19. Niko
CHAPTER 19
The following morning, I’m back to work and hating the fact my life isn’t simply rolling around with Gianna all the time. We should be drinking wine across France and Italy on our honeymoon, enjoying amazing food and beautiful art. I’m feeling even more trapped than I did when my father was alive as I sit in my office.
When he was the boss, I had much less input but also significantly more free time. I flip through papers, not actually reading them as I replay the night I made Gianna suck me off with the leash around her throat. Things have changed so much between us, but I will be getting her back on that leash. My fantasies have my cock hard enough that I’m about to go find her when my phone rings.
Unknown number flashes across the screen, which I would ignore on a normal day, but the fine hairs on my neck stand, and I’ve learned it’s unwise to ignore what remains of our animal instincts.
“Hello.” I press the phone to my ear.
“Mr. Bouchard.” The thick Russian accent and gravelly voice betray Domalachego immediately. Though how he got my personal number is a mystery.
“What can I do for you this morning, Mr. Domalachego?”
Hearing from him wasn’t something I planned for. My palms sweat, and the only reason I can imagine for his call is my marriage to a certain Mafia princess. I’m not afraid of him for my sake, but the fear of losing her is that much more extreme now that I truly have her. Did DiMarco talk that fast? It seems absurd that someone would be willing to toss their own life away so quickly, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen someone do it.
I’m prepared for a fight, but I’d prefer to be more than that, hungry for the conflict by the time it comes, with loyal men inclined to follow me for something more than money. That may be an even more immature dream than when I hoped to win over Gianna. Which was a success if I’m keeping score.
I’m thinking of her instead of plotting ahead of my enemy. Gianna has only been here for a little over a week and I’m too emotionally involved and distracted with her to deal with Domalachego. Once again, I wish Pax had chosen a different time to kill our father or maybe that I loved her just a little less.
“You and I have a problem, and I would like to speak face-to-face to settle it.” The rushing wind tells me he’s outside, by water?
Fucking DiMarco spilled his guts.
Instead of talking and causing myself more problems, I take a slow, steady breath, remembering how unwise it would be for DiMarco to risk himself. He’d lose his life’s work with the church as well as his position in the Bouchard organization. Which, as the territories confessor, is one of immense knowledge and power.
I still haven’t decided whether my father was wise or a fool to keep him so close. The idea of a confessor at all seems like something men made up to take advantage of one another. Giving someone all your secrets is handing them a loaded gun. Somehow I doubt my father ever confessed his sins.
“What did you have in mind? I’m quite busy with my new organization.” I want to say, fuck off, I have work to do, but I’m still not decided on the fine details of getting him and his men the hell out of my territory.
“Oh, I’m sure you are. It’s always a chore stepping into your father’s shoes before you’re ready.”
I’m in my midthirties and stood taller than my father when he died. Now that I have Gianna as my wife, I actually believe I can do a better job wearing them. She might have been too innocent, but she’s far from stupid, and she makes me a better man. I’m not grabbing the bait he’s dangling.
“I’ve heard your sons are ready for their own chance to wear yours.” I lay some of my own, wondering if he might bite first.
If rumor is to be believed, which it’s often not, the sons are even worse than their father. The ruthless bastards are looking to put a bullet in him the first chance they get. Pax pops into my mind with that thought, and I realize I haven’t heard a word from him since the funeral. It’s weird for him to be quiet for so long when we usually check in with one another constantly.
“Enough chitchat, Mr. Bouchard. Like I said, we have a problem. Meet me on my territory so we can discuss the matter. I’ll send you the coordinates.”
I don’t argue with the use of his territory, but I’ll be registering my issues soon enough. He’s going to get the fuck out of here.
“Coordinates? Why don’t you just send me the address?”
“Well, the fucking riverbank doesn’t have an official address does it?” he barks as if I should know why he’s calling and where he’s calling me from.
“Not sure what your territory has to do with me.” And I hope he can hear the quotations in my voice. “Sounds like you’re trying to toss me in the river. I don’t want to make things so easy for you.”
There’s no hint of amusement from him, and I’m not surprised. He seems like he’s even more miserable than I am, at least since the Gemellis disappeared.
“You are not the body in the river I am concerned about.”
What body floated up in the river?
“I wish I could say I knew what you were referring to, but I don’t. I’m very busy. I ought to go and let you deal with your own issues while I deal with mine.”
If it were someone else, I would just hang up and go about my business as I said, but because this is about Gianna, I wait.
“You and I have a unique opportunity to start fresh here, Mr. Bouchard. Our families don’t have ninety years of history. My sons and I are our own family, and as of now, you don’t have a feud with us.”
I won’t be having a feud, I’ll be putting their heads on spikes the first chance I get, but for right now, Gianna is the chink in my armor, and she’s a big one.
“Text me your coordinates. I’ll be there when I can.”
“I wouldn’t make me wait too long.”
The line goes dead. I’m not afraid of him. My own father was the worst man I’ve ever known. But I can’t dislodge this deep sense of dread that our situation is darker and more twisted than I’ve given it credit for. How many ways can I be fucked before I start to give the universe her due?
Two hours later, I arrive at the riverbank. The coordinates he gave me were exactly one hour from my house, and while I didn’t actually need to wait, I wanted to impress that my time was my own and he would not make my schedule.
When I roll up, I’m surprised to find a dozen men. They’re all holding guns, but none of them take a particularly aggressive stance as they see me park. The last time Domalachego and I met, we were alone. Stupidly, I assumed this was a similar situation. A meeting of men who know the truth, not one for the masses.
