“Nouveau Orleans.” I blurted out the first words that tumbled through my head.
“Excuse me?” Ted narrowed his eyes.
I swallowed hard. “The name of my new article, Nouveau Orleans. For years the magazine has covered debutante balls and charity events. Old money is old news. It’s overdone. Why not cover the nouveau riche? The younger and sexier side of New Orleans Society.”
Ted smirked and the other two people on the call stared. However, Marlena’s eyes brightened, and a wicked smile crossed her lips. For my part, I tried to maintain a poker face, but my heart thumped loud enough to be heard through the computer.
“Keep talking.” Marlena steepled her fingers beneath her chin.
The gears in my head spun out of control. “Take the Marchionnis, for example. Five surviving brothers, all of whom own profitable establishments in the French Quarter. Then there are the hotels and other companies outside the Quarter owned by the Marchionni Corporation. They host charity events and are involved in the community, yet no one covers them.”
“For good reason.” Ted’s voice rose. “There’ve been rumors about the Marchionnis since Joe Sr. started buying failing businesses. Most folks think they’re tied to the mob.”
People in the south loved to gossip and hated outsiders. A Sicilian family buying up half the French Quarter had sprouted as many tall tales as the old myth of vampires living in the attic at Old Ursuline Convent.
“Is this big enough to do a monthly piece?” Marlena leaned closer to the camera.
“There are many young powerful residents in New Orleans.” Thank God. They liked the idea. All I had to do was close the deal. “My brother-in-law is the late Joe Marchionni Jr. and Gabe Marchionni is a friend of mine. The first piece will be an exposé on the Marchionni family, each of the following months will feature a different brother. When we run out of Marchionnis, I’ll move on to other young up and coming leaders in the city.”
Referring to Gabe as my friend made my chest hurt. That line about time healing all wounds was crap. I’d thought of him every single day in the four years since he’d dumped me.
“I don’t like the name.” Ted tapped his pencil to his lips.
“How about, The Bourbon Street Bad Boys Club?” I forced a smile. My best friend, Shanna, had coined the term back when I’d first met Gabe. “The Marchionnis’ Mardi Gras Gala is always big news. We can piggy-back the article off the event coverage.”
“I love it. A little sexist, but it’ll work for the Marchionnis.” Marlena clapped. “You’ll need to research the corporation, their businesses, their community involvement, and their personal lives. I can see the photos now. Those men are seriously sexy, even Papa Joe.”
You have no idea. Images of a skin and sweat and black six-hundred thread count sheets flashed through my mind.
Ted glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “Do you think they’re connected to the mob? I mean, is it safe to go snooping into their business?”
“That’s a good point. Maggie, given your relationship with the family, are you willing to spill the dirty secrets as well as the pretty ones?” Marlena raised a perfectly sculpted brow.
“I seriously doubt they’re involved in organized crime, but they wouldn’t be the first to play dirty in New Orleans. Very few leaders in this city are squeaky clean. I’ll write the piece as it should be written—truthfully.” My voice might have sounded strong, but my stomach roiled and threatened to return my lunch. I hadn’t seen Gabe or his brothers since my sister’s funeral over a year before. What the heck did I just get myself into?
“Do the research. I want a full proposal by the end of the week. Dennis, get legal involved. We don’t want to print anything too risqué and lose sponsors. Ted, get with creative. Let’s brand this thing—logos, ads, the works.” Marlena barked orders like Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada. “The Bourbon Street Bad Boys Club. I love it.”
After everyone had their marching orders, I closed the laptop and walked into the bathroom in search of antacids. I didn’t love my job as much as I needed it. As a freelancer, they allowed me to work from home. The small amount I took from the children’s trust funds each month barely paid the bills, and not paying daycare had helped. Sure, I could use more of their money, but I hated feeling like I’d somehow profited from my sister’s death. I took one look at myself in the mirror and groaned. So much for a professional appearance.
