Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
PRIEST
I was buying time: I knew it, my brother and cousins knew it, but she didn’t.
While we followed Father Gabriel around Rome, my yacht had made its way to Italy. I had to ensure we had a way out of Italy. It proved the right thing to do.
The same night Father Gabriel took his last breath, we boarded my yacht in the small town at the mouth of the Tiber River. It was a major trading port, and during Mussolini’s time, a small town, Lido di Ostia, expanded in the area around the beach.
We sailed to Monaco, where we stopped for a brief business deal with the Corsican mafia. It was the closest thing to neutral territory that neither the DiLustros nor the Corsican mafia owned, but I didn’t want to take any chances.
After the rush of torturing Father Gabriel, dealing with the Corsicans felt like a nuisance. I didn’t bother dragging anyone with me on the dinghy, opting to leave my guards to watch over Ivy who was sound asleep in our bed.
Our bed. Fuck, I never thought I’d like the idea of having someone share my bed.
My jaw set tightly as I entered a palace in the neighborhood that exuded luxury and exclusivity. It was situated in the Carre d’Or, or Golden Square which was a small area located between Avenue des Beaux-Arts, Avenue de Monte-Carlo, Boulevard des Moulins, and the Mediterranean Sea.
My usual rage-fueled instincts had dimmed, and it had everything to do with Vittoria and Father Gabriel no longer walking this earth. Although, one fear remained: that my wife would learn the secrets shrouding her athair’s death. With everything she’d just done for me, I wanted to protect her from the pain that would inevitably come. She and Juliette… well, they were more than friends. They were like sisters.
The elevator stopped at the top floor and the gloomy thoughts vanished, and in their place was an expressionless mask. I stepped out into the lavish, gilded entryway, ready to face whatever came at me.
Jean-Baptiste sat in the corner, his pants at his ankles and some bimbo on his lap. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. He was even dumber than I thought to be caught with his pants down. I was almost tempted to slice his throat right here and now so I’d never have to see his face again.
Unfortunately, I had to be smart about this alliance—what with him being the head of the Corsican mafia. And then there was the small matter of his armed guards scattered around every corner of this property.
“DiLustro,” he greeted me, leaning over the table and snorting coke off a mirror, his woman grinding up and down on his dick. “Want some?”
I curled my hands into fists, shooting him a disgusted look. I didn’t even bother to clarify what he was offering. “I’ll pass.”
Jean-Baptiste leaned back and wiped his nose, then smacked his whore’s ass. It was then that I noticed his brother, who was Jean-Baptiste’s enforcer. Sébastien No?l Blanchet. All my intel showed that while Jean-Baptiste partied like a tragic “where are they now” rockstar, it was Sébastien who kept their men in line. He was a force to be reckoned with, a thug in a suit with a lot more brains than he let on.
Although, at this moment, he looked bored and fucking angry.
“Let’s get to work,” I gritted.
Jean-Baptiste chuckled. “The king walks in and he’s ready to hold court. Let’s have fun first.”
My molars ground. “Well, best not keep me waiting, then.”
“Relax.” Jean-Baptiste grinned like I’d just uttered a joke. “We have all the time in the world.”
My fingers itched to shorten his lifespan.
Sébastien cleared his throat, ignoring his brother—still in the midst of fucking—and stepped forward, extending his hand. “Thank you for meeting us, Priest.”
We shook, and I gave him a terse nod. “I don’t discuss business in front of outsiders.”
He nodded, then turned around, but not before shooting an annoyed look at his brother.
He guided me toward a separate room, the dramatized moans and groans following our steps until the door shut behind us.
“Just the two of us, then?” I asked.
“I hope you don’t mind.” Sébastien waved a hand around the beautiful old library, the floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with leather-bound books. “This meeting will go faster that way.”
I nodded.
We both took seats on the couch, opposite each other. Rumor had it that Sébastien was as ruthless as Jean-Baptiste was lazy and impulsive.
“The French Ripper” was what people in the Corsican mafia called him.
Just like me, he was the product of a piece-of-shit monster. The only difference: the cruelty lay at his father’s hand.
Sébastien cleared his throat, almost as if he sensed my mind was elsewhere. It was hardly the time to be caught unaware.
