His hands slip from my fingers. Shadows play across his face like spiders. “I have to go,” he says.
You said you’d never be happy with him.
I’ve lost him. “Bastien, wait!”
He’s already halfway across, shrugging his jacket on. “I need to get out of here.”
“I didn’t mean—I’m sorry!”
The door slams, rocking the whole house.
Chapter Eleven
Sébastien
I’m disappearing.
My identity is fucking gone. Used to reach down and grasp him—me—whenever I felt overwhelmed with this Bastien character. The brush of sanity and the reassuring nod of the man I was eludes me. Eva said she didn’t want this life and I was angry. For a second I believed I was a mobster in the Romano family.
You’re a cop. You’re a cop. You’re a cop.
Getting harder to believe. My head is like a block of ice because I’ve been up all night and day. My eyes strain to keep open. Nothing seems real. I slip more into the role that’s become my life. The marriage was a sham, but it’s not a lie. Every evening we try for a baby. She wants more and so do I. I’m tired of treating her like a ghost. I want a future with her.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I’m not what she signed up for, but I let them marry us anyway because I fucking wanted her. It’s the most selfish thing I’ve ever done. I’ll burn in hell when I die. She’s waited her whole life to have kids.
You’re stringing along this poor girl.
Am I?
She doesn’t even know who you are.
Guilt gnaws at my bones. I’m not a wiseguy. She deserves the truth, but I can’t put her in danger. Eva is my purpose. Without her, I would’ve never made it this far. Probably would have fled to Saskatchewan and dealt with Carter and Ritter there.
The injustice of it simmers under my skin.
They cut me off. I reported every fucking felony I saw—must have been hundreds at this point—and still nothing. I’ll leave and take my wife with me. She doesn’t want this either.
The boss sits in the back of the deli, counting stacks of cash into neat piles. His face has color today. Eva told me he’s been feeling better, but the doctors don’t know if it’s a placebo effect. I wish the cocksucker would hurry up and die. Guilt twists like a knife in my chest. Eva loves him. For some goddamn reason, she cares for that piece of shit. She looks at him and sees Daddy. I see a mass murderer.
The big saws slice and dice bodies. They’re the same blades used to cut ham. I vomited to get out of helping with the body disposal. It doesn’t bother me as much anymore. That’s a sign. Abandon all hope.
His gaze searches for Adrián, whose face healed nicely after my attack. His scars burn bright red. “What are we going to do about the Legion MC? Ricardo told me—”
“That fucking junkie?” Vito doesn’t look up between his counting. Misses Adrián’s glare.
“He said they were responsible for Marc.”
Vito mouths to himself. The other men in the room, Louis and Henri, wear expressions of annoyance. Adrián looks ready to blow.
“Boss.”
“I’m fucking busy!”
“We need to talk. It’s been two months, and we’ve done nothing about Marc. We look like a bunch of dickless morons.”
“You want to take the MC on, go a-fucking-head,” Vito sneers. “I can read the writing on the wall. We will not survive a war.”
“The hell we won’t!”
The chair scrapes the floor as Vito stands. “The fuck did you say?”
Vito is all bark, no bite. And everyone knows it.
“You heard me. This is not going unpunished. I don’t give a shit what you think.” Adrián turns his back on the boss, and I’m content to watch him storm out of there. Leave Vito gaping in shock at the blatant disrespect, but I can’t let him die. Not yet.
It’s my job to be his muscle.
In two swift strides, I’m at Adrián’s side. I yank him by his collar. He stumbles over his ridiculous patent leather shoes. I grab his neck and squeeze.
“Don’t talk to the boss like that.”
His eyes wheel toward me. “I’ll kill you.”
A sharp elbow to my side winds me. Then his fist crushes my skull and lights burst in my vision. I recover. The world rights itself. I throw a punch in his stomach. Once. Twice.
And I’m tired—so fucking sick of this shit—that I lay into him. I’m done with the constant aches and pains. Finished with breaking up fights between these brainless assholes.
I want to leave. Let them rot. “You had enough?”
