15. Micah
“Mr. Cordoza.” Felix walks into Estefan Cordoza’s office just two steps ahead of me, friendly and smiling and far louder than I’d ever choose to be—especially as a dozen heavily armed men watch our arrival. “As always,” Lix booms, “it’s a pleasure to see you.”
“And a pleasure to know you.”
Estefan Cordoza is the boss of all bosses and not only in New York. He essentially runs the criminal underworld of the entire country. No port is accessed in the continental U.S. without Cordoza knowing about it. Nothing comes in without his approval, and nothing goes out unless he’s ordered it so.
Although Archer is both a cop and a Malone, it’s Cordoza who commands his own fleet of badges.
Archer doesn’t do shit for anyone unless it suits him.
Cordoza is friends with the most powerful people in this country, and though his title might suggest violence, he manages with respect. Fairness. Gentleness. He long ago proved that he could come at a man with an axe and deal with business quickly and viciously. But he has a reputation of not using force when force isn’t necessary.
He’d rather deal in suits and handshakes.
When he waves his fat hand, thick fingers wrapped in jewels toward his visitor’s chair, Lix sits, a wide smile stretched across his lips. “Thank you, Mr. Cordoza. We won’t take up much of your time.”
“Micah…” Cordoza gestures next for me to sit. “Please.” Then he leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers. “Tell me what the fuck is happening with Joseph Wilkes.”
“Straight to business,” Lix exhales. “Alright.” Lifting his right ankle, he sets it on his left knee and nods. “Our research, so far, has Wilkes arriving from the UK and hoping to make a power play on New York. He sees dollar signs and instability after the past year, where heads of tables have changed. He’s hoping to capitalize on what he considers volatility and take over.”
“He thinks he can just…” Cordoza snaps his fingers together. “Walk in and declare the city his?”
“I think he’s stupid enough to try. He’s proven to have a lack of intellect with the moves he’s made so far. Shooting people in the street was the first thing he did once he arrived. I’d say that about sets precedence for what we can expect going forward.”
“His MO seems to be guns,” I volunteer, not as loud as Lix. My tone, not as commanding. “He appears to be trading in them. And they surround every incident reported so far. Men he’s connected with hit a club early this morning: drive-by shooting.”
“My information placed you inside that club.” Cordoza’s eyes slide across to mine. His face and body have aged. Lines entrench on his skin, and if a man was to look close enough for long enough, he would notice the slight tremor in Cordoza’s hands. But his eyes… they’re as youthful today as they’ve ever been. His mind, as sharp as ever. “I have my ear to the ground, Micah, always. Reports came back to me that had you,” then he looks at Felix, “and you, inside that club when Wilkes shot it up. Yet,” he extends his hands our way, “you’re here in my office, safe and sound.”
“We had a meeting scheduled,” I offer, drawing the man’s shrewd eyes back my way. “But something came up that kept us away.”
Felix’s lips curl on my left, his smugness just forceful enough to make me want to slam his face to Cordoza’s desk.
“We never made it, obviously,” I grit out. “But we didn’t call ahead and cancel. So if a man wanted to hit us and happened to be following the most current information available, then it makes sense he figured we were there.”
“An attempt has been made on your lives.” Cordoza’s jaw clenches. It’s the only sign alluding to his rage. Call me crazy, but I get the feeling that the old man actually cares that Lix lives. “Three others died as collateral. And Wilkes’ finger was on the trigger.”
“Seems that way.” Lix bounces his foot as restless energy pulses through his blood. “Wilkes decided he’ll take the city with brute force over finesse.”
“Which is not how we run New York.” Cordoza looks to me. “Why weren’t you at the club?”
My stomach drops instantly as Tiia’s face slams to the forefront of my consciousness.
Say her name in this room, and she becomes a part of a world she wants nothing to do with. But refuse to answer Cordoza in his own office, and Wilkes will be the least of our worries.
“Uh…”
“He had a date,” Lix smirks. “Dinner and Netflix. I guess our meeting slipped his mind.”
Slowly, I turn my head and meet my brother’s smiling gaze with my own.
Minus the smile.
“Guess that makes her your guardian angel,” Cordoza inserts, sitting forward at his desk and setting his elbows on the rich mahogany.
The movement makes me wonder about the desk’s history. Where did it come from? Who owned it before him? Did it sail across the ocean too and become a pirate’s treasure?
“The romantic in me considers this all very… serendipitous.” He smiles. “Perhaps it is your turn, Micah.”
“My turn?” I drag my eyes back to the man who could have us all decimated in seconds. “My turn for what?”
