Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Angelo
Maks knocks on the study door, and I beckon him to enter. He joins me, handing me a phone. “Clone of Bennett’s. Original has been disposed of, along with him.”
“Excellent.” I read through his messages, finding the text message thread between Bennett and Mayor Morrissey. Scrolling, I get to the final message exchange.
After consideration, my client is not interested in collaborating with you and your incoming administration.
A shame we won’t have a friendly working relationship over the next four years. Good luck to your client and his business endeavors.
“Bennett, the lying weasel,” I grit.
“Go back to the main messages; there’s an exchange of interest between an unknown number and Bennett,” Maks tells me.
I click on filters, returning to the main message screen.
“Is the contact named ‘Cornbread?’”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“You think this is Fabien?”
He holds up his hands. “I’m not going to assume anything after the last man to do so was suffocated to death.”
Valid point.
“‘Cornbread.’” I think out loud. “That’s an unusual moniker. I’d be amazed if my brother has eaten a piece of cornbread his entire life. Is it prison slang?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
I scroll through the messages that span a few months, with days between each message and the reply.
Cornbread: Back in business!
Bennett: About damn time! How the hell are you?
Cornbread: Ready to pull the trigger on our plan.
Bennett: It’s set in motion.
Bennett: Local news is reporting about a shootout. No casualties.
Cornbread: Turn up the heat with the mayor. Use legal channels to our advantage.
Bennett: I’ve been working my magic. Our boy’s getting a nice surprise at the party.
Cornbread: Good. Things on my end have not gone to plan. Will try another angle.
Bennett: The arrest was intentionally botched by Pierre.
Cornbread: Can you flip him?
That’s the final message, being that Bennett’s not alive to respond.
Closing my eyes, I mentally go over every mistake I’ve made leading up to this moment.
And just like my list of sins, it’s a long fucking list. But let’s start at the beginning with Bennett.
Believing I was protecting myself by firing the old family lawyer when I became boss—afraid he was too sympathetic to my brother—what I did was replace him with my brother’s lackey.
I would laugh at the irony if I didn’t want to murder someone.
“You can’t blame yourself; Bennett hid his deception well,” Maks points out.
“When you’re the boss, there’s nobody else to blame.” I fucked up, and only time will tell how much it’s going to cost me. “Has anyone else betrayed me?” I toss the phone on the couch, rubbing my eyes with my palms.
“‘Can you flip him?’ We don’t know the answer to that question about Pierre.”
“It was more a rhetorical question, but yes, I want the detective picked up and his phone searched, just to play it safe. If there’s nothing suspicious, give him a brush with death. A friendly reminder whose side he’s on.”
“And if there is anything suspicious?” Maks presses.
“Give him more than a brush.”
Maks nods, walking out.
I begin the monumental task of wading through my messages and emails. Laurie, unsurprising, has left me a barrage of angry texts and voicemails.
I told you not to embarrass me!
I cannot believe this!
Your little brat of a sister is the icing on the cake!
You can’t tell me you’re not out of jail by now!
If you don’t respond, we’re through!
Thank fuck. Exclamation point.
My phone rings, and I answer, “This is Mr. Calvani.”
“Mr. Calvani, I’m calling on behalf of the Monarch Organization. I wanted to touch base with you, since you seem to have missed my emails. How you don’t have a personal assistant is beyond me.”
“My apologies. I have quite a bit on my plate right now.” The understatement of the century. And while true, I don’t have a personal assistant for my legitimate business dealings, it’s because I don’t trust anyone with unfettered access to my illegitimate business dealings.
“Of course, of course. I just wanted to make sure the little dust-up at the mayor’s party isn’t going to affect your King of Carnival duties come Lundi Gras.”
Christ. With everything going on, I nearly forgot about my appearance scheduled for Monday.
“Between you and me, it seems the mayor is holding a grudge over the election and my support of his rival,” I say conspiratorially. The chair of the Monarch Organization is the busiest busybody in all of the city, and this is the version I want spun.
She clicks her tongue. “What nonsense, Mr. Calvani. I’m more than happy to vouch for your character; why, your public service record speaks for itself!”
This woman knows nothing of my true character, but I reply, “I appreciate that.”
“So you will be able to perform your duties, then? Are you out on bond?” The last question more fodder for her gossip.
“Absolutely, I plan on fulfilling my duties. And no, there was no bond; I wasn’t formally arrested.”
She tsks . “Such nasty business, politics.”
“Indeed. While I’ve got you, I wanted to talk to you about adding an additional member to the Queen’s court this year.”
“Oh, Mr. Calvani, we couldn’t make any changes this close?—”
“And my $100,000 donation this year to the Monarch Organization’s scholarship fund.”
“Give me a sec,” she says, pretending to look up something. “Why, yes, I believe I can shift some things around. Who do you need in the court?”
“My sister, Alessandra Calvani.”
“I’ve got her down. If she could stop by the office for a fitting?—”
“I’ll send in her measurements and have someone pick up both our costumes.”
“Perfect,” she says in a tone indicating it’s less than perfect. “And thank you so much for your contribution to our scholarship fund. When should I anticipate this donation?” The mob world is cutthroat, but the world of nonprofits is a close second.
“My courier will drop it off when he picks up the costumes.”
“Wonderful. Thank you so much, Mr. Calvani.”
Ending the call, I move to the desk and pull my stationery and pen from the drawer.
Dear Mayor Morrissey,
I fear we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Please accept lunch for your entire office as a mea culpa. You’re welcome at The Boardroom any time. Here’s to NOLA’s prosperous four years under your stewardship.
