Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Remi
Grabbing Mr. Calvani’s watch, I examine the engraving on the underside. La famiglia prima di tutto.
A quick translation search tells me the language is Italian, the meaning, ‘Family above all else.’ I turn the heavy, antique-looking watch over in my hand. “Great. I stole a freaking family heirloom.”
My soiled gown is crumpled in a trash bag in the corner of my studio apartment. So many rules were broken last night, I deserved stepping in a puddle of piss.
Rule one: never hang around after a successful grab. I should’ve bounced after I swiped the ring and envelope. But in my defense, how the hell was I supposed to know Mr. Prenup was carrying 50 large ones?
I continue mentally laying out the case against myself.
Rule two: never target too important a mark.
And another quick search informs me Mr. Angelo Calvani isn’t just important to this city, he’s practically a saint.
Not only was Mr. Calvani the chair of last night’s charity gala, but a freaking wing of the hospital is named after him.
I continue scrolling, finding an older picture of him at a ribbon cutting for his restaurant, The Boardroom .
“It’s worse than I thought.” I groan. “He’s a saint and he’s hot as sin.
” I knew as much last night, even with him wearing the mask.
But without it, I get to take in all his features.
Strong nose that shouldn’t aesthetically work, but somehow does.
A few lines around those baby blues that only add to his sex appeal.
There’s no facial hair in this photo, and I decide the short beard suits him better.
My cyber stalking leads me to an article in the local society paper.
Businessman and philanthropist Angelo Calvani named Mr. New Orleans.
“Freaking Mr. New Orleans!” I slap my hand against my forehead. “Could I have picked a worse mark?”
Nola meows .
“That was a rhetorical question.” I scan the article about the city’s golden boy, who left a fancy Ivy League college to return home and continue his fourth generation Italian American family’s legacy here in the city.
And surprise, surprise, the man’s not smiling in any of his photos.
My initial impression was correct: Mr. Calvani is intense.
Which leads me to rule three, the cardinal rule of pickpocketing: never get involved with a mark.
I’d like to pretend I wasn’t about to accept Mr. Calvani’s offer, but that’s bullshit.
I was seconds away from letting that man fuck me six ways from Sunday.
In the bathroom. In the broom closet. Hell, I might have even let him fuck me on the dance floor, especially if he kept kissing me like that…
“Ugh.” I fall back on my pillow, and Nola decides this is a perfect opportunity to pounce on my head.
“Oww. Not now. Can’t you see I’m having a meltdown?
” I reposition my cat on my stomach, giving her a scratch.
“Mr. Calvani acted like he knew this Mr. Bennett, who just so happened to be carrying a sizable wad of cash.” I continue thinking out loud.
“And Mr. Calvani claimed me, so I’m guessing he has the upper hand in whatever type of business relationship they have. ”
Nola meows .
“Not claimed me, claimed me. But I bet it would’ve been amazing if he did… Ugh, see, I’d still break rule number three with this man.”
Nola just looks at me.
“It’s a problem, Nola.” I release an exasperated sigh. “A big fucking problem.”
Bang. Bang. Bang. “Yvonne. I know you’re in there.”
“Just a minute.” Hopping up, I grab Nola, who squirms in my arms. “Sorry, but you need to hide,” I whisper. “Please be quiet until I can get rid of him.”
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Locking my disgruntled cat in the bathroom, I sprint to the bed and count out the cash, shoving the rest of my loot under the mattress.
“Yvonne,” he calls the alias I used to rent this dump of an apartment. “I’m not playing around. Don’t make me use my key.”
“That’s illegal,” I shout, grabbing my frumpiest sweats and throwing them on before stepping into my sneakers and answering the door.
My creepy landlord tries to push his way inside, but I stop the door with my foot. “What game you playing, girl? You know it’s time for me to collect?—”
I shove the hundreds at him through the crack in the door, and he accepts the cash with wide eyes. “Past due rent, this month’s rent, and your illegal ‘penalty fees.’” Let’s not even get into the legality of him offering to waive everything if I slobbed on his knob.
His words.
“Where’d you get this kind of cash?” he demands.
“None of your business.” I go to slam the door, but it’s his turn to block the door with his foot.
His beady little eyes look me up and down, lingering on my chest. “You whoring yourself out?”