My hair had drooped and my mascara had bled. One shoulder of my jacket had a white and brown smear. The substance looked suspiciously like the peanut butter and fluff sandwich I’d fed my nephew for lunch. Ryan must have wiped his hands under the table. No wonder Marlena had planned to fire me.
The weight of what I’d done settled on my shoulders. While I knew for sure my sister would never marry into the mob, I hated the idea of investigating Rebecca’s in-laws. Gabe was an ass, and I loathed his parents, but the rest of the bunch were good guys—even if they hadn’t bothered to check on me and the kids in over a year.
The alarm on my cell phone chirped, reminding me to pick up Ryan from the sitter. In another hour, the house would be full of children, backpacks to check, papers to sign, dinner to cook, baths, and pajamas. I’d never thought of myself as mother material and never imagined I’d be raising three children before my twenty-sixth birthday. Sometimes, no most times, life wasn’t fair. However, I’d promised three children we’d make the best of a bad situation, and that’s exactly what I intended to do.
First things first, I needed back-up, and my bestie just so happened to work for a private investigator.
“I need a favor,” I said the moment Shanna answered the phone.
“Hello, to you too.” She laughed.
“I’m sorry. It’s been one of those days.”
“What can I do?”
I drew a breath. “I need some help finding info on the Marchionni Corporation and the brothers.”
“Dare I ask why?”
“Marlena pulled my regular article. I have to put together a proposal for something new this week. I’m thinking about a standing piece on new money families in New Orleans, starting with the Marchionnis.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Probably.”
“I’ll look into it.” She hadn’t mentioned Gabe, but I had a feeling she would soon enough.
“Thanks, Shanna. I have to run.” I smiled despite my mood.
“Uh uh, no way. You’re on your cell. Take me with you.” She sucked in a breath. “Are you planning to see He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named?”
Am I? Can I do the story without coming in contact with Gabe? The part of me who needed closure to see him and demand he tell me the real reason he ended our relationship. That, I could handle. The part of me still completely and utterly in love with the big jerk was an entirely different matter.
“Maggie?” Her voice rose. “Tell me you’re not going to see him.”
I sighed. “I’m not going to see him.”
“Why do I have a feeling I’m going to regret doing this?”
“Because you love me, and you worry.”
“I do love you, but I worry because this is Gabe we’re talking about.”
I grabbed my keys and hurried to the car. “Shoshanna, this is business, not personal.”
“It must be if you’re using my full name.”
3
Gabe
My mother showed no signs of ending her lecture anytime soon. As it was, she’d damned near paced a rut in the travertine floor.
“I don’t understand what I did wrong with the lot of you. Why can’t you boys find nice Italian girls to settle down with?” Evelyn patted a rhythm on Ella’s diapered bottom. “At least you could find a good Catholic girl.”
“Ma, Rebecca was Catholic and you know it.”
Evelyn pursed her lips and shook her head. “Irish Catholics are hardly the same.”
“How is Maggie doing?” I knew better than to ask, but my curiosity had always g
otten me into trouble.
My mother’s temper went from zero to sixty in a heartbeat. German engineering had nothing on Evelyn Marchionni.
“She’s too young to handle three kids. Your father and I are taking her back to court next month. I don’t know what Rebecca and Joe were thinking.” She paused to do the sign of the cross after mentioning my brother’s name. “Our lawyers think we’ll win this time. She’s two months late on her mortgage. What are we supposed to do? Throw our own grandchildren out on the street?”
“It’s not a mortgage. You gave Joe and Rebecca the house as a wedding gift.” I ran my hands over my head. Joe had made his wishes clear, but since when did something as trivial as a last will and testament ever stop my parents?
“Yes, but she insisted on paying rent.”
“You and Pops have no business taking money from Maggie.”
“That’s a matter for your father.” Her chin rose.
I knew better than to fight this battle, not when I had my own problems. From all reports, Maggie had done a great job with the kids. It’d kill her if she lost custody. “Don’t be so hard on her.”
“Hmmph.” Evelyn pulled the baby from her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “Let’s go see Grandfather. He’s going to love you. Another baby girl to spoil.”
