Chapter 3 Ridge #2
We’re all here tonight, except Reeves. He’s half a world away, fighting someone else’s war. Rhodes got word to him as soon as we knew. He’d be here if he could.
I map the room before I sit, taking in the brothers who made it. No one asked questions. Everyone showed up.
Wells stands by the window, grinding out a cigarette in the ashtray. His fingers tap against the glass, restless, his mind already working angles I haven’t asked him for yet. Too many hours behind a screen, too many vices to keep pace with the things he sees coming.
A chair scrapes softly behind me.
Cain dropped in from New York less than an hour ago. The sharp cut of his suit can’t hide the fatigue in his eyes. He’s used to problems he can charm or outrun. This isn’t one of them.
Rhodes sits off to the side, quiet, watching everything. He’s always been observant, even when he was too young to understand what he was seeing. Of all of us, he’s been spared the worst of this life.
I’m not sure that will last much longer.
Someone clears their throat, but no one speaks. They’re waiting for me.
Keller leans against the far wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He says nothing, just watches. He always does. Managing high-stakes risk taught him early that the loudest man in the room is rarely the most dangerous.
I clear my throat.
“I know it took time to get everyone here,” I say. “But now that we are, we need to decide what happens next.”
No one interrupts.
They’re all looking at me.
And for the first time, my father’s presence at the head of the table doesn’t anchor us. If I don’t step up with authority, we will fall hard and fast.
Cain leans back in his chair, his voice calm but firm. “I came straight from JFK, didn’t even go by Dad’s first. When I got the call, I didn’t think twice.”
“Thank you for being here, Cain,” I say, mustering every bit of goodwill I can. Cain is the kind of guy who needs that extra praise. That isn’t my nature, but if I’m going to be the leader of this family, I have to lead in a way that motivates everyone.
“We need you back. It’s time for all of us to step up now. We can only do this together. Are you here for the long haul?”
Cain adjusts his cufflinks, a subtle reminder of the world he’s been living in, one far removed from New Orleans but still tied to the family.
“Here as long as you need me this time, but I have to go back to close up my affairs. But, yeah, I’m selling the place in Manhattan. It’s time. New York’s been good to me, but it’s not home. Not like this. Once that closes, I’ll be back for good.”
Wells leans forward with his sharp expression. “I’ve still got my setup in Lafayette, but I’ll be here as much as I’m needed. This is where the fight is. But as you all know, I can do my work from anywhere.”
I nod, grateful for his unwavering commitment. “We’re all in, no half-measures. This doesn’t work unless we move as one.”
Keller, quiet until now, speaks up. His voice is calm but cutting. “We’ve all got the same question. What’s the plan, Ridge? All signs point to Boudreaux. We can’t sit on our hands.”
I take a steadying breath, letting their focus settle on me. “We apply pressure where he can’t ignore it. His reputation and leverage. We impede his ability to operate without interference. And we start with the one variable he can’t compartmentalize—his daughter.”
“Why would he go that far?” Cain asks. “Labor disputes don’t usually end in murder.”
“Your father had started standardizing sign-offs and access at the terminals,” Vin pipes in. “Less flexibility and discretion. If someone was profiting from the old way, that pressure would’ve felt personal.”
“Makes sense, I guess. They wanted us out of the way so they could make more money,” Cain answers.
Rhodes’s brow arches, his tone skeptical but intrigued. “The daughter? What does she have to do with this?”
“She’s his Achilles heel,” I explain, harkening back to what Vin said. “Laurent Boudreaux has one weakness, and it’s her. He’s built an empire that doesn’t flinch at losing men, money, or favors. But his daughter is the one thing we think he won’t let go.”
Wells leans back with his cigarette balanced between his fingers. “If we take her, it forces his hand. He’ll come to us, desperate and sloppy. That’s when we dismantle what he’s built and make sure he can’t touch us again.”
Keller’s smirk is cold. “Clever. Taking her out of play won’t just hit him personally. It’ll expose him. If he’s chasing us, he’s not protecting his empire. His allies will see the cracks and start pulling away.”
Cain chuckles darkly, leaning forward with a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “So we use her to bait him, let him come to us while we dismantle everything he’s built. Poetic. Pretty daughter, powerful father. Yeah. That’ll get his attention.”