“Love. Archer has found his in Doctor Mayet, and Felix…” He quickly glances at my brother and sniggers. “Surprised us both. But Ms. Cannon is a highly intelligent, wildly successful journalist with a brain in her head. So if she says it’s love, then I’m inclined to believe her.” He brings his focus back to me. “Now that your father is dead, it’s been a pleasure for me to watch his sons fall.”
“A statement that could be construed as a threat. And especially not a topic I wish to broach when we’re discussing business.” I dip my chin. “Respectfully, sir.”
“Apples and oranges.” He waggles his finger at me and Lix. “Apples and oranges. But reasonable. I won’t bring it up again. A guardian angel, after all, doesn’t require public praise.” Sitting back, he switches from jovial to business in the blink of an eye. “What do you propose to do about your threat?”
Felix turns deadly serious. “We could leave it alone. A gnat is a gnat, after all, and hardly something to sink my resources into.”
“This gnat controls countless automatic weapons,” I argue. “They shot up a club they expected us to be in. Seems to be an immediate issue that should be dealt with.”
“But carefully,” Cordoza inserts. “Quietly. My sources say the Feds are watching, too. The movement in New York this past year put a lot of eyes on our backs. Mancino’s assassination while in FBI custody is where it began. Pastore is dead. Your father is dead. Times are changing, and everything we once knew is in flux. If Wilkes isn’t lying in wait, the Feds are.”
“So we’ve got to watch both ends.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Something will blow soon. The lids have been on too tight for too long.”
“I’m insulated.” Cordoza speaks calmly. Confidently. “No one is touching me. And they’re sure as hell not shooting up a building I’m supposed to be in. This is about you two.” His eyes flash when I drop my hand. “This is a man who wants to pluck the last surviving family besides my own out of this city.”
“If we fall,” Felix grits out, “you’re next, Boss. And by that point, the country will be at war.”
“So I suppose it would be best if you remain alive and well.” He looks over our shoulders to one of his men. “I want you to assign ten of ours to support the Malone estate?—”
“Wait,” I shove forward in my chair and glance over my shoulder at the soldier Cordoza speaks to. “What?”
“Support,” he repeats. “Not an invasion. Your home must remain safe, and your business, protected. I’ll be damned if our city falls to the fucking British.”
He nods for his man to go round up a team of soldiers to surround our home. “I want this dealt with quietly, gentlemen. Quickly.”
Then he spares a sly look for me. “I hope your lady friend continues to be your guardian angel. Good talismans are hard to find in a city filled with mayhem. Go.” He waves us off, already exhausted with Wilkes and his bullshit. “Watch every angle, Malone. If Wilkes doesn’t get you, the Feds will surely try.”
“Fuck me.” Felix drops into our car and splays his legs wide, the back of his head hitting the headrest with a muffled thud.
When I slide in too, he looks across and groans. “That was a clusterfuck.”
“I didn’t think it was so bad.” I close my door and settle back when our driver starts the car. “Cordoza wants you alive as much as I do.”
“You say it wasn’t so bad because we only know our father’s way of handling business. He got pissed, so he got loud. Cordoza isn’t like that. He doesn’t shout or shoot with emotion. But he was angry all the same. Wilkes is becoming a really annoying fucking problem.”
“So maybe we go to him.”
I stretch my leg when my phone vibrates. Dipping my hand in to my pocket to free the device, I pull it out again, but I don’t check the screen. My current conversation is more pressing than whatever waits for me there.
“He’s just a man, Lix, and we’ve dealt with bigger and badder than him. The Feds are trying to get in on our business just as much as Wilkes is. We can’t eliminate the first, but we sure as shit can deal with the second. Fight fire with fire.”
“So we counter a drive-by shooting with a…” He blinks once. Twice. “Drive-by shooting?”
“You act surprised. And yet, you were the guy who shot up a chandelier, purely to see crystal rain from the sky. Wilkes is new to New York. He’s noisy because he wants to be, but he controls nothing. It would be best if we silence him now before he gains traction.”
“No, it would be best if we find his source. How did he know we were supposed to be in that club last night?”
His phone chirps next, calling his attention from his pocket and allowing me to settle back and close my eyes. Think.
It’s my fucking job to protect my brother. My entire existence, wrapped up in his. If Lix falls, I’ve failed. And if not for a serendipitous night with a beautiful woman, I wouldn’t have forgotten the meeting we were supposed to attend.
And if we’d attended, we might already be dead.
“Darling.” Felix’s voice turns to melted butter. I don’t have to see his screen to know he’s speaking to Christabelle. “We’ve just left Cordoza’s.”
“Oh, good.” Her voice rings through the car when he puts her on speaker, so I’m dragged into their conversation without my permission. “Do you have time to talk?”
“For you? Darling, always.”