“I’m all ears,” I said. “Why did you drag me from my honeymoon bed for an urgent meeting, during which your brother’s busy fucking a whore.”
He cleared his throat again, rolling his shoulders and choosing not to comment. “Noted. Let’s get you back to your woman.”
I grunted, nodding. “Appreciate it.”
“The Serbian mafia approached Jean-Baptiste. They want to use him as a way to penetrate the United States market. The problem is?—”
“That Bogdan Dragovi? is a fucking lunatic,” I grumbled. Everyone knew to stay away from the Serbs and Albanians. I was still on the fence about the mafia in Montenegro and Kosovo. For now, I’d been erring on the side of caution and not doing business with any of them.
Sébastien shifted in his seat, bringing up his ankle to rest on his opposite knee. “That, but even more so, he’s a wild card, and I’m certain he has ulterior motives.”
He looked grim.
“They’ve been calling him the young lion for a reason,” I pointed out. “But what does any of this have to do with me?”
“Bogdan wants Philly.” Alright, this was a problem. “And Jean-Baptiste promised he’d get him the rule of the city. If he fails, he gets our territory in France.”
“It sounds like you’re going to lose your territory.” Because there was no way in hell I’d let anyone into Philly. “I’m not exactly known for sharing.”
Especially not with the Serbian crime family, who tended to behead their enemies if the situation even lightly called for it. They were ruthless, and Bogdan was at the helm of it all.
“I thought you might say that.” He nodded to me coolly. “As a token of goodwill, and assurance that we all remain in business, I have an offer for you.”
My brows shot up. “Okay… and what exactly is this offer?”
“Freedom to move products across our boundary lines. It’s your way into Europe.”
I tilted my head, studying him closely, but Sébastien kept his mask firmly in place. It was what made him a better criminal and businessman than his brother—and most heads of criminal organizations, come to think of it.
“I already have a way into Europe,” I deadpanned. “Through my wife’s connection to the Murphy mafia. I have my own property in Ireland.”
The latter wasn’t common knowledge since Aisling had only just gifted it to me. Of course, I wasn’t going to accept it, but Sébastien didn’t need to know that.
The corners of his lips tugged up.
“Ireland is its own island. Not exactly easy to smuggle into continental Europe without having access to a port here.” I shook my head. He must have anticipated it because he added, “This access would be for you, your family, and your brothers-in-law.”
My jaw clenched, wanting to refuse, but he knew exactly what he was doing when he threw in the cherry on top. He was offering me the ace card and using the Murphy brothers to seal the deal.
The problem was that shit would be fucked up the moment we pinned the death of Ivy’s father on Sofia Volkov. And something told me that was just the tip of the iceberg.
Money talked, and it was exactly that which made this song-and-dance game conclude: I might need this ace card one day.
We sailed the Tyrrhenian Sea into the Mediterranean, where my family descended on my yacht like a pack of hyenas. It took them all of five fucking days. Basilio and Dante even brought their wives and my papà along with his new wife who were entertaining Ivy at the moment. Or vice versa, who knew with those girls?
I sat behind the desk in my office on the yacht, my brother and cousins surrounding me. Silence held steady in the room with their dark, DiLustro eyes on me.
When I was a little boy, I wished my eyes were their color. That I held more resemblance to the DiLustro features, but not anymore. A truth that had everything to do with my wife, who accepted me just the way I was.
They had something to say, and I knew what it concerned, but still, I waited.
Basilio spoke first. “We should tell her.”
My muscles tightened, revolting against the idea of hurting my wife with the news that her athair was murdered by her best friend with the help of the DiLustro family.
Forcing myself not to react, I leaned back in my chair. “No.”
I wouldn’t risk losing her for her best friend’s stupidity. I’d finally found the woman meant for me, a woman who didn’t care about my past and my faults. She was mine, I wouldn’t risk losing her.
“Secrets have a tendency of surfacing,” Emory chimed in, watching me with those inquisitive eyes. She had always been able to see more than she should.
My gaze narrowed. “Speaking from experience?”
She looked away, obviously hiding her own secrets. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you doing right by your wife.”