I realize as I step out of the car that there’s a man tied to a metal folding chair placed right on top of the rocky shoreline. His head hangs at an odd angle, fingers are missing, and he’s dead. At first, I assume this is what I’ve been called about, but the tortured man has nothing to do with me. The Medeiros family crest on his chest is a shock. All but one or two old women from their line are dead. There’s no reason for anyone to get that tattoo now.
I’m staring at the man, so I don’t realize right away that there’s another body. One of the nuns from the monastery, which is upriver from here. Fucking hell, Pax. He’s only been in charge of priests and nuns for two days, and one’s already dead in enemy territory.
She’s much deader than this fresh victim who might have been alive for me to question if I hadn’t dragged my feet. Her habit barely hangs on to limp, wet hair. She’s waterlogged and strangled. That looks like my brother’s handiwork.
“I’m a Catholic, Mr. Bouchard,” Domalachego says as he steps up to my side.
“I was raised one,” I hedge, finding that many current practitioners are offended by my apostasy.
“So you might understand why I’m so offended by seeing one of Christ’s brides defiled like this in my territory.”
“I can see how one might find it upsetting.” Her eyes are closed, her body covered in a cloth to give her a hint more modesty, but the white sheet is fairly sheer with the water and corpse ooze soaking into it. It’s not quite blood that’s left inside her. She’s still wearing her full nun getup, which lends even further to this being my brother. His murders don’t include sex crimes as far as I know.
“But it doesn’t upset you.” He points his dark eyes at me, the scar on his face a deeper purple than I’d seen it last time, perhaps with his anger.
“There aren’t many things that do, I’m afraid, but I agree fully that this is unacceptable. She’ll get the proper burial she deserves, and all will be made right again.”
“You and I have a very different opinion of right,” he tells me with judgment thick in his tone.
“Oh, of that, I have no doubt.”
I wave to the men surrounding us, implying I count them among the things I disagree with, and in a lot of ways, I do. I despise having staff up my ass.
“I am surprised you came alone,” he tells me, though that wasn’t a plan so much that I thought I'd be better off if I could speak freely. “I suppose that lends some truth to you saying you didn’t know. You wouldn’t intentionally offend me, then come here alone, would you, Mr. Bouchard?”
“No. I wasn’t aware of what we would be discussing. I thought this was about another matter.” I raise my brow, implying I assumed we were discussing the supposedly fine Gemellis. “I didn’t think it required men.”
“No, today we’re working out why nuns from your territory are showing up dead in mine? Why this man over here”—he viciously points in the direction of the corpse—“was dragging her upriver and what that symbol on his chest means.”
He was just condescending to me about our ninety years of family history, as if it had resulted in nothing but bad blood. It also provided knowledge. Why would he know the symbol of a dead crime family? They were gone long before he came to town.
“That symbol on his chest means nothing to me, but as far as the nun goes, it won’t be happening again. I’ll see to it.”
“This is a woman of God, not a street thug. I would have expected better from you. Your father did better.”
“My father wasn’t the man you imagine him to be, but I’ll keep the nuns from washing up.”
He takes a step toward me, and I bristle at the way he crowds my space.
“Don’t make this personal between us, Mr. Bouchard. So far, it’s only business.”
“Did you bring me down here because this girl was murdered or this gentleman over here? Which one do you assume is personal?”
He gestures toward the dead man on the chair.
“That one did say a few things before he died. Ones I wanted to ask you about.”
“Oh?”
“He mentioned a priest from your monastery, DiMarco, but he died before he could say anything else.”
My heart races halfway out of my chest, but I use all my energy to appear calm. What the fuck does DiMarco have to do with this? I need to talk to Pax immediately and tear him a new asshole for this one.
“If this DiMarco is killing nuns, you need to take care of him before I do.”
At this point, I’m not so convinced that would be a bad thing.
“I assure you I will,” I answer sincerely. Partially for the sake of peace and partially because my crazy-ass baby brother is not going to be killing the nuns. I’m putting a stop to his bullshit.
My worry that DiMarco told Domalachego about our wedding is officially gone, but what could the old priest actually be up to? As I’m about to part ways with him, his black eyes catch on my wedding band.
“Since when are you married, Mr. Bouchard?”
“Oh, very recently.” I smile, but internally curse my carelessness.
“Do I know the blushing bride?”
“No. You’ve never met her.” I smile briefly rather than the Cheshire cat one I’d like to give him. Domalachego has never met Gianna.
“Well, congratulations.”
He watches me as I leave, suspicion rooted deep in his eyes. I’m going to kill Pax.
I call my brother as I’m leaving and he ignores my first call. Fucking dick. I call again and finally get him. He’s acting weird, and he sounds it too. He tells me he’s not killing nuns, he’s fucking multiples of them, and then he finally agrees to meet me. Weird nun-murdering bastard.
Finally, I arrive at the restaurant and wait long enough to piss me off. As I’m looking around and noticing how exposed my position is, I call a few of the soldiers I hired to come inside. I’m cagey and distrustful of everyone and everything, including my baby brother who wasn’t even in charge two days before everything went to shit. It’s almost like he’s doing it on purpose.
When he arrives, we sit together for only a few minutes. I spin him a twisted version of the truth, and while he acts strange. I’m not sure what he’s actually up to, but whatever vulnerability or closeness we developed through dads death is resolutely gone.
He says something about Gianna and my affection for her. It’s been months since he brought her up to me, and the fact he would now makes me that much more suspicious of him. I see a look in his eyes that tells me he thinks he can take me. That he might try it. I might have to kill him.
I leave my brother feeling lonelier and more suspicious than I’ve been in a long time.