“It’d be better if you watch her while I talk to him—”
“Nonsense. You made this mess. You’ll deal with the consequences.” My mother marched me toward my father’s study as if she were taking me before a firing squad—solemn with a chaser of doom. She rushed inside with Ella, leaving me to watch from the door. “Look what your son has brought home. Poor thing. Her mother left her on the doorstep like a bottle of milk.”
Giuseppe Marchionni Sr.—aka Papa Joe—went wide-eyed for half a beat before he smiled.
Evelyn held the baby out to my father and smirked. “I told him he should stay here. He needs help. With the hours he keeps, he can’t raise a baby.”
I sighed, which drew my father’s attention. I didn’t dare grin, instead I hung my head and walked into the room. “Hey, Pops. Sorry to spring this on you and Ma. I found out about her today.”
If the fact I’d become a father surprised him, he hid it well. “What did you name her?”
“Her mother named her Gabriella Antoinette. She doesn’t have our last name, but I intend to change that.”
Joe Sr. grinned at Ella. A rumbling laugh started in his gut and spilled into the room. “Is that right, mio piccolo rosa? That’s a big name for a little rose.”
“I call her Ella.”
“Where’s her mother?” Joe’s voice remained playful, even if his words didn’t.
“She works on a cruise ship. She left today. Said she’s not coming back.”
Joe’s mouth fell open and snapped shut. “Have you called our lawyer?”
“Not yet. I’ll speak to Santiago tomorrow.”
“Get this taken care of.” Joe glanced at his wife. “Eve, leave us to discuss business.”
Evelyn scooped the baby from his arms. “Before I go, since my other grandchildren will be under this roof soon, so should Ella.”
No Marchionni had ever moved back home, and I wouldn’t be the first. My brothers would never let me live it down. “Ma, I just need a little help getting started. I can and will handle this.”
She continued speaking as if she hadn’t heard me. “If Gabriel’s man enough to get some girl pregnant, he’s man enough to fix his mistakes. I think he needs to track her down and make this right.”
Not believing my ears, I whipped my head back and forth between them. “No freakin’ way.”
“This is how you speak to your mother?” My father narrowed his eyes. “Sit down.”
I’d come here for help with the baby—the same baby Chantal had abandoned. I’d be damned if I allowed anyone to force me to marry a woman I couldn’t stand. All I had to do was drop the name Chantal DuBois, and all talk of marriage would end. My father despised her for a myriad of reason, some I knew and some I didn’t. Then again, my parents were old-school Sicilian. My mother could guilt the devil into turning down the heat, and my father held the deed to my bar and the strings to mine and my brothers’ finances.
Evelyn shot me a warning look, kissed my father’s cheek, and left the room. No doubt, she headed for the kitchen to conspire with Hildie. One thing I knew for certain, I’d be stuck here until after dinner. If I got out at all.
As soon as the door closed, Joe leaned to the side and coughed.
The wet gurgle and high-pitched wheeze made my jaw clench. We never mentioned the C-word in this house, but that hadn’t stopped the cancer from setting up residence in his lungs. I stood and placed my hand on my father’s shoulder.
“Your mother’s right,” Joe said, waving me away. “You’re not going to be able to raise a kid and keep bar hours.”
“I know, Pops.” I reclaimed the chair. “But I’m not going to marry Ella’s mother. I’ll figure something else out.”
His eyes brightened, but his jaw tightened. He’d thought of a solution to the problem. “You’ll kill two birds with one stone and marry Maggie Guthrie. It’ll make your mother happy without the two of us having to raise another litter of kids.”
I froze in place. “What? I followed your orders. I haven’t spoken to her or gone near Joe’s place since the funerals. I doubt she’ll speak to me, let alone walk down the aisle.”
My father believed the wreck that killed my brother and his wife was no accident. At one point, he’d accused Chantal of playing a part in the deaths in some revenge plot over the bad business deal.