He screams when my foot smashes into his ribs. “Answer me, you piece of shit!”
Adrián pushes himself to all fours, trembling. I kick him. The bastard falls.
The fight’s over, but I want to keep going. Beat the shit out of him. A sick part of me wants to see how far I can push Adrián. Any excuse to get rid of him.
But Vito waves me off. My hands tremble with adrenaline. Blood lust.
The room echoes with Adrián’s groans. For a while we don’t say anything. Then Louis steps forward, glancing at Adrián with distaste. “I think we should talk about the future of the family.”
Vito returns to the chair, looking weakened. “I talked to Johnny a few weeks ago. He’s agreed to take all of you on in exchange for our territory. We can’t hold it.”
Several of the guys look aghast at the news, none more than Adrián. He limps to his feet, wide-eyed. “You’re not choosing a boss?”
“No,” he glowers. “And if I did, it wouldn’t be you.”
Ouch.
Louis shrugs. “Works for me. We’re spread too thin to defend it anyway.”
I absorb the bombshell of his announcement the way I think one of his cronies would. Surprise. Relief. Inside, I’m a fucking mess.
Johnny Cravotta?
Any hope of surviving this flies out the window.
“Wow, that’s big news.” I give Vito a slap on the back. “You did the right thing. I know it’s hard giving this up.”
He smiles weakly. “Five generations my family has run Westmount. Guess it’s over.”
“Bullshit!” Adrián spits a wad of blood at the boss’ feet. “I’m not joining that French fuck.”
“Then you’ll be dead,” Vito says.
I don’t trust that steely look. Grabbing the back of Adrián’s shirt, I yank him out the door.
“Get off me!” he screams.
Adrián sprawls on the pavement as I shove him. “Take a walk, Adrián. Don’t fucking push it. He will kill you.”
Not like I give a shit, but every time they die I deal with a mountain of paperwork.
Battered, Adrián rises to his feet. His jacket hangs over his shoulder. With his chubby cheeks and bulky frame, he looks like a pissed-off chipmunk. “I swear to God, I’ll end you for this.”
I grab my sidearm and point it at him. My finger twitches. I want to send this asshole on his way to the pearly gates, but it’s a public place, and there’s that pesky no felonies rule.
“Last warning,” I say, hoping he’ll take the damn bluff.
Adrián stares down the barrel without fear, a taut leer widening his face.
A barrage of text messages blows up my phone, all of them from Eva wondering where the hell her husband is. I’ve never been out this late. I left last night and it’s ten in the morning. She’s worried.
I ignore it. Can’t risk them finding my location. She won’t like that, but what I’m doing is for both of us.
Had to take two trains and a bus to meet this guy. Couldn’t search for him on my cell, so I did it the old-fashioned way. Yellow pages. Payphone. They still exist in some areas of the city.
I walk down a crumbling street where plastic bags move like tumbleweeds. Garbage and graffiti everywhere. I find the building next to a community dental office and climb the narrow steps. A glass door stands at the top.
Saul Freedma
n Private Investigator.
The letters are peeling. I push it open, finding a dank waiting room with a water cooler that looks like it’s been empty for months. A stained couch sits in the center with a coffee table displaying last year’s Times issues. The receptionist chews bubble gum.
This doesn’t bode well.
Saul’s oily laughter booms from the next door. Suddenly it opens, and a middle-aged woman walks out, bursting into tears. A man with a bowl haircut waves and gives her an aw-shucks smile. He’s dressed like a gumshoe detective. Suspenders. Gray pants.
“Mr. Trout?” he calls, beaming when I stand.
“Please, come inside.”
I follow him into what looks like a walk-in closet converted into an office. It’s a tight squeeze behind his desk. Saul grimaces as his chair hits the wall.
He sinks into the leather as I take a seat, leaning over the black counter. “What can I do for you, sir?”
I grab the two photographs from my inner jacket pocket and slide them facedown toward Saul. He takes them, grinning. “Let me guess, business partners?”
I stare at him. “No.”
