Chapter 14
chapter Fourteen
New Leaf
Nico
The last few days have been a blur. It had been years since I had an episode like I did the night in my office. The rage inside me boiled over and didn’t simmer down until the morning.
I never knew how hard it would be if I lost Tiffany. Having her tell me to my face she couldn’t love me had me seeing red. Now I know that if she ever left me, I’d be gone forever. I doubt even Mason could bring be back.
It also didn’t help that I'd been dealing with bullshit coming from every angle. The water damage at the hotel caused some structural damage that will now delay the grand opening for another six weeks on top of the already five months they initially said. I had another issue with my guns. This time, someone attacked the cargo that brings them over. I lost another shipment of weapons in the middle of the fucking Atlantic Ocean. That’s one hundred and seventy million dollars gone.
Plus, despite scouring the city, I couldn’t find the captain of that first cargo ship.
With my hands stuffed down in the front pockets of my slacks, I stare at a graffiti-style painting depicting two women with umbrellas.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A woman says from beside me.
I glance at her before turning back to the image.
She continues, greedy for my conversation.
“Bankman is a mastermind. The man never shows his face. Imagine my surprise when he walked into my gallery and offered to showcase some of his work.” She giggles and then leans over toward me.
“We aren’t supposed to say anything; you know he likes to remain anonymous, but he’s here today. ”
“Yes, I know,” I say, turning to face her.
She looks shocked but offers me a weak smile.
“Well, if you are interested in that painting, let me know.” She scurries off, leaving me alone.
I turn back to the painting.
“Ah, redemption,” a male voice says behind me. “It’s one of my favorites. It would add to any room you decide…. Mr. Basille.”
Ezra’s words die the moment I turn to face him. His brows knit together with concern before he quickly smooth them out. A smile turns his lips up casually.
“So you do know my last name. Funny, whenever you’re around my wife, you tend to forget it.”
His smile falters only slightly before he recoups it.
He chuckles as if I’ve told a joke.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Basille?”
I turn away from him, glancing back at the painting. “I’m not a good man, Ezra. Hell, I’m not even nice.” Turning back to him, I cock my head to the side. “But for my wife, I am trying to be better. She deserves my best.”
He nods his head. “I’m not sure where you are going with this?”
“I will come to you only once as a man. Stay away from my wife.”
He gives me another one of those playful chuckles. Holding his hands up in surrender, he says, “I assure you, I’m not trying to take your wife. Tiffany and I are…”
This time I laugh. It isn’t jovial. “If I believed you were trying to take Tiffany, I would have already scattered your brains over this overpriced, mediocre painting.” The smile immediately falls from his face.
“I’m not here because I see you as a threat. I’m here because I’m trying to fix my relationship with my wife, and if I kill you, it will delay that process.”
He swallows but lifts his chin defiantly. “I’m her client. We’ve already started a project. What do you want me to do, fire her? Do you really want that on your conscience?”
I’ll admit, I look at Ezra a little differently. He had a lot of grit in him. Pointing out that Tiffany would be devastated if her first client after coming back to work fired her. However, I didn’t give a shit. I’d have ten more muthafuckers hire her tonight.
“You’re a smart man, Ezra Michael Blackwell.” His eyes balloon when I call him by his full name. Just as I had requested, Ghost got me everything I needed to know about Mr. Blackwell.
“Being raised by two meth-addicted parents in the slums of Idaho and making it all the way to California tells me you’re smart and crafty.
Even your small stint in jail due to check fraud couldn’t keep you from this mediocre success.
” I point to the painting on the wall. “With all your wits and smarts, I know you can figure out a way to work with Tiffany without being around her.”
His jaw tenses and his blue eyes narrow.
I step forward, taking away the space that’s between us. Although Ezra is tall, he is nowhere near as tall as me. Staring down into his eyes, I leave him with one last warning.
“I do not repeat myself. At least not nicely. This will be your only warning. Do we have an understanding, Mr. Blackwell?”
There is a moment of defiance in his eyes. A small spark of challenge. I almost get a thrill as I think he will defy me. However, he tucks the aggression away and takes a step back.
“I understand.”
I allow him this reprieve. Without another word, I turn my back to him and walk away.
“What will you come to me as?”
