Chapter 320: The Conversation
After sawing through one of the corpse's lower legs, Nando straightened up and rolled his shoulders.
He had been crouching for a while—his back and knees were starting to protest. Age was catching up with him.
"You don't seem scared at all," Nando said, looking at Frank. "You know you'll be the one lying here next, right?"
"Why should I be afraid?" Frank replied calmly, sipping water on the couch. "Everyone dies sooner or later. Besides, I don't have long myself. I've got severe liver disease. Could drop dead any day now."
That answer caught Nando's attention.
He grabbed two bottles of beer, sat casually on the coffee table across from Frank, popped one open, took a swig, and handed the other bottle over.
"What's your relationship with Steve?" he asked.
Nando didn't sit on the couch—his clothes were splattered with blood. No point ruining the furniture.
"Sorry," Frank waved the beer away. "Alcoholic cirrhosis. I can't drink. Unless you want me vomiting blood all over your floor."
"That's unfortunate," Nando said, setting the beer aside.
"As for me and Ji—Steve," Frank corrected himself, glancing at Jimmy, who was still pale and dazed, "I suppose you could say I'm his father-in-law."
Nando narrowed his eyes.
"You know Steve is married to my daughter, right?"
"Your men have been watching my house," Frank said evenly. "You already know the situation."
"That slum girl… Fiona," Nando began, almost using a harsher word before correcting himself. "She's your daughter?"
He had nearly called her a bitch.
But he stopped himself.
Nando was a father too. He understood what it meant to insult another man's daughter in front of him.
"Yes. Fiona is my daughter. And the one Steve truly loves… has always been her."
"But he married my daughter," Nando said coolly.
"You know better than anyone how that marriage came about," Frank replied.
Then he leaned forward slightly.
"And frankly, choosing Steve as your son-in-law was a mistake."
"Oh?" Nando arched an eyebrow.
"You know exactly what kind of man he is. He's not reliable. He's not the type who does what he's told. Your daughter can't control him."
"You arranged that marriage to secure U.S. citizenship for her. That means at least two or three years of maintaining the relationship. Immigration checks. Interviews. Constant scrutiny."
"Maybe you can fake it for a month. Maybe two. But for years? Something was bound to go wrong."
Frank gestured toward the corpse being dismembered.
"The fact that he smuggled that guy over from Brazil says everything."
"He never learns. Even if you let him live through this, give it a couple months and he'll slip back into his old habits—leave your daughter at home and go chasing whatever catches his eye."
"And you won't stay in America forever to babysit him. You'll go back to Brazil eventually."
Frank paused.
"How long have they been married now? A few months?"
He looked directly at Nando.
"Ask your daughter if she even knows Steve's birthday. That's basic information. Immigration officers always ask questions like that."
Nando hesitated—then actually turned to his daughter and spoke to her in Portuguese.
Frank didn't understand the words.
But judging from Nando's tightening jaw and the girl's confused, tearful expression—
The answer was not what he'd hoped for.
"So after all that," Nando said darkly, "you're suggesting my daughter divorce Steve so he can marry yours instead?"
"No," Frank replied with a sigh. "I don't like Steve at all. In fact, I'd rather he stayed far away from my daughter. Unfortunately… my daughter seems determined. And there's only so much I can do."
"Funny," Nando said, lighting a cigarette. "I don't like him either."
He offered the pack to Frank.
"Thanks." Frank took one.
Nando even flicked his lighter and leaned in to light it for him.
Frank exhaled a stream of smoke and glanced at the men still struggling to dismember the corpse.
"By the way… the way you're handling the body? It's a little outdated."
Nando followed his gaze. "You've got a better method?"
"Have one of your men buy a large low-density polyethylene plastic barrel. And hydrofluoric acid."
Nando frowned. "What the hell is that?"
"Just get what's written here. Any large supermarket should carry it."
Frank pulled a sheet of paper toward him and wrote down a short list.
One of the subordinates looked to Nando for confirmation. Nando studied the list for a long moment, cigarette between his lips—then gave a slight nod and handed the note over.
The man left immediately.
Less than fifteen minutes later, he was back.
Under Frank's direction, the half-dismembered remains were dumped into the plastic barrel. Then several containers of hydrofluoric acid were poured in.
The moment the liquid hit flesh, a violent chemical reaction began. A sharp sizzling sound filled the room. Thick white fumes rose into the air.
The smell was horrific—like sweaty feet, rotten eggs, and dry-cleaning solvent all mixed together.
Everyone put on respirator masks. The windows were opened for ventilation. The barrel lid was sealed tightly.
"Give it thirty minutes. An hour at most," Frank said calmly.
During the wait, only Frank and Nando talked. Jimmy and the henchmen stayed silent. The Brazilian girl had locked herself in the bedroom, sulking.
When enough time had passed, one of the men removed the lid.
The body was gone.
In its place was a thick, murky slurry of foul-looking liquid.
The man stirred it with an iron rod. Nothing solid surfaced—no bones, no hair, no tissue. When he pulled the rod back out, even the metal showed signs of corrosion.
Nando stared at the barrel, visibly impressed.
"How did you know to do that?"
"Hydrofluoric acid is extremely corrosive," Frank explained. "It can dissolve metal, stone, glass, ceramics… almost anything."
He tapped the side of the barrel.
"But not plastic."
Frank was, in truth, repurposing knowledge he'd picked up from Walter—chemical dissolution. A cleaner term might've been "chemical corpse reduction."
Nando looked at Frank differently now.
Not as an old, dying man.
But as someone… useful.