Gag.
“Dana and I have continued our research into the Malone mothers’ identities.” She wouldn’t be Cannon Daily royalty if she wasn’t the type to cut straight to the chase. “We think we’ve found another one.”
Fuck me, but my eyes flicker open.
“Renee Amalia Rossi was seventeen years old. Valedictorian, graduated at the top of her class. She was set to attend Yale on a full ride for biomedical sciences.”
Felix whistles under his breath. “She was one of the clever ones. Jesus.” He glances over to me. “And medical? Sounds like Father Dearest had a thing for doctors like Arch and Tim.”
“Yeah, well…” Christabelle audibly shrugs. “Only the best, I suppose. Renee’s family unit was intact: two parents, both with successful corporate careers. Two siblings: a brother and a sister—Caleb and Tennille.”
“Italian,” he murmurs. “Rossi is Italian.”
“New York Italian,” she agrees. “Her family might’ve even had business dealings with yours. A worker bee,” she amends. “Not a man with authority. On the surface, they appear completely normal, if not for the fact that Renee went missing thirty-three years ago after attending a charity event with her family.”
“Let me guess,” I rumble. “Our father was at the same event?”
“You bet he was.” On Christabelle’s end of the line, she shuffles papers as though to straighten them and her thoughts. “Timothy was at the auction for a very specific piece.”
“The girl?” Lix asks.
“Potentially. On the surface, he was there for a painting. Renee was simply the cherry on top. He bought an original Lamoz worth around fifty thousand dollars. He bid on other items that day, but those who were there and made statements afterward all claim that, ‘He was driving prices up for everyone else for the sake of it.’ Pissed off a lot of bidders because something they could have bought for twenty thousand, if not for his interference, ended up costing them closer to a hundred thousand each. The Lamoz was one of the first pieces to go, so Tim was able to purchase it at fair value. The rest of the day went to hell.”
“Sounds like he was funneling money or art through that auction,” I insert. “He wouldn’t attend and drive prices up for shits and giggles. He had a purpose.”
“Likely. But in the end, he walked away with his painting, everything else sold, albeit for wildly inflated prices, and when the dust settled, Renee was missing. She was in her late teens, and given grace as far as supervision went, but when she didn’t come home that night, her parents alerted the authorities. When a week passed and no word had come, the search grew, and tensions in New York rose. The issue, though, was that the Rossis were not a wealthy or influential family. So even if the cops wanted to help, they were limited on the resources they could dedicate to the case.”
“Why were they at the auction if they didn’t have money?” I question. “Only rich, influential folks attend those.”
“Because Mrs. Rossi, Renee’s mother, was the auctioneer.”
I drop my head back and study the car’s ceiling. “So maybe he wasn’t funneling money through that house at all. He was merely making a fucking mess that poor woman would be scrambling to salvage. It was a smash-and-grab, Lix.” I roll my head his way. “He wanted the girl, saw her that day, or some other day, and decided she would be his next trophy. He got everyone else busy cleaning up, and in the deluge, he took her.”
“That’s how it appears,” Christabelle concludes. “And before we jump too far ahead, since of course, Renee was not the only smart, pretty girl to go missing in New York that year, I thought to go back and check out the remaining family. Her siblings are grown now, obviously. Her sister has children. Her brother died in a car accident a few years back. It wasn’t malicious,” she adds, as if sensing how my brow comes up. “Just a tragic accident. He died unmarried and without kids.”
“And the search for Renee?” Lix asks. “Have they forgotten her?”
“No. They hold a vigil every year on the anniversary of her disappearance. It’s obvious she’s likely dead after all these years. Even the most faithful, stubborn parent will come to accept that eventually. But they hope, now, if not for the girl, then at least for answers.”
“Did they suspect Malone?”
She silences for a thoughtful beat. Then replies, “If they did, they don’t mention it anywhere. Seems the authorities have made the connection, if only via a Post-it in Renee’s file. The cops weren’t gonna come for your father without proof; they had their suspicions, but they had no way of confirming it. This doesn’t appear to be a suspicion they passed on to Renee’s parents. Or, if they did, the parents aren’t obsessing over it.”
“Unlike you,” Felix inserts. “You had misgivings, and you obsessed, Darling.”
“I don’t know which is worse: knowing the truth, and not being able to change it, or not knowing, and living without ever getting answers. Regardless,” she exhales a noisy breath, the sound filling the car, “the Rossis keep to themselves. They mourn her, but they don’t steer a manhunt that leads this way. They hold vigils for the daughter they lost, but they don’t appear to be eager for vengeance.”
“Whose is she?” I swallow the lump in my throat, and study Felix when he looks at me.