Stopping at his question, I turn around, and face him. “Excuse me?”
“You said you’re coming to me this time as a man. Who would you have come to me as the next time?” There is laughter in his eyes. He wants me to believe this is playful banter. But I can see past bullshit. He’s asking a legitimate question, so I’ll answer him honestly.
“A Saint.”
His brow furrows at my reply.
Turning around, I walk away. Ghost is standing at the door watching me. He holds the glass door open for me as I get close.
“You think he’s going to listen?” Ghost asks as we step outside into the chilly fall air.
I button my suit jacket and then place my shades over my eyes. “I actually hope he doesn’t.”
Ghost laughs as we make our way over to the SUV.
My Tom Ford Oxfords crunch over the debris underneath my feet. I stuff my hands down into my front pockets. As I scan my Greenbriar warehouse, my demeanor is calm. On the outside I’m cool and composed, on the inside I’m counting down in my head like a fucking Sesame Street character.
Five million dollars’ worth of guns, ammunition, and other weapons has been destroyed.
The news will report a fire at an empty warehouse. That’s what money and connections can get you. Truth is, I have a shit ton of product that can no longer sell.
“All clear. The last fire truck and police officer have left the area along with the news crews. Everyone has been paid.” Ghost says as he and Roc approach me. “And as of right now, the entire area is cleared.”
One reason I use warehouses so far away from the city and away from any other residents is because of this very reason. The fewer people I have around, the better.
Nodding my head, I scan over the charred walls, exposed pipes, broken frames and the opening in the roof.
“What are you thinking?”
I turn to Ghost. “All this destruction. For what?”
“Your attention?”
“Nothing was taken,” Roc points out. “The guys said everything appears to be accounted for so far.”
Walking through the rubble are some of my men. The ones in charge of this warehouse are huddled together in a corner.
I toss my head in their direction. “What did they say?”
With one hand over his chest and the other resting on top of it, Ghost rubs his chin.
“This warehouse isn’t on rotation until next month.
There were no drop-offs or pickups scheduled.
This was a dead site. This space held only twenty crates.
If someone were going to rob us, it would’ve been the perfect opportunity.
The guards were changing shifts, the workers were on break, so they had ample time. ”
“Yet they didn’t take anything,” Roc says, looking around at the scene.
“Because this wasn’t about robbing me. This was about cutting me off at the knees.”
Ghost’s gaze narrows. “He’s blocking your money. Which is why the last shipment was tossed in the fucking ocean and not taken.”
Running a hand down my face, I try to ease some of the tension in my neck by turning my head from side to side.
The words in that first letter come back to me. My sole purpose is to destroy everything you and your brothers created. Everything that was gained after the four of you destroyed William Bone’s school for boys.
The fucker was going after my money. The resort business does well.
And if I gave up the arms dealing today, my family would live happily off that wealth for generations.
But the money I make from supplying weapons is the type of money that goes beyond generational wealth.
It’s the type of money that could move the world.
By fucking up my supply chain, you make it easy for someone else to step in and take control. There is no loyalty in this world. Consumers will go to the next reliable thing without a second thought.
Laughter to my right has me turning in that direction. Two of my men are talking among themselves, seeming to be in good spirits.
“Something funny?”
Both men straighten at the sound of my voice. The one who laughed looks at his partner nervously.
“Uh, no, Saint.”
I rub my chin as I slowly approach the two men. Ghost and Roc are at my side.
“You were laughing, so something had to be funny. And since I’m in a bad mood, I’d love to hear the joke that had you cackling while standing amongst the carnage of my fucking livelihood.”
“Saint,” Ghost calls my name trying to reign me back in. I guess he can sense I’m on the verge of a blowup.
The guy who laughed rubs a hand at the back of his head. The other guy looks down at his feet.
“Well, Jim was just telling me about his night at the bar last night. That’s all.”
“Let’s hear it then, Jim? Make us laugh.”
Jim’s face pales as he looks around at all the faces staring at him.
He clears his throat. “I…uh… just…. met a girl at the bar, and she took me back to her place with her roommate. She told me she and her roommate like to have threesomes. I told her I was willing, but it turns out her roommate was her sixty-year-old mom that looked like one of those chicks from that TV show.”