“No! Romantic rivals! You want me to set them up.”
“I just want you to follow them. I need details on where they are. What they’re doing. Their daily routines. Everything.”
A smirk staggers over his face. “That’s no problem.”
A khaki trench coat hangs in the corner. “I expected to see a pipe lying on your desk.”
“Don’t be fooled by the aesthetics, my friend. I’m a professional.”
And I’m a cop. I would track them on my own, but with my cover hanging by a thread, I can’t risk it. “What techniques will you use to surveil them?”
He laughs, throwing up his hands. “Trade secret, I’m afraid. I don’t disclose my methods.” He lays the pictures flat, stabbing Carter’s. “If I may, I’d suggest the Voyeur Package. For a low price of $199.99, I can set up a sting with one of my girls. Take photos of them cheating on his wife. Works every time. I have an excellent success rate.”
“I’m not interested.”
Saul doubles down. “Well, how about my Elite Plus Package? Normally $269.99, but I like your vibe. I’ll give you a discount. Twenty bucks off, and I’ll start a fight—”
“No,” I grind out. “Both men are cops, and they’ll spot a con a mile away.”
The PI’s demeanor shifts from seedy salesman to curious. “Well, it’s none of my business, but that will cost you extra.”
Of course. “How much?”
“Four hundred a day, each.”
“Two-fifty each, and I’ll throw in another five hundred if you forget I ever existed.”
Saul slams his fist on the table. “Sold!”
We shake hands, his laugh crawling down my spine. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
Wish I could say the same. I feel like washing my hand. Opening my wallet, I fish out the cash and pay him half for the week. Carter and Ritter will know I withdrew a ton of money. They’ll assume I’m running. Have to act fast.
Saul sucks in his bottom lip as he takes the money and counts. The bills stack into a neat row. I slide a card with my fake name and a number. “Call me if you have any concerns.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Saul beams as he shows me the door. “And you have my number if you need anything. Seriously. I’m at your disposal.”
No doubt he’s pegged me as a cash cow. Probably never sees this kind of business. “Forget I was here.”
He grins, showing off his veneers. “Have a good day!”
I walk out and jog down the narrow steps. My second cell phone buzzes in my jacket. Reaching inside, I pull it out and see a text from Carter with an address.
The asshole must be sweating. I’ve ignored them for days. I want them riled up and making mistakes.
I tap the street name, and my phone pulls up a location smack dab in Old Montreal. A popular area packed with tourists. Is he trying to get me fucking killed? I’d be a stone’s throw away from Vito’s people.
I text back a response: NO.
Carter’s answer returns immediately.
Your wife is here. I think I’ll talk to her.
Chapter Twelve
Eva
Something’s wrong.
The sheets are cold, still mussed from my sleep, but there’s no indentation from his head on the pillow. I peel the blankets off and climb out of bed. It’s a warm day, sunlight pouring through the windows to kiss the walls. I poke through the doors, searching for Bastien. He’s not here. He never came home.
Anger boils under my skin as I glance at the clock. Nine-thirty. When the hell was he going to call me? I march to the bedroom, grab the phone off the nightstand. No missed calls or messages. He’s angry—I get it. Yesterday was a mess and I feel bad about it, but that’s still no excuse to disappear for the whole night.
I stomp into the bathroom and take a quick shower, after which I take a pregnancy test. Negative. Fuck it all.
I yank a tank top over myself, finding a pair of strappy sandals to wear with dark-blue jeans. It’s too nice of a day to stay inside, and I will not be one of those women who waits for her husband to come home. I’ve got my own life.
Grabbing my purse and keys, I head out the door. He wouldn’t like me walking alone, but it’s only to the subway, and I’m heading straight for Old Montreal, which is always packed with tourists. I’ll be fine. Still, I keep a brisk pace as I walk down the sidewalk and descend the steps into the metro.
Maybe I should tell him where I’m going, just in case.
Screw that. Why should I say a damn thing?