“Leave, or I’m calling the cops.” I bluff.
He wheezes, a smoker’s cough of a laugh. “Sure you will, ‘Yvonne.’” He removes his foot, and I slam and lock the door. “Guarantee you’ll be in the same bind next month, and then we’ll see about that smart mouth of yours,” he calls.
I make a gagging sound as I brace myself against the door, just in case he decides to use his key.
Waiting until I hear the sound of footsteps down the hall, I sprint across the room and drag my only chair in front of the door. It gives me a sense of security, even if it’s a false one.
Opening the bathroom door, I find a very unhappy Nola. “Sorry, but you know he doesn’t allow cats.” Realizing my mistake, I quickly amend, “You’re not a cat; I didn’t mean that!”
She hisses at me in response, storming out of the bathroom.
Angelo
“ Day one as mayor, I promise to clean up the streets of this city. The fact that traffic cameras weren’t working to capture what witnesses claimed to be a shootout is unacceptable. This isn’t the Wild West, and I promise to bring law and order to New Orleans.”
I fling the remote across the room, calling Bennett on speakerphone.
“Mr. Calvani?—”
“It doesn’t appear that my welcome gift was well-received, given the press statement.”
“Nah, that’s just lip service. Our boy seems very amenable to a good working relationship. But he has…conditions.”
“Conditions?” I scoff.
“He wants donations for his pet projects. Private dining booth at your establishment, his meals and drinks comped. Female ‘companions’ at certain private events. Oh, and a monthly stipend of 50 grand.”
“Who the hell does this man think he is?” I seethe. “Is there word on who he’ll name as the new police chief?” Fuck the mayor; I’ll cut out the middleman and deal directly with the chief.
“All the names that have been floated are real hard noses. Your best bet is dealing directly with the mayor.”
“Not what I want to hear.” I growl.
“Boss.” Maks sticks his head in the door.
“I’ll get back to you.” I end the call with Mr. Bennett.
“Got our guy,” Maks announces.
“Tell me the story again, from the beginning.” I circle the cook, who’s found himself in a bind. Figuratively and literally, as Maks has him bound to a chair in one of my warehouses.
“She goes by Yvonne now, but her name’s Remi Landry,” he says, his brow sweating profusely.
“How did you know her?” The edge in my voice startles me, and I try to check whatever the hell that was.
“Through her old man, Charlie Landry. He was a street performer and pickpocket.”
“Where is he?” I ask.
“Charlie passed away recently. Figured that’s why Remi was back in town.”
“What do you mean? Where did she go?”
“Don’t know. She and her old man must’ve had some kind of falling out, but I don’t know the details. Charlie was tight-lipped about it.”
“And Remi’s mother?” I ask
“She was never mentioned.”
“Alright, so you ran into Remi last week at your other job.”
He nods. “She came into the bar and offered me cash to help her get into the charity gala I was working.”
“How much cash?”
“Gave me a thousand on the spot, with the other grand when she got inside.”
“And why did she want inside this gala?” I prompt.
“Didn’t say. I assumed she wanted to work her pickpocket game. Rich men. Cash bar. Easy pickings.”
Easy pickings indeed.
“How did she get past security?” I wonder.
“The event coordinator left the RSVP list lying around, and I saw that some lady doctor wouldn’t be able to make it. So I swiped the doc’s name tag, signed her in, and let Remi come through the service entrance.”
Ah, the irony. Remi was pretending to be my date.
She certainly played the part well. Christ, what in the hell came over me, kissing her like that in the middle of a crowded dance floor?
Cool and calculated; I don’t have an impulsive bone in my body, and yet I was far too willing to make an exception for this woman.
Shaking away thoughts of the little pickpocket, I ask the cook, “Was the name ‘Angelo Calvani’ ever mentioned?”
He gulps. “No, sir.”
“Where can I find Remi?” While I don’t have an impulsive bone, I do have a bone to pick with the woman.
“She’s probably hustling in Jackson Square.”
Positioning myself behind the man, I bring a plastic bag over his head. He struggles in a futile attempt to take in a breath. I hold the bag taut until all the fight leaves him and his body goes limp.
“Here’s the problem when you assume: you make an ass out of you and me.”