Chapter 4 The Question
The Question
Gabriel
The City Park is an excellent place for people watching in the French Quarter, and back in the day it was also the perfect place for a first date when I was a horny teenager and didn't have any money.
But the reason why I've brought Josephine here is that this was probably the last place where the two of us were human with each other.
It was a long time ago. Her brother was still alive. And she didn't hate me in those days.
Back then, our very ambitious fathers shared equal power in the New Orleans underworld; therefore, our families often spent time around each other. Sunday dinners, holiday parties, business meetings disguised as social gatherings—we were always in each other's orbit, whether we wanted to be or not.
Her brother Leo and I were the same age, three years older than Josephine, and we were quite competitive with each other, but I'd describe it as a healthy kind of competition.
I was a kick ass safety for the high school football team, but Leo was the best pitcher of our school's baseball team.
We compared wins, titles, social media likes, plus, we clashed over girls, too.
Admittedly, part of the fun was seeing who could pull the hottest ones.
Leo and I weren't besties by any means, but I knew them both well enough that I'd have cut someone's balls off if anyone had ever fucked with Josephine.
She was Leo's spunky younger sister who was always a busybody, hanging around and crushing on her brother's friends from afar.
And even in our inherited ruthless world of drugs and guns, there was a code.
Protect the younger ones...especially the girls.
But suddenly, Josephine grew up, and our age gap didn't seem so wide anymore.
I didn't see a goofy Fabre kid in scuffed sneakers and pigtails any longer; who she was becoming was heartbreakingly obvious—a stunner with expressive eyes and thick thighs that made my teenage brain short-circuit on a regular basis.
She no longer greeted me with a brief wave from a distance but would smile broadly whenever we saw each other.
It was a smile full of white teeth that I began to wish was only reserved for me.
I had to catch myself from staring at her for too long, from following her movements around a room like she was the only person who mattered.
Her curves were suddenly becoming a dangerous obsession, and so were her whereabouts.
Unbeknownst to her, I was doing my best to keep every horny 17-year-old away from her, which wasn't too hard.
Most of them were scared of me, the LaRoche boy whose family was in the mob, but every now and then, one of them would try to test me, and then I'd have to two-piece them in the jaw to get my point across.
Leave Josephine alone, fuckers.
She doesn't exist for you.
And you better not tell her I said that.
There was even some casual talk in our circles about how great it would be if there were an arranged marriage between the families.
I didn't have any sisters for Leo to marry, so the coupling that made the most sense was me and Josephine.
But before I had a moment even to register the possibility of that, Leo died.
Or if one goes with the Fabre family narrative—he was murdered.
And everything changed.
Josephine's father's rage fueled him to get out of bed every day and seek the destruction of mine. He was so sure that my father was responsible for Leo's death, and he had many other people in powerful positions who were convinced of the same thing.
I admit it looked bad. The last time Leo was seen, he was arguing at a restaurant with my father (and I was there too).
But if having a heated argument with someone made a case for murder, we'd all be in jail, which is why the boss of our organization ordered a compromise.
Because there was no concrete evidence of foul play, Josephine's father couldn't retaliate with force but was permitted to ask for some form of restitution.
My father protested, of course. He assured them that the last time we saw Leo Fabre, he was alive and breathing. But while no one could prove that he was lying, no one believed my father was telling the 100% truth either.
To be fair, my father has a reputation. He can truly be a slimeball. But on the other hand, you don't get ahead in this business by being an angel either.
We thought Josephine's father would ask for some obscene amount of money. He loves his foreign cars and his elaborate pool landscaping, but what her father covets most is control, and solidifying a union into my family would give him another tentacle of power in the underworld.
So, here we are. Bound to each other by a blood debt between our families, but not quite at the altar yet.
Because if I'm going to convince her that this isn't the end of her life as she knows it, what I need is for her to remember that there was once a time when she stared into my eyes and didn't associate them with the loss she's suffered.
I'm not sure coming here is having the effect I'd hoped for, though.
"Why the fuck are we here, LaRoche?"
"That mouth, Josephine." Acidic. Dirty. It's going to get her into so much trouble with me, but in the best way. "Walk with me," I tell her as I lead her along one of the trails that wind through the park.
The ancient oak trees tower above us, their branches heavy with Spanish moss that sways in the humid breeze.
Couples walk hand in hand along the paths, families spread picnic blankets on the grass, and somewhere in the distance, a jazz musician plays a saxophone for tips.
It's peaceful here, removed from the intensity of the church and the weight of family expectations.
"I've had a minute to think about what you said," she offers after a few silent moments of walking.
"And?"
"I think if you really wanted to, you could help me disappear for good this time."
I sigh heavily. "And why would I do that, Jo?”
"Because I don't want to marry you, and once upon a time, you felt the same."
