Chapter 6 Cassian
CASSIAN
“This isn’t right,” Jet says as the call comes through for the guards to allow us entry.
I drive through the gates toward the Moore estate.
He’s looking up at the windows on the second floor of the massive mansion, all of which are dark.
But the property is acres large. If the Moores have anything to do with Malek Lombardi, they wouldn’t be stupid enough to keep Amal, Daniel or Allegra here.
Which is why it’s odd that the man Angelo has watching the house would have spotted them so easily. But it’s all I have right now.
“Leave your weapon here,” I tell Jet.
“You sure?”
I look over at him. “We’re driving up to the front entrance. The guards we saw are just a handful of the security he’ll have on site. Besides, it’s impolite.”
“Impolite? I didn’t realize we were worried about being polite.”
“I’m not here for a shootout, Jet. If I was, I wouldn’t ring the doorbell. I want to know what he knows. They have no reason to take Allegra. They’d be stupid to do it. They know she’s Trevino property. They’ve known it since the night I took her, and they know the consequence of stealing from me.”
“Thanks for the Ted Talk. What about Amal?”
“That I don’t know, but you do this my way, or you don’t do it at all.”
“Christ. Fine. I hope you’re right.” Jet sets his gun in the glove compartment.
I stop the car, put my Glock beside his and step out, instructing the soldiers in the second vehicle to stay put. The front doors open and two security personnel with military style weapons strapped across their bodies step out.
“You still sure we don’t want our guns?” Jet mutters.
“I’m sure.” I watch the man who follows the others. He’s dressed in a suit and if he’s carrying, it’s concealed.
“Mr. Trevino,” he says, glancing at Jet momentarily, but not paying him much mind. “Governor Moore wasn’t expecting a visit.”
Jet and I climb the stairs.
“No, it’s impromptu.” I say, unsmiling. “I’ve instructed my men to remain outside. We don’t come armed.”
He clears his throat. He may choose to search us. Fine if he does, but after a moment, he nods. “This way.”
We follow him into the house. The Moore’s have been governing here for generations.
They’ve also had one foot in our world for as long as I can remember.
They aren’t as inconsequential as Jet stated earlier, but they have never been of much consequence to me.
To the Morettis, perhaps. If Alaric had lived, he’d likely have gone through with a contract between Allegra and Richard Moore for the political connection and the safety net that union would provide.
For the Moores, it might have meant a cut in the business, because if there’s one thing rich people have in common it’s greed.
There’s never a shortage of fucking greed.
The Moores are subtle in their work with the Moretti family. As far as I know, they’ve never openly been violent. But the soldiers carrying machine guns tells a different story and I wonder if I’ve underestimated them.
Jet looks around as we pass a living room where a middle-aged woman is sitting by the fire, drink in one hand, cigarette in the other.
She watches, her expression telling me exactly how unwelcome we are.
I don’t give a fuck. We’re led down a corridor and toward a door that stands open at the far end. We enter that room.
The man who escorted us closes the door. He remains inside.
Bookshelves line the entirety of one wall, with two desks set facing one another at opposite ends.
Richard Moore stands at the huge fireplace with a drink in his hand.
He’s dressed in an expensive suit and casually watches us.
He’s relaxed. Unafraid. And why should he be afraid? He’s got a fucking army out there.
“Cassian Trevino,” he says, his eyes giving nothing away. “What a surprise.”
“Governor,” I greet him. Richard is in his early forties. He’s the public face of the family. He currently holds the governor’s seat his father vacated just one year ago. I notice he doesn’t extend a hand to shake, but glances at Jet before turning back to me, eyebrows raised.
“You know my stepbrother, Jethro Blackstone.”
“Yes, I know the family. I’ve met your brother, Severin.”
“Lucky you,” Jet says, unimpressed.
The governor clears his throat. “Sit down. Have a drink.”
“This isn’t a social call,” I tell him. I remain standing.
Jet crosses to one of two desks set at either end of the room. He openly studies the file on it. The governor follows Jet, closes the folder and slips it into a drawer before returning to take a seat on the armchair closest to the fire. “What can I do for you?”
“Does a governor normally need soldiers armed for war at their residence?” Jet asks.
Moore looks annoyed, but manages to keep that smile on his face. “You never know when the riffraff will pay a visit.”
“Will your father be joining us?” I ask, understanding his meaning exactly.
“My father isn’t in town. He’s gone to the house in Florida. Usual for him this time of year. Old bones and all.”
“Then I’ll get to it. The Lombardi children. Where are they?”
“Lombardi children?” he asks, eyebrows raised as if he’s never heard of them.
“Amal and Daniel Lombardi.”
“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t refer to Amal as a child, though. Certainly.” I see Jet’s hand fist. So does Moore. “You came all the way here to ask me about Malek Lombardi’s children?” he continues, eyebrows high.
“I did. Where are they?”
“How should I know? And why would I care?”
“You’ll care because I’m asking you. I’ve been told they paid a visit, which I’d say is odd. I don’t suppose Malek Lombardi is here lurking in some closet or other.”
“No, I haven’t seen Malek in at least a week. But his children? Hmm. Strange,” he says, considering. “Now that I’m thinking about it, they were here. While I was out. My sister mentioned it. Slipped my mind.”
“Did it? That your sister in the other room?”
“It is.” He sips his whiskey. I want to slap the glass out of his hand. He thinks he’s being clever. If he’s made an alliance with Malek Lombardi, he’ll learn soon enough it’s a mistake.
“And what did she mention exactly,” I ask, playing along.
“They were here briefly. Malek sent Amal and she brought the boy with her. He wanted her to pick up some papers I had for him. I could have couriered them over—”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“So you didn’t see them?” Jet asks.
