Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Remi
“This feels illegal,” I say, taking a bite of pancakes with sticky syrup in Angelo’s bed. Thank heavens my cervix can handle the man, and that pancakes aren’t ruined. “Have you ever eaten in your bedroom before?”
“ Our bedroom, and yes. Your pussy last night,” he says, turning the page of his newspaper while sipping an espresso.
My cheeks flaming, I say, “I’ve never met a man so formal who has such a filthy mouth.”
“We both know damn well you like it,” he says, not looking up from his paper.
Unable to argue, I take another bite of pancakes. That’s when I notice it. “Is that a picture of Mr. Bennett?”
“Oh? Yes, it’s his obituary,” Angelo says nonchalantly, turning the page.
“How did he die?” I ask, barely above a whisper.
“Painfully.” He locks eyes with me over the paper. “Or so I would imagine. Alligator attack.”
I gup. “Were you really going to feed me to that gator?”
“No, because I knew you were going to tell me what I wanted to know.”
“What if I didn’t?” I press.
“All water under the bridge.”
“Let’s have you dangling out of a yacht with a gator and see if you feel the same way,” I say, disgruntled.
“If that’s what you wish, I’ll have the captain ready the boat.”
“It’s a yacht, not a boat, and no, that’s not what I wish!” I huff.
He folds his paper, placing his espresso cup down before grabbing my throat and pulling me inches from his face.
I yelp in surprise.
“Glad we got that sorted.” He presses his coffee-flavored lips to my sticky ones.
The house phone rings, and he releases me to answer it. “Yes?” Whatever’s being said, he responds with, “Send them in.”
Hanging up, he tells me, “Our costumes are being delivered. I’ll send in Al to help you get situated.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
His lips lift slightly. “You were the one queening me last night, your highness.”
“Filthy,” I say, my cheeks flaming yet again. And yes, I’ve discovered I do love riding the man’s face.
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to my lips before walking out.
Angelo
“Morning,” I tell my sister, joining her in the kitchen in an especially good mood.
She scowls at me. “Why can’t I see Fabien? He’s getting released soon anyway. You’re delaying the inevitable.”
There goes my good mood out the window. “He has you so deceived you’d offer him up for sainthood.”
“I know who he is; has it ever crossed your mind that maybe you’re the one who doesn’t know the real Fabien?” She storms out of the room, and I resist the urge to punch a hole in the wall.
Instead, I march outside and to the pool house, finding some of my old running gear. I change, and find Nola waiting for me at the door with both her leash and harness in her mouth. “How did you even get out here?” I ask, getting her harness situated before connecting the leash.
She meows , but unlike Remi, whom I’m fairly certain communicates with the cat, I’m not fluent in feline.
“I’m going for a run. Can you keep up?”
Nola answers that question by taking off, and now, the question becomes whether I can keep up with her. She keeps me at a brisk pace around the entire property, my shirt getting tossed to the ground near the two-mile mark.
Mile three, I’m sucking wind. Slowing our pace, I come to a stop and bend over with my hands on my knees, catching my breath.
“Corrine tells me you’ve been breaking things.
I think it’s because you’re bored, and you need more physical activity,” I tell Nola.
“If there were a way you could let yourself outside safely. An enclosure of sorts, like they have at the zoo.”
A lightbulb goes off, and I grab my phone, calling a fellow hospital board member and the architect for the city zoo. “Mr. Calvani. Funny that you called, I was just thinking about calling you.”
“How fortuitous. I’m calling because I need an enclosure for an exotic cat designed and constructed.”
Nola hisses at the C word, but I ignore her, continuing, “Enrichment, physical activity, and safety being the three main priorities.”
“Absolutely. Is this some sort of exotic cat rescue?”
“More of a pet project.”
“I’ll work on the design and get that sent over to you right away.”
“Excellent. And what was on your mind that you wanted to call me?” I ask.
“I sent you an email about this?—”
“And my apologies. My hands have been full lately.”
“So I heard. Word is you’re in a little spat with our new mayor,” he says with humor in his voice.
As suspected, good gossip travels fast.