“Whose mother,” I clarify. “You’ve found Cato’s, and you’re pretty close to figuring out Lix’s. That leaves three.”
“Well… the timing for this one is a little off. If we add nine months to the date of Renee’s disappearance, we’re not hitting anyone’s birthday.”
I ponder that. “Maybe she’s no one, then? Maybe she’s not one of the mothers at all.”
“Or maybe she miscarried,” Lix counters. “Or she could be one of the unlucky souls who birthed a girl.”
“Reasonable guesses. And, certainly, avenues I considered before making this call. But then I came across Renee’s brother’s obituary…”
I drag my bottom lip between my teeth and frown. “Renee’s brother?”
“Yeah.” Both our phones bleat again, twin texts that remind me I have my phone in my hand. “Sent you both a picture. I think you’ll understand my confusion once you see.”
Since Felix’s phone is being used for this call, I unlock my screen and glimpse, for just a second, Tiia’s name before it flicks away, and I find Christabelle’s instead.
Tiia has texted me. She wants to talk. Perhaps she wants to reject my dinner invitation. To kindly suggest I fuck off out of her life and never come back again.
Or maybe I’m just catastrophizing things that don’t require it.
Regardless, I set her aside for a minute more and open Christabelle’s text instead.
I tap the small thumbnail image she sent and press my lips closed when Caleb Rossi Junior stares back at me. His eyes, a little small for his large frame. His nose, straight as a ruler. His jaw is square, and his shoulders, broad enough to make his head look small.
“Renee was taken in June of her seventeenth year,” Christabelle continues. “Which would imply a child was born approximately nine or ten months later.”
“I was born in January,” I murmur. “Only seven months later. Which seems impossible, considering no one told me I was premature or sickly.”
“But, jaysus,” Lix growls, “genetics don’t lie.” He reaches across and taps my phone. “I could almost pretend he was you, if he wasn’t already six feet under.”
“The genetics don’t lie,” I agree. “Shit.”
“I’m going to ask Mary tonight,” Christabelle decides. “As your father’s housekeeper and sometimes lover, she’s the only person alive who was around at your birth. She assured me she attended every single delivery made inside that home.”
“Seven months is a fast pregnancy,” I grit out. “I would have been sick and small. I would still be small, no? Stunted growth and all that shit.”
Lix smiles. “Maybe you are small…er than you were supposed to be. You have the largest shoulders of the five of us. Six feet, four inches tall. You’re not small. But your brother was,” he looks back at my phone, “Six-nine and a linebacker.”
“Her brother. Not mine.”
“He was a monster. And you have the shoulders to carry more.”
“I don’t claim the rest of them.” I study Lix’s phone, almost as though I could look into Christabelle’s eyes. “Not her parents. Not her siblings. I have a family already; I don’t want them.”
“You don’t have to take them. They have no clue you exist, and they haven’t come looking in all this time. I think it’s safe to say that Renee Rossi was your mother, Micah. And there are questions about your gestation and birth that need answering. But no one is gonna tell you what you have to do with that information.”
“We create a marker.” I fist my phone and glance out the window. “We put her name on it and place it in the orchard where she’s buried. She deserves to have her resting place marked and acknowledgment of who she was and what became of her. But that’s it.” I examine the New York City streets as we putter through dense traffic. “I don’t want this to become a whole thing. I don’t want to know her story.”
“You don’t want to know she was gonna be a doctor?” Lix presses. “Or that she spent her spare time at rich-people art auctions?”
“Like I said.” I unlock my phone screen and find Tiia’s name. I’d much prefer to spend my time focusing on her. On what may become of the future, rather than what happened in the past. “It sounds cold,” I admit. “And ungrateful. But I don’t want to know about her.”
Tiia: So I’ve thought about it…
Tiia: I accept your invitation to dinner. But you have to stay with me the whole time. I don’t want to spend time with Felix unless you’re by my side. And if I see something illegal: no I didn’t. I swear not to tell the cops, and you swear to not fit me for cement shoes.
Chuckling, though the sound feels foreign to my swirling mind, I hit dial, but I look at our driver. “Head to the East Village. Drop me off.” Then I turn to Lix. “You go to the house, and send Garth back to get me. Tiia’s coming for dinner.”
His eyes light up. Pleasure rippling through his expression so vividly, I want to hit him just to make it go away. “Dinner?”
“Behave. Christabelle?” I speak to the phone, still live in his hand. “You make him behave.”
“Hello?” Tiia answers, her voice trilling and soothing, all in the same breath. “Micah?”
I bring the phone to my ear and finally, for the first time in hours, breathe a little easier. “Hey. I’m on my way to your place. I know I said I’d be there at six, but I wanna see you sooner.”