Chapter 3 #2
“And we will. But not when you’re trying to purposely go out and attempt to do so with your fists. Besides, the entire Russo family has been very quiet. I’ve heard some chatter that they’ve gone into hiding.”
“Because they know I’m going to hunt them down. When I find them…” I didn’t finish the sentence.
“I think they received your threats loud and clear.”
“What threats?”
Montgomery half laughed. “How many of Russo’s men did you kill over the last few days?”
“Not nearly enough.”
I lifted my hand, flexing my aching fingers.
It was well worth the discomfort if for no other reason than I’d issued a city-wide warning that I wouldn’t take shit from anyone.
I turned my attention to the crowd, cataloging faces in the crowd.
The event was far too public, allowing anyone to attend.
Our tragedy had become fodder for the high and mighty in town who wanted nothing more than to enjoy the partial downfall of our family’s regime.
“Come on,” Montgomery said, clapping me on the shoulder. “You need to allow our uncles to pay their respects.”
“You mean to allow Uncle Armand to act as if he cares while turning his nose up at the possibility I can handle running the organization.”
He laughed but knew exactly what I was getting at. “That too. Be on your best behavior. Please?”
“I’ll think about it.” Every family had difficulties and differences of opinion, but with such a powerful empire at stake, ties were often stretched to the limit. It was well known Armand wouldn’t mind becoming the next Don of the family.
He was of the old school belief that anyone taking the helm should be married and settled, children at least on the way. I refused to subscribe to the ancient bullshit.
We both headed toward the others, my youngest brother Jaxon joining seconds later. He was tense, his face pale. He’d taken our father’s death very hard.
Armand cleared his throat. He was even older than my father had been, ruling Baton Rouge and the surrounding area as my father had done with New Orleans.
“You look like shit, Alexander. The cameras are capturing every moment. You need to remain presentable. You are required to always present yourself as a true leader. Unless you’re incapable of doing so. ”
“Lecturing me or simply exerting your perceived authority, Uncle Armand? I thought you wanted nothing to do with New Orleans.”
My uncle bristled as I’d known he would. He’d always wanted to be a controlling factor in running my father’s empire. The dissention inside the family had always been there just below the surface. I’d been warned he could possibly try a coup. Over my dead body.
“Be careful, Alexander, or I’ll be forced to take that as a sign of disrespect.”
“Take it for what you will. This is my empire to run now. And please don’t forget our father’s body is barely buried.” We glared at each other, and I dared him to attempt a single moment of undermining my authority. Fortunately for him, he chose to back down.
But not before my brothers took a step closer. They knew how I got when I was backed into a corner. That’s exactly the way I felt, as if I couldn’t control what had come so easily to me in the past. My father’s murder had changed things.
Seeing his bullet-ridden body had changed me.
Perhaps I’d been living in a fairytale up until then.
“You know this business is dangerous, son. Your father knew the risks. He handled them with grace. Everyone involved in our world knows what to expect. That’s something you need to keep in mind.
Unless you don’t want the job. Word on the street is that you’d prefer to live in the lap of luxury rather than handling business. ”
As always, he enjoyed goading me.
Bristling, I took a step closer and Uncle Claude made his appearance known.
Which was good because blood was about to be shed.
“Any confirmation on the killer?” He was often the voice of reason, forced to come between Uncle Armand and my father over the years. Without it, I might have lost my control.
“No formal confirmation, but there is no doubt,” I answered, still glaring at Armand.
We had our share of other enemies, but there hadn’t been a gangland-style shooting in almost thirty years between us or our enemies.
If not longer. There was no need any longer for the majority of crime syndicates no matter if American, Irish, Italian, or any of the other smaller mafia groups scattered throughout the south, almost all of whom were shifting away from violent crimes.
“I’ve heard you are continuing to have issues with the Russos,” Armand threw in as if testing me.
In my family, I’d only told Sinclair about what Randy had told me.
Both Montgomery and Jaxon were prone to flying off the handle.
That I didn’t need while tracking down the person responsible. “Maybe you’re right they are to blame.”