She's wrong. I never felt that. I've wanted to marry Josephine Fabre since I was seventeen years old and stupid enough to believe that love could conquer the complications of our world.
I stop and move in front of her, towering over her short but curvy frame. In her sneakers hidden beneath that dress, she barely comes up to my shoulders.
"Do you want me to die, Josephine?"
Her eyes blink in confusion. "What?"
"Do you want me to die?"
"What kind of question is that?"
"If we don't go through with this marriage, your father will kill me."
"That's not the agreement—"
"You think your father gives a shit about an agreement made over five years ago? He will make the case that my family didn't keep their end of the bargain with the marriage and ask for the blood debt to be paid another way—a son for a son."
Her eyes drop to the grass below as the implications sink in. She's intelligent enough to understand the politics of our world, to know that her father's word is only as good as his current mood and interests.
"I don't wish death on anyone, but that's not my problem."
"So you do want me to die."
"I never said that."
"Then what are you saying?"
I lift her chin with gentle fingers so her eyes can meet mine.
I want to look into them as she condemns me to death, because I know better than she does that my father is in no position to save me.
His influence has greatly diminished since Leo's death.
People don't trust him. People barely listen to him.
He's only still alive because he's a made man, and there's a code about that sort of thing.
"Gabriel—"
The way my name drips off her lips makes me stiffen behind the zipper of my tuxedo slacks. If she only understood the power she has over me. I’d be in serious ass trouble.
"Yes, Jo?"
"Did you tell my father where to find me?"
Her face is pained when she asks the question, and God knows this was the one thing I wish she didn't ask because while I may be a lot of things, and some of them not so good, I’m not a liar.
So, instead of giving her an answer that will destroy whatever trust might be building between us, I kiss her.
It's the only thing I can think to do, and I've been wanting to do it since the moment she came back to town any fucking way.
Her eyes flutter shut as I crush my lips against hers, pouring years of pent-up longing into the contact.
She makes a startled noise in the back of her throat, but after a moment, her lush frame melds against mine like she was made to fit there.
Her hands come up to cling to the lapels of my tuxedo jacket as I deepen the kiss, tasting the sweetness I've been craving for so long.
Fuck yes.
My tongue teases the seam of her lips, seeking entrance, and she parts them with a soft moan that goes straight to my dick. I explore her mouth thoroughly, claiming her in the most primitive way I know how.
I walk us backward until she's pressed up against one of the massive oak trees, the rough bark contrasting with the delicate fabric of her dress.
My hands roam her curves possessively, learning the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips.
She's all woman now, her body ripe and tempting in ways that make my teenage fantasies seem tame by comparison.
Pulling back from the kiss, I trail my lips down the slender column of her neck, breathing in the scent of her perfume mixed with the faint saltiness of her skin. "Josephine," I murmur against her pulse point. "I knew you'd fucking taste like this."
"You did?" she gasps out, tilting her head to give me better access.
I nip at her pulse point before soothing it with my tongue, feeling her shiver in response. My hand finds its way underneath the tulle of her dress and slides up to caress the silky skin of her thigh.
She shivers under my touch. "Gabriel... we shouldn't..."
"But we are." I capture her lips again in a bruising kiss as my fingers inch higher, grazing the lacy edge of her panties.
Fuck me. She's already wet, her body responding to me in ways that make me feel like I might lose control right here in public.
Josephine arches into me with a whimper, desire overriding propriety and common sense. I lift up the layers of her skirt and cup her pussy through the thin fabric barrier. She's hot as hell.
For me.
"You want this?” I growl approvingly, rubbing firm circles over her clothed clit. "Do you want me to fuck you right here where anyone could see?"
She doesn't answer immediately, her breath coming in short gasps.
"Answer me, Josephine."
"Maybe," she keens breathlessly, shamelessly grinding against my hand.
That’s all I need to hear. I push the scrap of lace aside and plunge two fingers deep into her tight channel. "Fuck, you're soaked." I pump them in and out of her pussy while thumbing her swollen clit.
A clit I wish my lips were wrapped around right now.
Her inner walls clench around my fingers as her pleasure increases. She surprises me by roughly exposing one of her breasts, tipped with a hard, dark nipple that begs for attention. Dipping my head, I take the hardened peak into my mouth and suck greedily.
Fuck, that we're outside. I don't care who sees.
"That's it, baby," I encourage huskily as she writhes on my hand. "Come for me."
She bites down on my shoulder as she shudders through her release, her teeth leaving marks through the fabric of my shirt.
It's the sweetest pain.
“You’re so gorgeous when you come, but can we go get married now?" I chuckle as I stroke her hair through the rest of her orgasm.
Her glassy eyes finally meet mine, and she says to me without skipping a beat, "You still didn't answer my question."
Hell, I forgot what the damn question was.