Chapter 3
LEONORE
“You have a delivery.” Tori walks into my office and places a black box on my wooden table. “Do you have an admirer, or did you order yourself something?” She looks at it again. I see the seal on it and instantly know where it came from.
Silas Vescari.
Everyone knows the Vescari family crest. A raven mid-flight. This one is gold leaf, and it’s striking on the luxurious black box.
“Just an order,” I say in an attempt to curb her curiosity.
She lifts an eyebrow. “Looks like an expensive order.”
I smile sweetly. “You can shut the door on the way out.”
She sighs dramatically. “Fine, have your secrets.” She looks back at the box and flounces out of the room.
For a moment, I study the luxury box with a gold ribbon tied around it in a bow.
Involving myself with the Vescaris is dangerous.
Of the four families who dominate Boston’s underworld, I’ve purposely avoided getting involved with them.
Up until now, they haven’t needed me. I look at the cooler where the body remains.
I wonder who he was. No. I’m not getting involved.
However, my curiosity can only be curbed so much as I undo the bow, and the ribbon falls onto my lap. I lift the lid, and inside the box is a glass jar filled with clear preservative liquid.
I hold it up and see a single rose trapped inside the liquid.
But it’s not your average rose.
No, this one is stuck inside a gold ring, which is wrapped around a human finger. The rose is white, its edges stained pink by blood.
Fascinating.
Moving it around, I notice a note etched on the bottom of the glass.
Tonight. My estate. I will be waiting.
I should be put off by this. It’s ghoulish and evil and … you know what, I’m kind of impressed. Ten points for creativity.
But Silas Vescari has made a big mistake, and it’s not the severed finger. Although I wonder who the kind donor was.
It’s him thinking he can demand I attend.
I’m sure everyone else in his life asks how high when he says jump, but I don’t do demands, and I will never ask how fucking high if someone tells me to jump.
Putting the glass jar back in the box, I close it and slide it under my desk.
Tonight. My estate. I will be waiting.
Yeah, how about no.
I try not to work every day, but that’s very hard to do when you love what you do and really enjoy making money.
As a result, I’ve never really been good at breaks.
Plus, this is my business, and I want to do everything in my power to make it succeed.
So no, I did not take his invitation, and I’m sure he’s not used to people not following his commands.
Even though today is supposed to be my day off, I still somehow pull up in the parking lot of the morgue.
And immediately, I see the same car from two nights ago sitting in the very same spot.
Fucker. It’s only been one day, and I know he’s here expecting to collect the body.
Right now would be the perfect time to just drive off, but confrontation has never bothered me.
It’s something I’m actually good at. I know how not to escalate a situation and make it worse, though I can honestly say the man who steps out of the car right now seems to have the ability to get under my skin. And I’ve only met him once.
The sun hasn’t quite set yet, so when he opens his car door and steps out, I can see the annoyance plastered all over his face. And I bet, even behind those sunglasses, his dark sapphire eyes are narrowed and staring at me.
Taking a deep breath, I put my car in park and reach for my phone before I turn the engine off. He walks around to the driver’s side door as I step out of the car. His jaw is locked tight, but I can tell he’s itching to say something.
“We are closed today, even for you,” I tell him.
“Did you get my gift?”
I would never tell him how much I actually liked his gift. It’s quite remarkable, really. I wonder if he thought of it himself?
“Gift?” I ask him. “Oh, you mean the demand you made. Telling me I had to go to your house.”
I start to walk to the back door of my building, and he follows, his stride intentional and clearly not in the market for taking no as an answer.
“I have a proposition for you, which you would’ve found out if you had attended the meeting,” he grits, as if attempting to hide his disdain.
“I told you already—I do not work for you.” Pulling the door open, I go to let it shut behind me, but he puts his foot in, stopping it from closing.
“You are also not welcome here,” I throw over my shoulder and look down at his impeccably shined boots.
Gosh, I wonder if this man has anything out of place.
“Since you refused my invite, I have come here to request that you listen to me.”
I want to laugh at him. But I know better than that. Even if I find him obnoxious, I know there is only so far I can push a man with his power.
“Request…” I hum. Look at that, the monster’s trying to act like a gentleman.
“You deal in money; at least, that’s what is heard on the streets,” he says matter-of-factly. Don’t we all.
I turn back to look at him, and his jaw is still locked as if it’s made of steel, his sunglasses still on his head.
“Do you do all your dealings personally?” I ask him.
I had heard he does not, so I’m surprised to see him.
With the other crews, I don’t see their bosses all the time.
I only see them when the person on my table is important.
So who the fuck is that man to Silas for him to go so far as to hound me?
They share the same last name, but that can mean anything in crime families like this.
“No, I have others for that,” he says, clearly annoyed with my questions and as if it was the most obvious answer.
“Okay, well, send another one of your men during business hours,” I say over my shoulder and offer a smile.
It’s fake, and by the way his lips turn into a thin line, he knows it as well.
I push through my door, walking through the reception and turning on the lights as I do, only to find him still following me.
I stop when I reach my office and turn back to him.
“This could be considered stalking, just so you’re aware,” I tell him. “So anything I do is in self-defense.”
“If you do as you’re told, you won’t have to use self-defense,” he grits, and I try my hardest not to laugh.
Men like these are all the same. Despite his deadly reputation, he hasn’t yet attempted to force me to do anything.