Sinclair eyed me carefully, curious as to what I’d say. “They stole over a million in product. I’m with Alex in believing they are responsible.”
“Just remember when things seem crystal clear, they’re often a falsehood.” Armand’s comment stuck in my craw.
I almost asked him if he was admitting guilt but refrained.
“I’ve also heard the Barishnikoff Bratva has the most to gain,” Uncle Claude pushed casually. While I would never disrespect him, given he’d retired early from the business, taking his millions and settling in Key Biscayne, he certainly didn’t have his finger on the pulse of activity in N’awlins.
“They also have too much to lose,” Sinclair told them. “We could crush their proposed real estate ventures with a single phone call. They wouldn’t risk it. At least not now. The Russos on the other hand have much to gain.”
“We need to find out who our father was meeting with before he was killed.” The only reason I’d yet to act on my intention of killing Russo was because our father had just left some clandestine meeting, the other participant unknown. He’d left the house without a single soldier keeping guard. Why?
Standing off to the side where he’d remained quiet throughout the processional, my father’s best friend and a man considered the family’s top advisor lifted his eyebrow as he locked eyes with mine.
Jacques Cornwell had a reputation as being a bulldog, his personality complementing my father perfectly.
“Mother said his behavior was very strange over the last week before he died,” Jaxon said.
Why did I have a feeling that Jacques had an idea about the details of the meeting?
“How so?” Uncle Claude asked.
“Strange phone calls, a few meetings out of the house. She had no idea what he was doing.”
I shook my head. I’d asked that very question of the people at the restaurant. No one had seen my father with anyone else. How interesting.
Jacques appeared even more uncomfortable.
Eyeing the man, I had the distinct feeling he wasn’t providing all the information he had about the meeting. I’d get him aside later and require he tell me everything.
Uncle Armand smirked, understanding exactly why Sinclair and I were so angry. “It’s been several days, Alexander, and you’ve yet to identify the single person who can shed light on your father’s last hours on this earth. You should spend more time doing your job as the leader.”
When I stepped forward, Montgomery tugged on my arm. “Might I remind you that you’re a guest at my father’s house. You should act accordingly.”
The tension was high.
Sinclair threw me a look, a gentle but effective reminder that my uncle was right about one thing. People were watching our interactions, eager to record any strife. That would allow our enemies to garner a taste of the weakness in our regime caused by our father’s murder.
“We work together to protect the family,” Uncle Claude said, sneering at his brother.
Montgomery sighed, as angry as I was. “Agreed. The last thing we need to do is to become fractured. There are too many vultures eager for that to happen.”
Before I had a chance to reply, I noticed a police car and another unmarked dark sedan pulling up to the curb less than fifty yards away. What the hell were they doing here?
At this point, I was only half paying attention. The two police officers and two men dressed in cheap suits crawled from the vehicles, conversing for a few seconds before moving into the cemetery.
Sinclair caught my line of sight, taking a step in front of me. “Looks like we might have an issue.”
“Maybe they have some information on our father’s murder,” Jaxon suggested.
I knew better. “No, they don’t. I know them too well.
” While we controlled a number of law enforcement officers, that didn’t mean they were dropping everything to solve our father’s murder.
There were enough people who’d lived through my father’s tyranny two decades before who would never allow our family to forget.
As the two men in suits took the lead, smirks on their faces, I turned toward our attorney and Consigliere. He knew exactly what I was thinking. He was also holding something back.
This wasn’t a conveying of respects. The detectives had something more nefarious as the reason for their visit on this sacred day.
They stopped a few feet away, the two officers crowding closer. As soon as one pulled his handcuffs from his belt, my entire family bristled.
The smirk on the one detective’s face turned into a smile of satisfaction. “Alexander Prince?”
“Yes. What can I do for you?”
“You’ll need to come with us.”
“Why?” Sinclair threw out.
The detective was smiling, an eager beaver who’d caught a worm. “Because he’s under arrest.”
“For what?” Montgomery growled, getting in their faces.
I didn’t bother arguing or resisting, turning around so the young officer obviously shaken to his core could do his job.
“For the murder of Lorenzo Russo.”