I bury the guilt fighting to the surface and climb out of the subway. A flood of sightseers walks the cobblestoned roads. It’s a gorgeous area of Montreal. Probably my favorite part of town because it’s so much like Europe. The narrow streets and sloping paths with cute boutiques and broad plazas remind me of Italy. Been ages since I’ve visited. Dad and I took a trip to Florence when I was sixteen. I remember being enchanted with the architecture, the cuisine, the lazy pace of living.
Sunshine blankets a wide area, reminding me of the piazzas. Food stands and merchants line the street. It’s packed. People sunbathe in the patch of grass behind the vendors. A queue for ice cream wraps around the booth, and people lug canvas bags filled with fresh fruit and vegetables from the farmer’s market. I stop at a vendor selling flower bouquets for five dollars. They’re wrapped in clear plastic. Beautiful floral arrangements. Cheery colors of yellow and orange were always my favorite, but my gaze falls on a small arrangement of light-pink tulips. They’d look pretty on the dining room table. I want to ask the saleswoman how much it costs, but a man catches my eye.
He stands near the hydrangeas, his head cocked to the side. He looks at me. A smile plays on his lips. The man has a stocky build and a wide back, like a boxer. Short bristles cover his skull, and heavy, dark eyebrows lie across his forehead.
Please don’t talk to me.
I brace myself to be hit on as he steps closer. “Are you Sébastien’s wife?”
Wow. He knows my husband. “Yes.”
“Oh,” he says, looking relieved. “I’m Carter. It’s an honor to meet you.”
I shake his hand, my nerves flattening with his smile. “Eva. How do you know him?”
“We used to work together. I heard he got married. Good for him.” His face splits with a wide grin. “He was so uptight I thought it’d never happen.”
“You worked with my husband?” I haven’t seen him before, but he talks about Bastien like he’s an old friend.
“Yeah, absolutely. Couple months ago he and I started a job. Didn’t see eye to eye on things, but I liked him. Capable guy.” He beams at me. “Well, I’ll leave you to your shopping.”
“Wait. I was going to have lunch. Would you like to sit with me?”
He thinks about it. “Sure. I’d love that.”
Friendly guy. It’s such a rare oppor
tunity that I get to talk to anyone who knows Bastien that I can’t help myself. Carter seems harmless enough.
“What are you hungry for?” he asks.
“I wanted a hot dog. I like them with mustard and—”
“Chopped onions and sauerkraut? Me, too,” he says. “Let’s do it.”
I grin as we stand in line. “Sauerkraut on hot dogs?”
“It’s the best.” He walks to man doling steamies and rattles off the order. “No, don’t worry about it,” Carter says when I reach into my wallet.
He hands me a dog wrapped in foil. “Thank you!” I point toward the grass. “Should we sit there?”
“Sure.”
I follow him across the swath of tourists and sink into the cool ground. Shade from a maple provides relief from the sun, and we sit together. Carter inhales his hot dog and pats his stomach, mimicking a bulge.
“Hit the spot. Thanks for the suggestion.”
The acidic tang of mustard bursts over my tongue, mellowed by the savory taste. “Bastien and I don’t eat junk food.”
“He used to tell me about his kale juice cleanses all the time. Drove me nuts.”
I stifle a laugh, imagining my husband choking down a glass of green. “What? He’s a meat and potatoes guy.”
“Not when I knew him,” he says, grinning.
“I haven’t met many of Bastien’s friends.” I don’t think I saw Carter at the wedding.
He adjusts his shades on his head. “I’d love to get together some time.”
“Well, we could have you over for dinner.”
“That sounds great,” he says, reaching into his pocket. “Here’s my card and number. Bastien has it already, but getting him on the phone is impossible. He’d kick my ass if he knew I was dishing the dirt.”
“Kale juice is nothing.”
He raises thick eyebrows. “Oh yeah? I guess I’ll have to dig deeper.”
“Yes, please.”
Carter stretches on the grass, smirking. “All right. You might not like this one.”
“Lay it on me.” I sigh, leaning back as the clouds shift and the sunshine bathes my face in warmth.
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