“I know her better than you.” I sounded like a scolded child, but aggravation had lit a small fire in my chest. “I don’t tell you what to do with your love life, so don’t tell me what to do with mine.”
The fear of losing my wife raged inside me, hot and unrelenting. I was sure I could keep this secret from her. It’d be the only secret between us, but I was certain it’d spell our destruction. Sofia Volkov had committed many sins and offenses—what was the harm in one more?
Emory shook her head in disapproval. “Christian,” she started softly, resorting to my legal name, which she rarely used. “Please be reasonable. If you tell her now, she’ll probably hold it against Juliette, and maybe us, but she won’t hold it against you. If she learns you knew and didn’t tell her, she won’t forgive you.”
I had a better idea: Giving Ivy the satisfaction of killing Sofia and avenging her father’s death.
“Once Sofia is dead, we’ll be the only ones with the knowledge of who really killed Ivy’s father,” I reasoned. “And I trust that none of you will reveal it.”
“I agree,” Dante chimed in for the first time. “It’s a sound plan. Let’s just kill Sofia and move past this. She has to die anyhow.”
“Will your wife confess to Ivy?” I questioned, but I knew the answer already.
“No.”
“I’m guessing you never revealed what happened to Wynter. Right?” I asked my cousin. If he suddenly started blabbing Syndicate secrets, I would have to resort to some drastic measures.
“Wynter doesn’t know,” Basilio answered coldly.
“I cannot believe you,” Emory hissed. “Ivy deserves to know. Keeping it from her is fucked up and you all know it.”
“Her brothers called,” Basilio mentioned casually, not acknowledging his sister, which usually meant he thought she was right.
“What did they want?”
“You should ask your wife because apparently she felt comfortable asking them to help you two kill Sofia.”
“I’m assuming they’re on board,” Dante grumbled. “Even though it would be better if we kept it between us.”
Basilio shrugged. “They want revenge too.”
I sighed. “I can see this going wrong in so many ways.”
“Can you see the future now?” Dante drawled, and Emory rolled her eyes.
I was starting to regret their visit. “Why don’t you all go find some hobbies?”
“Why don’t you?” Emory retorted dryly.
“I have one,” I told her coldly.
“Chopping people up doesn’t count,” Basilio said, a smile playing in his eyes.
“Only the sick, irredeemable ones,” I pointed out.
“You all are twice as fucked up as I am,” Emory grumbled. “Can we get back to the point of our conversation?”
My expression darkened, telling her the topic was off the table. And if she didn’t stop pushing, I’d shift the focus of this family group discussion to her. I knew exactly what secrets she was keeping these days.
Her gaze hardened and a smile touched my lips.
She was so touchy when it came to Killian Brennan. Not that she was ever a sharer before, but now with whatever was going on between the two of them, her lips were sewn shut.
I never thought I’d see the day.
“Okay, you two. Stop your staring contest. We all know who’ll win,” Basilio said. “What am I telling your wife’s brothers, Priest?”
I drummed my fingers against the table, holding his gaze. “Tell them to join us, and when we spot Sofia Volkov, we’ll shoot her before she can say a word.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that you will have to kill your great-grandmother?” Emory asked.
I rocked back in my chair. “No.”
I didn’t think of Sofia as my family just as I didn’t think of Aisling as my mother. It took a lot more than genetics to be a family, and neither one of those women ticked the boxes for me. They were nowhere to be found when I needed them, so they missed their chance.
“Charming.” Emory smiled wryly. “We sure as fuck turned out like a gravy family.”
“Basilio seems to be happy with his ice princess, and my brother has found happiness with Juliette.” My eyes settled on Emory. “So fucking sue me for wanting the same.”
Emory’s shoulders slumped.
“You deserve the same and you’re getting it, Christian. I just don’t want you to lose it.” She stood and stopped in front of the door of my office before turning to me. “I’d strongly advise you to come clean with your wife before it all comes back and bites you in the ass.” Her eyes darted to Dante and Basilio. “All of you.”
I held in my response. So did Basilio and Dante.
As soon as she left, I kicked my feet up on my desk.
“You gotta love family meetings.” Fucking not.
A whisper of tension tightened in my body, almost as if I sensed a dark cloud following this yacht drifting toward Montenegro.