“You’ve a cooler head than me, that’s for damn sure. Is this going to be the driving force that makes you toss your hat in the political ring?”
“The thought’s never crossed my mind, honestly,” I tell him.
“You’d have my backing if that’s the route you went. But what I wanted to talk to you about, there’s a rumor floating around that our charitable fund at the hospital has already run out of cash.”
“That can’t be right. The take from our last charity gala should be enough to float all projects through next year.”
“That’s my thought as well.”
“Let’s keep this between us until I can do some digging.”
“Of course, that’s why I came to you, Mr. Chairman. What’s that?” he calls, and a female voice answers in the background. “Coming, dear. Have you ever played pickleball, Mr. Calvani?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing. I’ll have those design plans worked up and sent your way.”
Pocketing my phone, I continue my walk with Nola as I mull over the conversation. “'Throw my hat in the political ring?’ Vitto preferred to pull the political strings from the shadows, and I’ve followed in his footsteps in that regard…but who the hell says I have to?”
Nola listens to my musings without comment as we return to the house. I unclip her leash, and she paws at my ankle. “Spoiled,” I tell her with a smile, going for the new treat jar that’s been placed in the cabinet, out of harm’s way.
She accepts the treat before going to her water bowl, taking a few laps. Tucking away her jar, I head down the hall and to the bedroom.
“What do you think?” Remi says when I enter. She does a spin in her emerald gown.
“That I don’t ever want to see you dressed like my sister again.”
“That’s rude,” Al grumbles.
“Would you like your boyfriend to be my double?” I point out.
“Considering I no longer have a boyfriend, it’s a moot point,” she mutters. “Remi, you look great. Good luck tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
“It sucks we don’t get out of school for Mardi Gras week,” Al gripes.
“You’re not going to school on Monday, not with you being in the ceremony on paper.”
“So I can skip school when it’s convenient for you.” Al crosses her arms and stares me down.
“Fabien tried to murder me; the mayor is hellbent on extorting me. Neither of these things I’d call ‘convenient.’”
“You don’t know that about Fabien for sure,” Al argues. “You just want a reason to kill him.”
“I have text message proof our brother was plotting my downfall!”
“No way. He doesn’t even have a cellphone,” she says with conviction.
“Someone smuggled it in for him.” My hands fall to my head. “Christ, Al, are you really this naive?”
“How can you be sure it’s him?” she snaps. “Did he say in the message, ‘This is Fabien Calvani?’”
“No, but from the context, it’s safe to assume…”
Assume.
“In other words, you still don’t know for sure. Let me see the messages,” Al challenges.
My hands fist at my sides. “To what end?”
“I’ve heard the whispers; I know you’ve ordered the hit. Let me see what got our brother killed,” she says, swiping angrily at the tears threatening to fall from her eyes.
“Your sympathy for Fabien isn’t going to change my mind, but fine, have it your way,” I tell her, storming out of the room and to the study. She’s hot on my heels, followed by Remi.
Grabbing the cloned phone, I pull up the text exchange, handing it to Al.
“Cornbread?” Her forehead bunches. “That’s not Fabien; that’s his cellie.”
My heart comes to a screeching stop. “What do you mean?”
“I met the man once at visitation. Fabien called his cellmate Cornbread. When I asked Fabien why, when it was just the two of us, he said it’s a joke. The guy was cornbread Cosa Nostra. Like a wannabe southern mobster that’s not Italian.”
Maks appears in the doorway, and I ask him, “What’s the name of Fabien’s cellmate?”
He holds up his hands. “All his files are at the apartment.”
I grab my sister by the shoulders. “Are you lying to me?”
“I swear it on my life,” she says.
With a frustrated growl, I release her and am now on my phone with Nic. “Put a pause on the shipment order I called in the other day.”
“But boss, the wheels are already in motion.”
“Get them out of motion.”
“It’s not that easy. Our contacts on the inside are already activated. I’ll try, but I might be too late.”
“Then do what you can.”
Ending the call, I turn to my sister. “If our brother is truly innocent, then let’s hope he sleeps with one eye open.”