Chapter 13 Florian
Florian
Closing the front door to my penthouse, I grip the large brown envelope in my hand like it’s my lifeline, and if I let it go, it might vanish into thin air. Or maybe I might wake up, and it all will be a dream.
Hugo just delivered Arabelle’s contract, and I’m in total disbelief.
I’d believed that she would finally stand up for herself and tell her father to go to hell, but I guess she isn’t at that point yet.
While this works in my favor today, I know eventually, she’ll be able to cut ties with her family because all they are doing is holding her back from living the life she deserves.
“She signed it.” I shake my head in disbelief. “She fucking signed it.”
I can’t believe it repeats through my mind.
It’s almost too good to be true. Sitting in my penthouse on the thirtieth floor in Soho, exhilaration courses through my veins as I gaze at the contract.
I stare at the bottom of the page where her name is signed on the dotted line in elegant script, like if I blink my eyes or turn my head for a second, it will disappear.
Today feels otherworldly. Today feels like a dream.
It’s something I’ve wanted, but I never believed that I could actually obtain.
And now, I’m still struggling to grasp the fact that she’s finally mine.
Maybe not by choice because I did force her hand, but the day I’ve been longing for has arrived.
With a sigh of relief at seeing her name, I toss the papers onto the glass coffee table in the sitting area and head toward the sliding door that leads to my terrace.
I slide open the glass door, step out, and walk to the black railing.
I grip it while taking in the breathtaking view of the New York skyline.
The sky is filled with billowing gray clouds casting a shadow over the landscape, while the crisp, cool air nips at my face. Inhaling deeply, I fill my lungs with cold air and marvel at how different life seems with just the sight of her name elegantly written on the dotted line.
She’ll be mine in a matter of days.
Eleven years ago, I buried my mother. This day serves as a bittersweet reminder of both the past I’ve left behind and the future that awaits me. The future that awaits me with her.
My Beauty.
My mother’s hopes for my life may come true after all.
There’s no doubt in my mind that Arabelle will fall head over heels in love with Florian.
That side of me will lavish her with love and shower her with gifts to show her how much she means to me.
She’ll never want for anything, including love.
She already has my heart, and I’ll give her whatever her heart desires.
But can she accept the beast that lurks inside? The beast will always be a part of me.
I don’t want this to be just an arranged marriage where we are both living separate lives.
I hope that’s not what she wants either because I want a marriage filled with genuine love and commitment.
I want a wife I can worship and who’ll also worship me as her husband and the love of her life.
The person she can lean on for anything and everything.
Will she accept our relationship without any conditions? Will she open her heart to me so we can have what we both desire?
The rapid knocks on my door tank my mood immediately. I just want to enjoy this one win before being brought back to reality. Stepping inside, I walk to my front door, then look through the peephole and confusion blankets my face. Opening it, I’m faced with two men in cheap blue suits.
“Florian Larsson?” one of the men asks, flashing a badge.
Fuck!
“How may I help you?”
“Mr. Larsson, I’m Detective Regan, and this is Detective Logan. We’re from Chicago PD, and we have some questions about the disappearance of Pierre Gaultier.”
“I don’t know how I can help you with that. I don’t know any Pierre Gaultier.”
“If you let us in, we can discuss this matter further,” Detective Regan says.
“Well, I’m sorry, gentlemen, I’m on my way out for an important meeting, but I can give you my attorney’s card, and he will set up a meeting for a later date.”
“An attorney? If you have no involvement, what do you need an attorney for?” Detective Regan asks.
“Gentlemen, I’m a very wealthy man. I don’t go anywhere or discuss anything without the advice of my attorney.”
“Were you recently in Chicago?” Detective Logan asks as I retrieve my wallet from my back pocket.
“Depends on what’s recent. I travel a lot,” I say as I pull my attorney’s business card from inside my wallet. Detective Regan grabs it, looks at it before focusing back on me.
The insistent ringing of my cell phone is a welcome intervention. I reach into the other back pocket of my dress slacks and groan at Alrick’s name on the caller ID, which means my evening is about to change.
“Sorry, gentlemen, I have to take this.”