“I was out,” he says to him. “They were only here briefly. And if I had seen them, what business would it be of yours?” he asks me.
“Well, I’ve made it my business since Malek Lombardi has made it his to take what belongs to me.”
“And what is that exactly?”
“Allegra Moretti.” I see a tick in his jaw and study him, cocking my head. I realize something. “Don’t tell me you’re still sore I voided the contract the Morettis had with regards to Allegra and you?”
His gaze darkens, moving from me to Jet and back.
“She belongs to the Moretti family. I was under the impression she was being held as collateral until such a time that Michael Moretti would repay his debt to you. I don’t like to involve myself in this sort of business, but sometimes it’s unavoidable, isn’t it?
As long as you keep that business off my streets, though, I don’t care what you people do quite frankly. ”
“No? Hm. You sure think you know a lot about my business.”
“It’s my business to know about the dealings of criminals within my state.”
I snort. “And what would you consider your relationship with a known crime family? I hear you and Alaric went way back.”
He clears his throat. “You heard wrong. That was my father, and his choices are not mine.”
“Did your father choose to negotiate a contract for Allegra Moretti’s hand in marriage to you?” There’s that tick again. He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “Actually, I don’t care. Moot point anyway. Did you know Michael Moretti is dead?”
I know from the look on his face that he did not know until just now. “Dead?”
“Killed, to be precise. Bullet to the head. Left on the side of the road like roadkill.”
His face pales as he takes us in properly. When his gaze moves to the guard at the door, I block his view.
“Don’t worry, Governor. It wasn’t us. Now I’ll ask once and only once because I don’t think you have the stomach for violence, but you do have deep pockets. Did you have anything to do with the influx of cash Michael Moretti received in order to repay his debt to me?”
He studies me. I move so I can see the man who was at my back in my periphery.
The other soldiers are outside of this room, and we’re unarmed, but Moore doesn’t want a shootout at his house any more than I want to be dead.
How would he explain it to his constituents?
But I don’t like him. I don’t like his arrogance.
His snobbery. And I think he knows something.
So, I take the two steps I need to reach him and grip him by the collar, hauling him to his feet.
“Get the guards!” He calls out, but Jet surprises me when he reaches down under the cuff of his pants and draws a weapon. He cocks it and points to the suited man.
“Or stay put,” he says.
I’m impressed.
I walk Richard Moore to the fireplace, press his back to the mantle.
He grips my forearm with both hands as I glare down at him.
“Did you have anything to do with the money Michael Moretti suddenly had on hand? And, more importantly, what the fuck do you know about Allegra Moretti’s kidnapping?”
“I don’t. I don’t know about it. He asked me for the money, but I didn’t give it to him. I’m not stupid.”
“Aren’t you?”
A log slips out of the fire as the ones beneath it turn to ash.
I glance down, keeping my grip on Moore.
Picking up the poker, I push the log back and hold the poker in the flames, heating it as Richard Moore struggles to get free, a sweat breaking out along his receding hairline.
A few minutes later, I raise the poker to eye level.
Moore looks at the red-hot tip of it, then at me. He holds his hands up, palms toward me.
“Amal. He said we’d have a new contract. I’d get Amal.”
“Fuck you will,” Jet mutters.
“Remind me how old you are?” I ask calmly because somehow, I always manage to remain calm during these moments. To remain in control.
“Forty-two this year.”
“And she’s what?”
“Seventeen,” Jet calls out.
“What did Amal think of this arrangement?” His eyes dart away.
“I’m guessing she didn’t want to sleep with a man old enough to be her father,” Jet says. “Truly just a guess though. I’m sure you’re very appealing to a seventeen-year-old.”
“Where is Malek Lombardi?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I don’t know that.”
“Did you see her? Did you see Allegra?”
“No.” He shakes his head furiously. “I didn’t know.
I swear. I didn’t know about Michael or Allegra.
All I know is Malek said things were changing and I’d have a new contract soon.
He said he’d give me Amal. He was going out of town and when he was back everything would be arranged. That’s all. That’s all I swear!”
“Out of town where?”
“He didn’t say. I told him she wouldn’t do it. I told him she was with you.”
“Did you? And what did he say?”
“He just said she’d go along with whatever he was planning after their trip. That’s all. I swear, that’s all I know.”
“You’d better not be lying to me or mark my words, you will regret it.”
“I’m not. Why the fuck would I?”
I shove him to the side and toss the poker into the stone fireplace. It clatters, sends ashes up. I look at those ashes, then back to Governor Moore.
I know Malek’s plan. He’s killed Michael.
Now he wants to force Allegra to marry him.
Once he’s head of the Moretti family, he’ll sell off his daughter to this pervert and build himself a safety net.
How would he get Allegra to go along with it?
She wouldn’t. She hated him. And she’s fucking stubborn as hell. He’d have to force her hand.
Her father had her mother and her kidnapped. I know he did. He used his daughter to punish his wife.
Would Malek use his own children to force her hand? She’s very close with Amal and I saw how the little boy clung to her. But would their father hurt them to get ahead?
Yes, he would.
The fire is built too high and another log rolls out of the pile sending more ash onto the hardwood.
I look at it like I did before, the ashes in the grate. The soot-blackened stone. It triggers something.
Malek Lombardi won’t need to use his children to force her hand.
There’s another way to get to Allegra. One that wouldn’t involve his children at all.
Her own father did it to her. What’s to stop Malek?
The trauma she suffered with her mother is something she’ll live with for the rest of her life.
And as much as she may think or hope to have it under control, she doesn’t.
If she did, she wouldn’t lie to herself about it.
He’s going to take her back there, to that house, or what’s left of it.
He’s going to terrorize her.
And worse if I don’t get to her in time.