as much as she thought she hated him, she wouldn't let him hurt himself.

Not in front of her.

She held his wrist, turning his hands so she could look at his knuckles, then at his bloody chest and face.

Her eyes glowed even though she didn't want them to: "Stop doing that to yourself, okay?"

In a moment, his eyes softened, and he brought her close to himself, hugging her and kissing her hair.

"I'm sorry, Maya," he whispered, "I'm so sorry."

She shut her eyes against his arm, feeling her clothes becoming soaked with his blood, and she pushed him back gently, looking at his body.

"You need a doctor," she whispered.

"I need you," he muttered back.

"Damon, you'll die if you stay here. Come," she pulled his hand, so he followed her, and as he did so obediently, she was becoming surprised.

When they reached the stairs, she slowed her pace when she heard him groan.

"Sorry," she whispered. Looking at him, he seemed so surprised that, for a minute, she wanted to laugh at his confused face.

And silently and slowly, they walked out of the door and outside, where he watched her with pride as she ordered one of his men to drive him to the hospital.

Helping him into the car was more work, and she had to move aside so his men could help him stay straight.

The car roared, taking him with it; Maya didn't know she was holding her breath until she sighed. 

And as she returned to the Maestro room, George approached her. "Maya, we've got less than an hour; your things are already in the booth."

She stammered, cutting him off, "I'm still going?"

He nodded, smiling slightly at her excitement, and said, "Wash off that blood on you; you look like you got shot."

She nodded, running back up the stairs. It wasn't the ideal time to be happy, especially with the sadness in the house, but what could she do?

As she came out of the bathroom, her hair damp, she wondered if Lina would be OK; though her voice had quietened, Maya knew she was far from stable.

She walked out of the room, nearing the stairs now, feeling joy seeping in; she was just a car ride away from the airport and Abby, leaving all of this behind.

She was free.

No, at the top of the stairs, she touched the rail, instantly remembering his brown eyes watching Luca. How was he taking it?

It seemed like everyone had Maestro but not him; he was the older brother, the "stable one," who was supposed to stand up somehow no matter what hit him.

She felt guilty. She had also thought him to be immortal. She bit her lips.

She looked at the other side of the staircase. She was going to thank him before she left.

"More like check up on him," her head jabbed.

She shrugged. There was nothing wrong with that, was there?