“We’ll be in touch,” Detective Regan says, and I nod before shutting the door in their faces.
“Alrick?”
“We have a problem.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling the pressure and tension building. Of course, we have a problem. I can’t even fucking celebrate my upcoming nuptials. No matter what, life seems determined to crush my happiness at every turn.
“What kind of problem?”
“Didrick.” He sighs. “He was in the alley behind the warehouse in Hell’s Kitchen.”
I can’t help but feel sorry for my brother. He’s always had a tougher road than my other brothers, which has led him down a path of addiction that he can’t seem to overcome.
“I’ll see you in twenty.”
A few of our warehouses are behind Sully’s Dry Cleaners. Along with the three warehouses, I also own four multistory apartment buildings in front of the warehouse we’ve named The Pit. It’s where we handle most of our business.
In Hell’s Kitchen, the residents turn a blind eye to the shit surrounding them as long as their beloved buildings are well-maintained.
So do the Irish, who I have cultivated a close relationship with, which allows the Larsson Syndicate to operate in their territory as long as I give them what they want.
“What’s he doing here?” I ask Alrick as soon as I enter the building.
He shrugs. “Don’t know. I didn’t ask because he’s out of it. He looks like shit, Florian.”
“Of course, he does. That’s what fucking drugs will do to you.”
As we walk toward the coolers at the back of the warehouse, the sound of my footsteps reverberates through the space, bouncing off the smooth tile floors.
When I bought the place from the O’Connors, I almost took the coolers out. Alrick had the idea they might make a good soundproof room just in case we needed to get information out of our enemies.
I agreed.
The air in the warehouse is filled with the sound of clanging crates as the boys work diligently, stacking the newly arrived ghost guns from my supplier, a powerful one-percenter motorcycle club based in Las Vegas.
It’s not uncommon for me to be present at any of my operations, so no one wonders why I’m here.
They continue to do their jobs as I make my way to see what condition my little brother is in. That being said, I can’t help but worry about someone else spotting him here.
“Did anyone see him other than you?”
It’s not about my brother’s drug addiction. It’s about someone using it against me. In this kind of work, I can’t have that kind of weakness. Anyone can keep him supplied if they think I’d spend any kind of money to help him.
“I don’t think so,” Alrick replies. “I found him sleeping against the dumpster. I don’t even think he tried to make it inside. He’s not looking so good.”
I paid thousands of dollars to get him clean after I paid off his debt. My father doesn’t care if he’s an addict as long as it doesn’t affect his reputation.
My half brothers and I don’t have the best relationship.
The truth is, they can’t stand me. But what can I say?
I have a soft spot for the kid because I know he’s fucked up in the head because of our father.
He’s still young, and his behavior can be corrected.
The others don’t have an excuse for their behavior.
I thought Didrick would be tied to a chair like the others, but he’s not when we enter the cooler. My eyes are filled with curiosity as I glance at Alrick. He knows I’m not close with any of my brothers, even though I’ve tried to help Didrick in the past.
“He’s still your brother.” He shrugs. “I didn’t think you’d want him treated like everyone else. And, like I said, he’s not doing too good. Tying him to a chair served no purpose.”
I remain silent. Alrick is right. I don’t want to treat Didrick like my enemy, but if it was one of my other brothers, those motherfuckers would be tied to a chair and getting the shit beat out of them for lurking around my business.
Didrick is different. He always has been.
I guess it’s because he reminds me of myself at that age.
His current state causes my heart to constrict inside my chest. Even at seventeen, he has his entire life ahead of him if he can break free from this addiction.
His drug of choice is heroin. From my understanding, it started with a pill addiction and morphed into this after a nearly fatal motorcycle accident.
I lower myself next to his feeble body, observing the fresh needle scars on his arms, and a swirl of guilt consumes me. Damn, he’s lost so much weight since the last time I saw him.
How long has it been?
Lying in the fetal position, Didrick has his arms crossed over his chest and his knees pulled up to his stomach. His body is so thin that it looks like his skin is stretched tightly over his bones.
I watch for the slow rise and fall of his chest, then breathe a sigh of relief when I see it.
Good. He hasn’t overdosed.