Meeting the family 5

Meeting the family 5
Jamal's POV

I watched James chase after Anna, every instinct screaming at me to follow.

But I didn't.

Because the real disaster here wasn't out there on the street. It was right behind me, wearing a wedding dress and a satisfied smile.

Elena.

I turned back toward the ballroom, scanning the crowd of confused guests until I found her. She stood beside my uncle Sebastian, one hand resting on her barely-there baby bump, the picture of concerned innocence.

She saw me coming and her smile widened.

"Elena." I kept my voice level. Controlled. "I need to see you. In private."

Uncle Sebastian started to object, but Elena touched his arm. "It's fine, Pai. Jamal probably just wants to congratulate me properly." She looked at me with those cold eyes. "Don't you, primo?"

I didn't answer. Just turned and walked toward the service corridor, knowing she'd follow.

She did.

The private meeting room was empty—elegant chairs arranged around a polished conference table, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.

I closed the door and turned to face her.

"Explain."

Elena adjusted her diamond bracelet, taking her time. "Explain what, exactly?"

"Don't play games with me. I know you, Elena. I've known you since we were kids." I stepped closer. "You asked me to bring a date to this reception. You specifically wanted me to bring someone I was serious about. You knew I'd bring Anna."

"Did I?" Her voice was silk over steel.

"The theater preview. The production you suddenly needed a representative for." I watched her face carefully. "You set this up. All of it. You wanted me to meet Anna. You wanted me to bring her here tonight."

She studied her manicured nails. "Well done, Sherlock."

The admission hit me like a punch to the gut. "Why?"

"Because she needed to understand her place." Elena's mask slipped, showing the calculation beneath. "Because James needed to be reminded what happens when you don't follow the plan."

I took a step toward her, hands clenched. "She didn't deserve that. Whatever game you're playing with James, Anna had nothing to do with it."

"Didn't she?" Elena laughed softly. "Oh, Jamal. You really are naive."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It doesn't matter." She waved a dismissive hand. "What matters is what happens next. Your father has cancer."

The world stopped.

"What did you just say?"

"Cancer. Pancreatic. Stage four." Her voice was matter-of-fact, like she was discussing the weather. "I've done my research. There are only a handful of specialists in the world who can treat it at this stage. Experimental treatments, cutting-edge protocols. And I happen to know exactly how to reach them."

My heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear her. "You're lying."

"Am I?" She tilted her head. "Call your mother. Ask her about the diagnosis she received two months ago. Ask her why she told you it was just heart problems when the oncologist said stage four pancreatic cancer."

No. That wasn't right.

My mother had called me three weeks ago. Heart problems. A heart episode. She'd said the doctors were monitoring him, that he was stable.

She never mentioned cancer.

"My mother would have told me—"

"Well she lied." Elena's smile was pitiful. "But I'm not interested in protecting your feelings, Primo. I'm interested in protecting this family's interests. Help me handle the Anna situation, and I'll arrange the specialists. Refuse, and your father has six months. Maybe less."

She walked past me toward the door, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

"Two days, Jamal. After that, the specialists move on to other patients who can actually make decisions."

The door closed softly behind her.

I stood there, frozen, her words echoing in my head.

Cancer. Stage four. Six months.

She had to be lying.

~

I was shaking when I pulled out my phone.

My mother answered on the second ring. "Jamal? Mijo, it's late—"

"Does Dad have cancer?" The words came out harsher than I intended.

Silence.

Long, terrible silence.

"How did you—" Her voice was shaky, uncertain.

My legs nearly gave out. I leaned against the corridor wall, suddenly unable to stand.

"It's true?" I could barely get the words out. "Mom, tell me it's not true."

"Jamal, we didn't want you to worry. You have your career, your fights coming up—"

"How long?" I cut her off, my voice breaking. "How long have you known?"

A pause. I could hear her breathing, could picture her in our kitchen back home, trying to find the right words.

"Two months," she finally said. "Maybe a little more."

Two months.

She'd known for two months and never told me.

"You said it was his heart." My hand was gripping the phone so tight it hurt. "You called me and said Dad had a heart episode. You never said cancer. You never said—"

"It started with his heart. The symptoms—mijo, the doctors are doing everything they can. We're exploring treatment options, clinical trials—"

"Elena said there are specialists." I was talking fast now, desperate. "People who can actually help him. People who've treated this before—"

My mother's voice went quiet. "Sebastian mentioned something like that. But Jamal, those doctors are experimental. They're incredibly expensive, and your father doesn't want you disrupting your entire life for—"

"I don't care what he wants!" My voice cracked. "How bad is it? I need to know how bad it really is."

She was quiet for a long moment. Too long.

"Without aggressive treatment," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper, "six months. With the right treatment, maybe longer. Maybe much longer. The doctors don't know yet."

Six months.

My father had six months to live and everyone—my mother, probably Uncle Sebastian, maybe even my own father—had been lying to me about it.

"Jamal, please understand—"

"I have to go."

"Mijo, wait—"

I hung up.

Sat there in the empty corridor, trying to breathe, trying to process what I'd just heard.

Cancer. Stage four. Six months.

Elena could save him. She had the connections, the specialists, the experimental treatments that could give him years instead of months.

All I had to do was destroy Anna.

\~~~

My phone buzzed in my hand.

Unknown number.

I almost didn't open it. Almost threw my phone against the wall and watched it shatter.

But something made me look.

I'm at Brooklyn Bridge.

That was it. Four words. No explanation. No signature.

But I knew who it was.

Anna.

I read it again, my heart starting to pound for a completely different reason.

Brooklyn Bridge. Midnight.

After everything that had happened tonight. After James. After Elena. After my family had destroyed her in front of hundreds of people.

I'm at Brooklyn Bridge.

Not "meet me there." Not "can we talk." Not "I need you."

Just a location.

Like a notification. Like information I needed to have.

Like a goodbye.