Chapter 28
Matthew was pacing back and forth when they pulled into the underground parking garage. He looked equal parts annoyed and worried. His normally smooth, slicked back hair was now a tangled mess from the number of times he’d run his hands through it.
He yanked open the door to the back seat and jumped in before Hayes could even put the car in park.
He buckled his seatbelt, clutching the door handle tightly as he waited for Hayes to take off again.
Beckett turned in his seat to eye him from head to toe, taking in the tension and anxiety showing in every line of his body.
“Drive!” Matthew snapped belligerently, like he would order a servant.
“Not before you tell us what’s got you acting like someone shoved a hot poker up your ass,” Beckett replied with a frown.
Matthew scowled and avoided his gaze like a rebellious teenager.
“Whatever it is, we can’t help you if we’re left in the dark,” Hayes said, attempting to smooth things over as he observed him in the rearview mirror. He cut off the engine and sat there patiently waiting for Matthew to speak.
Matthew’s scowl disappeared as he appeared to resign himself to the fact that he wasn’t going anywhere until he told them what was on his mind. He sighed and looked up at Beckett.
“My uncle does not call meetings. He’s only ever done it twice before to my knowledge and they weren’t meetings as much as—” he hesitated, and Beckett saw his eye twitch as he fought for control.
“Orgies?” Beckett suggested with a wink, even though he was pretty sure that wasn’t the correct answer.
“Executions,” Hayes surmised, looking grim.
Matthew swallowed hard and nodded as he met Hayes’ eyes in the rearview mirror before looking out the window again.
“You think he caught wind of what you’re doing and is planning to—what? Shoot you in the middle of the meeting? Wouldn’t that be a little—” he hesitated, since Matthew looked about two minutes away from puking. “Messy?”
“I doubt he cares,” Matthew said, shaking his head.
“If he knows what I’ve been up to, he’ll need to put on a big show when he kills me—to make an example of me to keep the others in line,” he said, swallowing against a tight knot of fear in his throat that threatened to choke him.
He looked pale—like a man about to walk the gallows, which Beckett thought was fully justified.
With a loud sigh, Beckett turned to Hayes.
“Start the car,” Beckett directed, since apparently, he was going to be tied up coaching Matthew on how to handle his potential execution.
“Where am I going?” Hayes asked, sounding mildly amused, contemplating what Beckett was about to attempt.
Matthew gave Hayes the address for him to put into the GPS, while Beckett started coming up with some ideas about what to do next.
“You look like you’re about to puke on your expensive suit,” Beckett said, eyeing the designer shirt and suit that cost more than he made in a month.
“Did you miss the part where I’m going to die today?”
“You’re not,” Beckett said, hoping he sounded convincing.
“We were careful. Very careful. There’s no way for him to know what we’ve been up to.
He might suspect something, but I’d bet my left nut on the fact that he doesn’t have enough to accuse you of anything.
Your outward reactions to his questions, if you’re not careful, could be the final nail in your coffin, and right now—you look like you’re already 6 feet under.
You can’t walk in there looking guilty. That’s gotta change. ”
“I can’t help it,” Matthew hissed angrily.
Of course, Beckett was aware that he wasn’t the real, intended target of Matthew’s anger, but it was a prime example of what had to be fixed before walking into the meeting.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Al Capone! Trapped animals fight back when they know death is coming.
They show their teeth, they lash out, they act like they already know what’s coming.
If you go into that meeting ready to fight, or ready to die, he’ll know he was right.
You have to come at this another way. You need to act innocent from the get-go.
Walk in there like you’re dying to know who will get in trouble.
Like it couldn’t possibly be you. It has to look like you don’t have a single care in the world and that you’re simply an innocent bystander who’s there for the show. ”
“How?” he asked between clenched teeth, clearly unhappy but willing to listen to what Beckett was recommending.
“Acting,” Beckett said with a shrug. It really wasn’t all that complex.
“Whatever suave mafioso mask you usually hide behind, then you need to put that on right now and give it your all. Make jokes, avoid fidgeting, smile, and lean back. Take up as much space as possible in the room. You’ll have to fake a confidence you’re not feeling.
Anything short of your usual arrogant, entitled mannerisms will automatically make you look guilty,” Beckett instructed calmly.
