Chapter 20 Ridge
TWENTY
Ridge
The Prohibition Snitch: During Prohibition, New Orleans’ thriving bootlegging operations were disrupted by a trusted associate-turned-informant who betrayed local smugglers to federal agents.
The tip-offs led to raids, arrests, and the dismantling of secret liquor routes, shaking the city’s underworld.
The snitch vanished afterward, leaving behind a legacy of treachery and unanswered questions.
I wake before the lights cycle up, the bunker still holding to night.
Coco is asleep on her side, hair loose across the pillow, one hand curled near her throat. I don’t let myself linger on it. Want is easy. Discipline takes more effort.
I reach out and brush my thumb along her arm, just enough to bring her back without startling her. She stirs, lashes fluttering, her focus snapping in fast, even through sleep.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
She looks at me, recognition settling almost immediately. No confusion. Just awareness.
“You need to head out,” I tell her, low. “Before your father’s up.”
She exhales softly, more regret than resistance in it, then nods. “I know.”
She sits up, gathering herself, and I turn away long enough to give her space. When she moves past me, the brush of her shoulder is incidental, but it still lands.
I pull on boxers and follow her out of the room.
We walk through the bunker together without speaking. She yawns and pulls her arms in. At the door, she pauses.
I disengage the lock and open the heavy door. She walks out ahead of me.
We pad through the quiet main house, my attention split between her and the space around us. We stop at the door, and she turns to face me before walking out.
I lift a hand and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, solidifying the fact that this is real and finite at the same time. My fingers linger for a second longer than they should.
“Text me when you’re home,” I say. “If anything feels off, you call me. Doesn’t matter what time it is.”
Her eyes lift to mine. Something steadies there.
I lean in and kiss her. She wraps her arms around my neck, and I pull her lower back into me. God, I don’t want her to leave. But I pull back before it turns into something else.
“I will,” she says.
The office is quiet, save for the faint rattle of the air conditioning and the occasional creak of the wood floor as my chair rolls slightly beneath me when I shift.
Papers are spread across my desk, half-sorted, but my focus is nowhere near them. It hasn’t been since last night when Coco told me what Iggy saw.
Coco’s words replay in my mind.
Iggy saw men known to work for Duvall on his shipments. They were guarding the warehouse where my father was taken and ultimately tortured and killed.
The implications churn, each one heavier than the last. If Iggy is telling the truth, this isn’t speculation or inference. It’s confirmation. I may finally have my reason to stop circling and start moving.
I called Vin once Coco confirmed the meeting would happen here, but I didn’t get him. I want him to know what I find out, but if he can’t be here, I’ll relay it.
But I’m not getting ahead of myself. I’ve done enough of that lately, and it’s cost me clarity more than once. I want to hear what Iggy has to say first, then I’ll decide what it means.
I glance at the clock. Iggy is due here in thirteen minutes.
I’ve spent the better part of an hour turning this meeting over in my head, weighing whether it’s a waste of time or the next necessary step. Either way, avoiding it isn’t an option anymore. Some doors don’t stay closed once you know where they lead.
My gut tells me to stay cautious. I listen to it.
At exactly ten on the dot, there’s a knock at the door. Short. Deliberate. For a second, I expect Vin. He’s the only one who knocks like that.
But when I look up, it’s Iggy who steps inside, his shoulders squared but his eyes flicking around the room like he’s mapping exits and angles.
I immediately notice the bruise on the right side of his face, dark and angry against his skin. It drags my attention back to the other night. I did that. I don’t regret it, but I register it. I choose not to comment.
“A man of his word,” I say, leaning back in my chair. That counts for something. I gesture to the seat across from me. “On time. Have a seat.”
Iggy hesitates, then moves forward and sits stiffly, his hands resting flat on his thighs. He doesn’t look comfortable.
Good.
“You’re braver than I gave you credit for,” I say, watching him closely.
He nods but doesn’t say anything.
“You’re taking a risk coming here.”
“I realize that,” Iggy replies. His voice stays steady, but the tension in his jaw gives him away. “I have information you might find helpful. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”
“Let’s hear it,” I say, crossing my arms and leaning forward slightly. My tone stays casual, but my attention locks in. I watch his face, the small movements people make when they’re deciding how much they’re willing to give.