I’ve heard he has a sister, and I wonder whether growing up with a woman means he treats women differently. Not that I’ll bet my life on it.
His gaze sweeps around my office, and when it does, his eyes drop to the floor under my desk, where the box he sent me sits.
“You kept it,” he says, as if he didn’t just subtly threaten me again.
“I haven’t had a chance to throw it out yet.”
“Don’t. I had it made especially for you.”
For anyone else, that might have sounded almost … thoughtful. I don’t let myself sit with that notion for long before he removes his sunglasses and fixes me with that dark, steady stare, his words continuing. “To show you your body parts can end up in there next.”
I roll my eyes. Not at the threat itself. At the fact he thinks it changes anything.
“Now,” he continues, like we’re not having two conversations at once, “are we ready to discuss business?”
There he is, the man everyone fears and talks about. Cold and calculated. I saw it from the beginning, but maybe I assumed it was tales. That he would thaw out, but no. Here he is, telling me that if I don’t work for him, he will dismember me.
Romantic, really.
“I told you, I’m not working today.” He moves farther in, takes the seat opposite my desk, and sits his ass in it.
His black pants move with every step, and his dark raven hair is ruffled in the most perfect way.
His large black boots take up too much room.
I would guess he is well over six feet to my five-five.
“I’ll wait,” he says.
“Until I’m working again?” I question.
“Yes.”
This fucking man. My expression doesn’t change, but something in my jaw tightens before I can stop it. “I’m sure you have more pressing matters to attend to,” I say, my voice clipped and controlled and much sharper than it was a moment ago.
“Do I?” he asks, daring me to argue back. I’d bet my life he doesn’t get many people arguing with him. But I also know that although he takes deliberate time with me, it’s as if we’re dancing on a tightrope. The tension ripples around him. And I’m certain it has everything to do with that body.
Either way, the sooner I get him out of my way, the sooner I can actually start working.
“Is that what it will take for you to leave? Asking me whatever it is you want to?” I inquire.
His eyes slice to me.
“Yes.” He pauses. “And the correct answer, of course.”
Correct answer, which means the answer he is happy with. I remain standing where I am. My hair is tied back in a high ponytail, and the ends of it brush along my shoulders as I move to drop my things down.
“Ask.” Time is money. Chop, chop.
He doesn’t smile. He just places both hands in his lap, his fingers interlocked as he looks at me.
“I need a new mortician,” he states. I try not to scoff.
“What happened to your last one?” I ask.
“I killed him.”
“Great selling point,” I reply.
“I’ll pay you double what the others do.”
“Means nothing to me if you end up killing me too.”
“I won’t end up killing you,” he bites, irritated, and I still feel like there’s more that goes unsaid. Someone else could easily have this conversation on his behalf. So why is he doing it personally?
“You sound so certain. I almost believe you.” I narrow my gaze. “You can leave now.”
“I’ll pay you triple,” he says just as quickly, and my hand freezes on my desk as I reach for the paperwork Tori left from overnight. Fuck, that is a lot of money. It could really set me up.
I take a seat across from him as I grab the paperwork and run the tip of my pen over the paper, purposely acting uninterested. “Why do you want me to work for you so bad?”
“You’re the best. And I only ever expect the best.”
I look up from the paperwork and tilt my head with a deadpan expression. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that for a second, Miss Graves.”
“Dr. Graves,” I grit, irritated by his formal demeanor. Why is he acting like a gentleman? A monster pretending to be civil. Now, this is new, but I know it’s often because there’s more happening than is being led on. This isn’t a simple exchange of money and service—I can feel it.
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Doctor.”
I tap the bottom of the paper and set it aside. “Say I took you up on your offer, would I have to deal with you in return?” I ask. “Or your men?”
“Which would you prefer?”
“Your men,” I answer without hesitation.
His eyebrows dip slightly. I’m sure a man like this isn’t used to women not throwing themselves at him.
“Another thing, everything is confidential. I only deal with the bodies, not the politics of the families who run this city, or who did what and how. Do we understand one another?”
His gaze narrows, and I immediately know I’ve hit the mark.
“I’m wounded, Dr. Graves. Are you saying you don’t enjoy my company?” he asks as he stands, and I imagine he wants to say much more. “I, however, will come and collect his body personally tomorrow.”
“I would prefer not to see you ever again. No offense, Mr. Vescari.”
“Offense taken.” He steps closer, hovering just in front of me. He’s trying to intimidate me again, so I click the tip of the pen a few too many times as I stare right back at him. His eye twitches slightly from the consistent sound.
“Leave,” I tell him. “I haven’t yet agreed to your terms.”
“Oh, but you have,” he says with a deadly smile that’s anything but gentle. I hate that he knows I want the money. It’s the driving force for us all, isn’t it? And although I do it to give bodies proper burials, a girl’s gotta eat.
As he begins to walk out, he says over his shoulder, “Lock the door after I leave. You don’t know what type of predators will come knocking.” His voice carries through as he walks out.
“It’s a Sunday. I’m sure all my usual clientele are busy at church, wiping their slates clean,” I bite back, and catch the edge of his lips tilt up. Well, fuck me, he might have a sense of humor after all.
What I’m certain of is that he’s not referring to others.
Predator.
That’s him.
And he knows it.