“You had a relationship with Maggie. Rekindle it.” Studying me, my dad leaned back in his chair.
How the hell would that work? She hated me, and with good reason. I’d told her I wanted to end things so she could follow her dreams or some shit, but in reality, I wanted to protect her from my family and our business associates. Maggie was a stubborn woman. She wouldn’t blindly follow orders. My brain spun out of control with the logistics of the situation, but my heart started beating the melody of some ridiculous love song.
My father cleared his throat. “I’ll put security back on her and the kids.”
Security who would report my every move back to him. No-freaking-thanks. “It’s been a year. Nothing’s happened. No security. You want me to do this. I’ll do it my way. I won’t let anything happen to Maggie or the kids.”
“Your brother said the same thing, and look how well that turned out.”
“I know, Pops. I know.” I stared at a picture on my father’s desk. Papa Joe stood arm in arm with his eldest son, both smiling. After posing for the picture, the two had a falling out that ripped the family apart. Joe Jr. had died before the rift could be repaired. I didn’t know what they’d argued about, only that they’d disagreed over a business decision. After the accident, my father refused to discuss it.
“You do this your way, and you’re responsible for my grandchildren’s safety.”
I pressed my lips together. I would have been looking out for the kids already, if he hadn’t ordered me and my brothers to stay away from them.
Joe coughed again and folded his arms across his chest. “It’s time for you to step up. Take your place in the company.”
I’d also done everything in my power to stay on the law-abiding side of the family business. Unfortunately, my father’s corporation owned my bar—a situation I’d planned to rectify as soon as possible.
“I’ll start working with you part-time this week.” I held his gaze. “But my personal life is mine, and I’m keeping the bar.”
“Find a manager and be here full-time.” My father drummed his fingers on his desk—something he did when he negotiated with business partners.
I didn’t dare react and risk him having another coughing fit. “It’ll take time. I’ll work both jobs until I find someone.”
“You’ll need help with the baby, for when you travel. Marry the Guthri
e girl in the next month or you’re moving in here. I won’t spend the rest of my days on this earth listening to your mother bitch about how her grandchildren are being raised by some Irish tart.”
“Pop, I need more than a month—”
“Too damned bad.” He slammed his fist on the desk, his face turning an alarming shade of red. “You’ll marry her or bring all four of my grandchildren to your mother. Do I make myself clear?”
I couldn’t let on that I needed time to work my way back into Maggie’s good graces because I’d screwed things up with her years before. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. I’d hate to pull the bar and everything else away from you. If you break your mother’s heart, so help me God.” He paused to hack into a handkerchief. “You’ve had it too easy, kid. Joe took care of things for you, but he’s gone now. Time for you to man-up.”
I rubbed the back of my neck to postpone the oncoming tension headache. “I’d like to stay on the legit side of things. It’s not like the old days, Pops.”
“We do what we have to do.” He opened his desk drawer, pulled out an envelope, and tossed it my way.
“What’s this?”
“The Lazios are doing better than we expected. We need to up our operations.”
The operations, as he put it, were killing my profit margin on liquor. We were the only place in the Quarter that didn’t accept credit cards. Great if you launder drug money. Not so much if you intended to steer clear of the Sicilian mafia, aka the Cosa Nostra.
“I’ll see what I can do, but the new mayor’s making noise—”
“I’ll make a call. Remind him of our generous campaign contributions.”
I glanced at the picture and promised myself I wouldn’t cross the line and end up dead. I’d stick around to see Ella grow up.
“Don’t look so glum. It’s not such a hardship marrying Maggie Guthrie. Men would kill for those…” My father held his cupped hands in front of his chest, mimicking Maggie’s breasts.
“Yeah, she’s a looker all right.” I stood along with my father. I hated the way he spoke about her, and women in general for that matter, but I’d given up trying to change him years ago. We don’t choose our parents. All we can do is love them and fight like hell not to turn into them.
Absinthe Minded: A Mafia Romantic Comedy (Bourbon Street Bad Boys' Club Book 1) Page 2