He clears his throat. “Look, I know I’m not exactly in your circle. But when I heard about Coco being taken, and that her father was being framed for your father’s murder…”
He trails off, catching himself. I tip my chin once, giving him permission to continue.
His hand runs over his jaw, lingering near the bruise. “I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I saw something that night. Outside the warehouse on Burgundy.”
I keep my expression neutral, though my pulse picks up. “What did you see?”
“Two men standing guard,” he says. His voice steadies as he talks, like the facts are grounding him. “I recognized them right away. They’re Duvall’s guys. No doubt about it. They’ve worked for him for years.”
My jaw tightens, but I keep my voice even. “You’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “Their names are Ronnie and Dane. They’re the kind of men who don’t ask questions. Seeing them there didn’t make sense at first, but now…” He exhales. “Now it does.”
I make a low sound in my throat as I work through it. By the time I got there, the exterior had been clear. No guards. No watchers. If Duvall’s men were posted earlier, that raises questions I don’t like but can’t ignore.
I nod slowly, filing the names away. “And that’s all you saw?”
Iggy hesitates, and the air in the room tightens with it.
“Not exactly,” he says.
I straighten slightly. “Then don’t stop there.”
He swallows. “There were more people moving in and out. I didn’t recognize most of them. And cars I didn’t know. I didn’t stay long, but long enough to know Duvall had eyes on that place before things went bad.”
Something clicks into place. The gaps I’ve been circling finally close.
I lean back, studying him. “Timing matters,” I say. “When was this?”
“Right around ten,” he answers. “Thursday night.”
I nod. That tracks. Too well. At ten, my father was still alive, because he died in front of me several hours later. Whoever was there wasn’t reacting. They were preparing.
I sit with that for a moment, letting it settle.
“Do you think you could prove it?” I ask finally.
Iggy stiffens. “How.”
I lean back farther, my chair creaking softly. “Faces,” I say. “Names.”
My stomach tightens as I think about the photos. The ones Coco tried to keep from me. The ones I’ve been carrying around like answers I wasn’t ready to look at.
“Wait here,” I say, standing. I cross the room and open the safe, punching in the code without hesitation. The envelope is exactly where it should be. I bring it back to the desk and lay the photos out in front of him.
“Show me.”
Iggy studies them carefully, his fingers hovering over each image until they stop. “That’s Dane,” he says. “That’s Ronnie.”
He looks up at me. “I’d swear to it.”
That’s enough.
I gather the photos and slide them back into the envelope.
“You’ve given me what I needed,” I say. “What you told me stays between us.”
Iggy nods, already on his feet. “I don’t intend to say a word about this to anyone.”
He leaves without another word. The door clicks shut behind him.
I sit there for a long moment, staring at the desk where the photos had been. Names have weight, faces carry consequence, and knowing them changes what comes next.
For the first time since my father died, the picture is no longer fragmented.
The Duvalls didn’t stumble into this. They were there. Waiting.
And now I know exactly where to aim.
Vin steps inside from the main room, moving with the same smooth, unhurried confidence I’ve watched my entire life. He doesn’t look around or wait to be acknowledged. He never has.
That ease has always been his advantage. Vin knows exactly who he is, and he doesn’t waste energy proving it. It’s what made him indispensable to my father’s company. What made him indispensable in this city long before I was old enough to understand how power actually works.
“Tell me what you found out,” Vin says. “Sorry I missed the meeting. Did you get anything of consequence?”
His eyes flick briefly to the edge of the table, where the envelope sits. He notices everything. Always has.
“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. I gesture for him to take a seat. “I wanted to run a couple of things by you.”
Vin sits, resting one ankle over his knee. Relaxed. Attentive. “Shoot.”
I let the silence stretch for a beat, watching him, then reach for the envelope and slide the photos out across the table.
“You remember the photos I mentioned?”
Vin’s expression tightens slightly. “Yeah. I meant to ask about those. You forgot them the other day. I’ve been wanting to see them.”
“Now’s your chance,” I say evenly. “Thought you might have some insight.”
He leans forward and picks one up, studying it carefully. His brow furrows, and he lets out a low sound under his breath. “Damn. Haven’t seen these in a while.”
“You recognize them.”
“Of course.” He taps a few faces. “That’s Dane. Ronnie. Fucking Juno. Yeah, I know most everyone in these.”