Matthew looked doubtful, but he gave a curt nod like he was taking note of the points that Beckett had made.
“Hayes will be with you, right?” Beckett asked.
“No, it would be best if neither one of you go in with me,” Matthew said, shaking his head.
“Why?”
“Because if Mario decides to kill me, then—”
“They’ll shoot your guard as well,” Hayes finished for him, voice was as steady as ever, sounding like he was giving the local weather report.
Beckett glanced at Hayes. He was looking straight ahead, unconcerned, body relaxed, no sign that he felt threatened or worried. Hayes glanced over at him when they stopped at a red light, winked and nodded, which answered Beckett’s silent query.
“Hayes will go into the meeting with you,” Beckett decided. “He’ll tap your shoulder every time you look suspicious and kick your chair when you should play it up.”
“No,” Matthew said, shaking his head. “I won’t have either of your deaths on my conscience.”
“Good thing you’ll be dead and unable to deal with anything,” Hayes said, with far more sass than usual.
Beckett chuckled and pointed to his partner.
“What he said. Besides, if it comes to that, Hayes will get you out of there.”
Matthew rolled his eyes like he couldn’t believe Beckett’s arrogance or that Hayes would save his ass.
But Beckett understood his look of disbelief.
It was difficult to comprehend just how deadly Hayes could be.
Beckett was deadly in his own right, but he was like a sawed-off shotgun.
Blunt, efficient, and messy. Hayes was very much like the weapon he favoured.
A high-calibre, high-precision rifle. If you were in his sights—then you were as good as dead.
“My uncle is an unbelievably cruel man, and he—”
“Is shipping people in coffins to use them in rejuvenation treatments,” Beckett cut him off.
“Neither of us is stupid. We know who you’re dealing with here,” he assured him.
And yes, of course Beckett was worried. Sending Hayes in meant he might not make it out.
He wasn’t so enamoured of his boyfriend that he actually believed he was made of steel and invincible.
But the facts remained the same. He trusted Hayes.
Trusted Hayes to keep himself safe, and believed he could keep Matthew safe as well.
Matthew looked back and forth between Hayes and Beckett a few times before he gave a nod of agreement.
“Game faces on,” Hayes advised as he pulled into one of the few empty parking spaces left in the driveway of the manor belonging to Mario.
Beckett hadn’t paid any attention to his surroundings on the drive over, so when he looked up, he was stunned by the sheer size of the place.
“Did we teleport to Versailles? What the fuck?”
“The scope and depth of his various cultural references are forever surprising,” Matthew said, shaking his head while staring straight at Beckett, even though Beckett didn’t grasp the meaning, and Hayes snorted like maybe he should have.
“This is my uncle’s home. He bought it when he decided to move to Montreal.
It’s now his primary residence,” Matthew explained as he began to tense up again.
“Play it cool,” Beckett reminded him as he looked up at the goddamned chateau. “Besides, there are worse places to die,” he remarked casually, to which Hayes chuckled while Matthew blanched slightly and cleared his throat nervously.
Setting aside the change of venue, the ambiance was remarkably similar to that of the last meeting of the Rosario family.
There was perhaps a bit more tension in the air with Matthew’s sister shooting him a questioning smile as he greeted her with a kiss on each cheek.
But so far, Beckett had to admit that Matthew was playing his part perfectly.
There was an air of confidence about him that was far from the nervous wreck he’d been in the car.
He conducted lively conversations, asking his uncle’s assistant where he’d found certain pieces of art, carefree and happy, and projecting the very picture of innocence.
“Did you fly in this morning?” Matthew asked his sister as the bodyguards standing at the door dragged their feet letting them in.
“No, I was in town for a meeting already,” she said with a shrug. The twins had just arrived, looking slightly rumpled, like perhaps their flight had been rough.
“What the fuck is this about anyway?” one of Matthew’s siblings demanded. Beckett didn’t know which one it was, but he looked furious.
“You didn’t call it?” Matthew asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “I assumed it was the official announcement of your betrothal to each other,” he said with a smirk.
“Betro—what? The fuck are you on about? We were halfway to Ibiza to party with Calvin Harris when we got the call! This better be fucking good!” he snarled, though it was unclear who he was threatening.