Rhodes finally speaks. His jaw is tight, and his voice is quiet. “You’re sure she’s the way? If this backfires—”
“It won’t,” I cut him off firmly. “This isn’t a gamble. It’s calculated. Vin’s idea, and he’s right. If we’re going to break him, it has to start here.”
Their silence speaks volumes as each of them weighs the plan. Rhodes nods, and the tension in his frame eases slightly. He’s young, but he’s learning.
Wells taps ash into a nearby ashtray, keeping his tone serious. I think he’s smoked four cigarettes since I walked in here.
“So what’s the move? We can’t just grab her off the street and wait. There’s got to be more to the plan than that. Who does it? When, where? What happens after we have her?”
I meet his gaze, my voice steady. “I’m taking her myself. No one else. It sends the right message and shows him this isn’t a pawn move. It’s personal. I’m coming for him, and I’m starting with her. We’ll keep her at the cabin, and we’ll wait to see how Laurent responds to know our next move.”
Wells’s brows lift, but he doesn’t question it. Cain whistles low. “Bold. I like the optics of you, the oldest son, taking her. If anyone can pull it off, it’s you.”
Keller leans back, his calculating demeanor unshaken. “While you’ve got her, we’ll keep the rest of his operation busy. I’ll apply pressure at the docks when I’m not running the tables. If there’s a single shipment out of place, I’ll make sure it doesn’t make it to port.”
Wells nods, the edge of a grin tugging at his mouth. “I’ll keep tabs on his contacts. If anyone’s looking nervous, I’ll push them. See who cracks.”
Cain smirks, adjusting his watch. “Just tell me where I’m needed while I’m here. As I said, I’ll stay as long as you need me, and then attend to my loose ends in New York. I’ll be back to handle business for good soon enough.”
Rhodes watches quietly, then nods. His youthful determination cuts through the room. “Whatever it takes. I’ll do what you tell me.”
I let my gaze move around the table. No one looks away.
“This part is mine,” I say. “I’ll handle it.”
My hand throbs where it’s wrapped beneath the cuff of my jacket, the stitches pulling when I shift my grip on the chair.
A car door slams outside on the street. Someone exhales. No one argues.
“When it’s done, we don’t slow down. We don’t fracture. The business keeps moving like it always has. That’s how we make it clear that nothing changed when our father died. Except now there are six Stones on deck, not just one.”
Wells nods once from the window. Keller’s jaw tightens, approving. Rhodes straightens in his chair. Cain doesn’t smile, but his eyes stay locked on mine.
That’s enough.
I push back from the table. “I’m moving on the daughter as soon as the time is right. I’ll keep you all in the know as things unfold.”
The meeting dissolves without ceremony.
Chairs scrape back. Wells lights another cigarette. Rhodes lingers like he wants to say something and then thinks better of it.
Keller gives me a single look, sharp and assessing, before turning toward the door. No one needs instructions. They know what happens next.
I grab my jacket and leave first.
The office hallway is empty, lights low, the hum of the building settling into something tired and mechanical. Phones have stopped ringing, and the calls have already been made. What’s left is implementation.
Outside, the night hits hard and wet, the kind of New Orleans heat that clings to your skin no matter the hour. I cross the lot and slide into the car, shutting the door with more force than necessary.
The engine turns over.
As I pull into traffic, the city stretches out around me, neon bleeding into old brick and iron balconies.
French Quarter streets are already thick with life. Laughter spills from open doors. Music drifts through rolled-down windows. Tourists weave along sidewalks, oblivious to how close they are to things that would ruin them if they knew where to look.
My father loved this city because it never pretended to be clean.
I drive with the windows down, one hand on the wheel, my right hand flexing near my knee. The cut across my knuckles stings, a dull reminder of last night. I welcome it. Pain keeps things sharp.
By the time The Black Orchid comes into view, a resolve has settled over me.
The Orchid sits tucked between two forgettable buildings, easy to miss if you aren’t looking for it. No sign worth advertising. It’s not hidden exactly, just uninterested in being found by anyone who doesn’t already know where they’re going.
The valet recognizes my car and waves me to the curb, efficient and impersonal. I hand him the keys as I walk inside.
Inside, the lounge hums the way it always does on a Saturday night.
Low light, heavy bass, and cigar smoke soften the edges of the room until everything feels slightly out of focus.
The walls absorb sound the way expensive places always do, keeping conversations close and contained.
People lean toward each other, voices low, words chosen carefully, never quite rising above the music.