~ Angelo Calvani
Counting out fifty thousand dollars from the kickups, I place the cash in one envelope and the letter in another, and call my GM at The Boardroom.
“I need lunch sent to the mayor’s office.
I’ll have a courier drop off two envelopes that go along with it.
Make sure the mayor receives the bag with the envelopes. ”
Such nasty business, politics.
And it’s about to get a whole lot nastier.
Remi
“There you are.” Angelo tracks my movement across the study, patting the spot beside him.
“Sorry for the delay. I got…sidetracked.” I stare down Maks.
“Problem?” Angelo raises an eyebrow.
“I’m teaching Remi to swim,” Maks volunteers.
“Yeah, me,” I mutter.
Angelo approves with the slice of his head.
“So what’s the plan?” I ask with a sigh.
“Lundi Gras is our opportunity,” Angelo answers. “I’m the King of Carnival?—”
“Of course you are, Mr. New Orleans.” I tease him.
He drapes his arm over the top of the couch behind me, and this time, I don’t resist the urge to snuggle in closer. “Remi, you will be in the Queen’s court, masquerading as Al. During the ceremony, the mayor hands over to the King and Queen the symbolic key to the city.”
“And during the pomp and circumstance, I swipe the mayor’s phone.” I take a moment to consider this plan. “Your sister and I don’t share the same physical attributes.”
“Everyone in the procession, save for the King and Queen, wears a full-coverage mask. As for your hair, you can disguise yourself with a black wig. The height difference, you’ll have to wear platform shoes underneath your costume.”
“Our eyes?” I challenge. Mine are hazel; hers are brown. A subtle difference, but still a difference.
“Color contacts,” Maks suggests.
“That could work. Can I see a picture of the ceremony setup?”
“Show her last year’s procession,” Angelo orders, and Maks lines up a laptop and presses play on the local news station.
We’re live at the riverfront, where the King and Queen of Carnival and their royal courts will soon arrive. And here comes the riverboat!
“Hold up,” I say in a panic, and Maks pauses. “You mean I have to get back on a boat? On the Mississippi River?” My voice having risen several octaves, I glance over to Angelo to assure me he’s joking.
His look tells me he’s not.
“On second thought, I don’t even need that extra fifty grand.” I hop to my feet.” Nola and I will get out of your hair—” I sprint for the door, but Angelo’s there in a flash. He grabs my wrist, halting my exit.
“Resume swim lessons,” he orders Maks before turning his attention to me. “I’m not going to have the river derail our plans for a second time.”
I blow out a shaky breath. “Okay.”
He releases his hold, and I take off out the door and down the hallway.
Because it’s not fucking okay!
Angelo easily catches up to me, and I squeal as I’m hoisted over his shoulder. “While I’m all for another game of chase with you, we don’t have time,” he tells me impatiently, carrying me down the hall. “We have until Monday to get you mentally ready.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” I cry, angry tears running down my cheeks.
“I will not lose you to drowning,” he simply says, carrying me through the kitchen and outside to the pool.
I’m placed on my feet, and he gives me a kiss on the forehead before turning around and walking inside.
Fuck that man and his forehead kisses!
“Ahhh!” I go flying into the pool.
Surfacing, I find Maks now swimming around me. “You both suck!”
“Do you have lungs?”
“Of course I have lungs!” I demonstrate that fact by screaming at the top of them.
“Then if you have lungs, you can float.”
“I don’t fucking get it!” Struggling, I grab onto his shoulders as he guides me to the side.
He pulls himself out of the pool in one easy go, returning with a pair of goggles. “Put these on.”
“Do I have a choice?” I grip the ledge of the pool for dear life.
“No.” He positions the goggles over my eyes, yanking down the strap over the back of my head.
“Oww.”
Silently, he extends his hand, and I take it, and I’m hoisted out of the pool.
“Can I at least change into my bathing suit?” I say, my dress feeling like it weighs a ton.
“If you have lungs, you can float,” he says, ignoring me. “You say you don’t get it, so let’s demonstrate the inverse. Take the deepest breath you can and hold it.”
“I don’t want to,” I say childishly.
“I am not concerned with what you want.”
“Charming,” Alessandra appears dressed in her bathing suit.
“If you insist on being involved, you can show Remi how to sit at the bottom of the pool.” He switches over to Italian, and he and Alessandra say something back and forth.
“For once, I agree,” she says, switching back to English. Diving in gracefully, she shoots to the bottom of the deep end and is now seated cross-legged.
“How is she doing that?” I wonder.
“Our turn.”
“No!”
I go to run, but Maks grabs my wrist.
“I hate you,” I grit.
“Take a deep breath or struggle when we’re down there sitting on the pool floor, your choice.”
My heart in my throat, I inhale until I feel like I’m an overinflated balloon, and he grabs me and we dive head first into the deep end.
Down we go like a rocket to the bottom, where Alessandra is still casually seated.
Maks releases me and sits beside her. Trying to ignore the panic, I go to sit like they’re sitting, except I can’t. My body begins floating up, up, and up.
Arms grab me, assisting me to the surface.
I let out a breath, hanging onto Maks with one arm, Alessandra with the other. “Why couldn’t I sit down like you two?”
“We emptied our lungs, but yours were full of air. It was physically impossible for you to sink. If you have lungs, you can float,” he repeats himself, and it’s like a flip has been switched.
“I think I get it!”
“Lie on your back and let’s see,” Maks challenges.
“Why don’t we practice in the shallow end?” I say in a rush, panic reminding me that I’m in deep water. “Alessandra, let me,” I argue.
“I’m not Alessandra; coddling time is over.”
“Asshole,” Alessandra spits.
Monday can’t come soon enough.