Chapter 11 ARCHER #2
“One family cannot attack another unless it’s sanctioned by the boss.
” I peek back at the house as Minka comes outside and returns to our shared seat.
She looks for me, her head on a swivel until her eyes stop on mine.
They darken with curiosity. With frustration.
Because the thing I promised I would tell her—still hasn’t been spoken about—but now Fletch is jumping the line.
Groaning, I crush the heels of my palms to my eyes and break contact with the woman I want to protect above all else. I want to go back to this morning, before we left our room, and revisit that calmness. I want to return to the world we existed in before Cordoza declared he was stopping by.
“You’re gonna have to spell it out for me, Arch.” Fletch seizes my wrists and tears my hands away from my face. “Families attacking families: you’re talking New York shit, right?”
“Yeah. The rules exist because without them, anyone could take a shot at the boss and destabilize an entire framework. Every family wants to sit at the top of the food chain, but most are sensible enough to know better. Being Cordoza isn’t just being the guy who tells everyone else what to do.
It’s being responsible for an entire fuckin’ ecosystem.
It’s successfully running a multibillion-dollar enterprise while managing feds, distribution chains, suppliers, buyers, and enough guns to keep the system functional. ”
“Fine. Okay.” He shifts and forces himself into my line of sight. “So someone broke the rules?”
“Yeah. Anthony Agosti is a two-bit, piece of shit, used-to-be powerful motherfucker out of New York. He and my father were similar in a lot of ways, but there was a difference in wealth from the outset. Tim hated that his grandfather arrived here, broke and begging for a better life. He was bitter and mean, because he wished he came from fancy, old money. Agosti was bitter and mean because he did come from old money and was pissed when he lost most of it.”
“And now Agosti has taken a shot at someone? Attacked a family?” Realization hits him, and his eyes shoot across to Felix and Christabelle. “Someone threatened Felix?”
“No.” I scratch my fingers through my hair. “Agosti was at the wedding last night as Cordoza’s guest. Now he’s dead.”
“Felix?” He lowers his voice. “Shit. And now he’s in trouble?”
“Wasn’t Felix either.”
“So—”
“Felix asked if it was me.” I drop my hand and grunt in the back of my throat. “It wasn’t. But Cordoza’s coming here later today to ask me himself.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Nope.”
“So just say it wasn’t you! Old men don’t grow old and powerful unless they have a decent, functioning brain in their head and an ability to use it for critical thinking.”
“Agosti cornered Minka last night. I told him to fuck off. Cordoza saw that.”
“So when he asks, you’ll explain your version of the story and everyone will move on.”
“Fletch, it’s not—”
“You’re not one of them anymore, Arch! When you’re hanging with Felix and Micah, you’re hanging with your brothers, not the fuckin’ mafia.
You tell Cordoza you didn’t touch that other dude, he takes you at your word—because why the fuck wouldn’t he?
—and then life goes on. If it wasn’t you, it wasn’t you. ”
“You’re wearing rose-tinted glasses.” I dig my hands into my pockets and ball them into fists.
“In a good, fair world, that might be the end of it. But someone wiped Agosti off the face of the planet last night. At my brother’s wedding.
Even if Cordoza moves on from me, he’s still looking at my family. That’s a problem.”
“Well…” He scrapes his jaw, the noisy crackle of his stubble audible even above the happy squeals of his daughter in the pool. “You’ve established it wasn’t one of yours, right?”
“One of my brothers?” I drag my lip between my teeth and nibble. “Yeah. I mean… I didn’t ask for their alibis, but considering they cornered me this morning and asked for mine, I’d say it’s pretty fuckin’ clear they’re not responsible.”
“This is what we do, right?” He drops his gaze, his shoulders firing with adrenaline. “We literally investigate death for a living. Don’t freeze up now, just because it’s your ass in the sling. Where did he die? Who was the last to see him alive? Who else wanted him dead?”
“His hotel room, in the bathtub. Don’t know. Don’t know. Felix said the wife discovered his body early this morning. He was swimming in his own blood, with slit wrists, and a knife nearby.”
“Suicide.” His brows pinch tight. “Why is Cordoza looking for a killer if the dude offed himself?”
“Probably something about not making assumptions.” The scrape of a chair on the ground brings my eyes up, then I lock onto Minka’s determined eyes and know I’m out of time.
She snags my phone and fists it in one hand, then she starts this way.
“Fuck.”
Curious, Fletch peeks over his shoulder.
“She knows something’s up.” I squeeze the bridge of my nose. “But I haven’t told her yet. Not about Agosti, and not about Cordoza coming to the house.”
“Why the fuck not?” He brings his eyes back around. “You two work murder cases together seven days a week. Why the hell would you leave your star quarterback on the bench?”
“Because this isn’t like that! This is New York and Cordoza and…
” I swallow my words and paste on a fake ass smile, and when Minka is close enough, I take her hand and draw her in.
“Hey.” I press a kiss to her temple and pretend I don’t notice the tension in her body.
The curiosity in her eyes. The fucking expectation of full disclosure pulsing with every beat of her heart. “You having a good time, Chief?”
“Sure. Barbecues and babies and…” She slaps my phone to my palm, screen side up. “Estefan Cordoza. Why’s he coming here to talk, Archer?”
Fuck. Me.
“It’s not that I meant to read your private messages, Detective, but it was right there, buzzing against the table.
I thought it odd that he specifically suggested you be in residence when he arrives.
” She looks from me to Fletch, probing eyes and flat, unenthused lips.
“I allowed you your time and space, even when you demanded I sit in your lap. If I have to boot every last guest out until it’s just me and you, then that’s what I’ll do.
” But then she gestures to Fletch. “And him too, I suppose. You told him… Now you’ll tell me. ”