32. Chapter Twenty-Seven George Devereaux
Chapter Twenty-Seven: George Devereaux
“ G eorge,” Sebastian said, a smile spreading across his face. As if it hadn’t been years. As if he hadn’t lied to me and used me for his life of crime. As if we’d just seen each other yesterday. “It’s good to see you, man.”
A surge of irritation filled me at the sight of him, my fist clenching around my suitcase handle. How dare he show up here after all these years and act like nothing had happened? How dare he act as if he hadn’t dragged me into a life of crime?
“I’m glad they let you out. I was worried about you,” he said, a lazy smirk crossing his face. He walked with me toward the airport’s exit.
“What are you doing at the airport? Do you know you’re the reason they dragged me into that interrogation room? To ask me about you and your money— ”
He looked sheepish as he held up a hand. “Not now. We can talk about this later.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Getting you out. They were going to keep asking you about me, but I got my contacts in the FBI to let you go. They won’t bother you again.”
“Then why are you still bothering me?“ I demanded.
“I came to invite you to my restaurant’s grand opening tonight,” he said as he hailed down a taxi.
“I have a work meeting to get to. Are you a chef now?” Eyeing him in his crisp white getup, I couldn’t picture him behind any stove or even stirring a pot of sauce. I knew I’d heard about him venturing into the restaurant business, but I didn’t know the extent of his involvement.
“Actually, I own a chain of restaurants around the country. My brother, Antonio, decided to legitimize the family business around a year ago when he got married.”
From what I’d heard of Antonio Cavalli, he was fearsome and ruthless. Marriage must have softened him enough to cause him to quit his life in the mafia. “Wow. I would be happy for you if the FBI hadn’t just questioned me about my dealings with you.”
A taxi stopped for us. The driver opened the trunk and I threw my suitcase inside. I checked the time—I only had half an hour to get to the university for my meeting.
“George, would you let me apologize?”
Now that stopped me in my tracks. I paused outside the door, probably annoying the driver.
Sebastian Cavalli apologizing was like a pitbull pretending to be a teacup poodle. You waited for him to tear out your throat once you let your guard down. While he wasn’t as intimidating as his brother Antonio, Sebastian was still not a man to be messed with. Throw in his terrifying dog, Pasha, and he could be downright nightmarish. So why would he say sorry?
“Get in, then,” I suggested, gesturing to the taxi. “But make it fast. I need to get to NYU.”
He slid in next to me in the backseat. We gave the cab driver directions; Sebastian asked him to drop him off at his restaurant first while I told him to take me to NYU, since Cavalli's was on the way to the university.
“George, I shouldn’t have roped you into that money-laundering scheme. At the very least, I should have told you the truth about what I wanted to do before I dragged you into it.”
You think ? I wanted to say. Instead, I said, “You should have. After everyone we were working with got thrown into jail, I thought I was going to be arrested, too.”
“Is that why you left for California?”
“You knew where I was this whole time?” My hands dug into my backpack straps.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you come after me? Weren’t you mad that I left?”
“I figured you realized the game was up, and I didn’t think you were going to call the cops on me. Besides, after the arrest, I started looking for more legitimate ways of making money, which led me to open the restaurant in New York. So in a way, we both moved on.”
“All this time, I thought you were going to come after me and exact your revenge… you’re telling me I never had to leave Italy to get away from you?”
“Revenge?” Sebastian’s eyes widened. “George, we’re friends, at least I thought we were. Yes, it was a mistake for me not to tell you that I wanted to use your art for money laundering. I shouldn't have lied and said I had found buyers for your paintings. I’ll admit that. But I never intended to hurt you, George. You were the only person I’ve ever shown my art to, for Pete’s sake.”
“You’re not getting off that easily.”
“I assure you, I had no intentions of hurting you, George. I know I shouldn’t have used your work as part of a criminal enterprise, but I suppose…” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I suppose I was hoping for your forgiveness, even if we couldn’t have friendship.”
I frowned. “Why the change of heart?”
His gaze was distant for a moment, as he examined the view outside the taxi, the New York streets rushing by. “You may not believe me if I told you.”
Now that intrigued me. “Are you sure about that? Try me.”
“I told you my brother Antonio wanted to make the business legitimate after he got married.”
“A woman changed him?”
He shook his head. “Not a woman. God.”
“You don’t believe in God,” I said automatically. In all my years of knowing him, I’d never known him once to profess faith in God, or to speak of religion with anything but a disparaging tone.
Yet even as I spoke the disbelieving words, I felt foolish. Who was I to say that God couldn’t work a miracle to soften even the hardest of hearts? After all, He had certainly changed mine.
“I may not. But, I can’t deny that whatever force has changed my brother’s life and transformed his entire being can’t be entirely made up,” he acknowledged. “And if there is a God up there, then I’d like to hedge my bets by apologizing to those I’ve hurt.”
“So this is a spiritual investment?” I said with a light chuckle.
Sebastian Cavalli was always keeping me on my toes, that was for sure .
“Perhaps. But I trust you, George. You never turned me into the cops even after you found out I was laundering money.” He kept his voice hushed, though I doubted the cab driver would overhear our quiet conversation. “You always… You gave me more credit than I deserved, and for that, I’ll always be grateful.”
I’d never thought my trust in him was anything but foolish and na?ve—but what if it had been what he needed? What put him on the path to turning his life around? In that case, perhaps I’d done the right thing.
“No need to thank me,” I said. “You’re my friend. Or, you were.”
“I’d like us to be friends again. I’m in New York still, and it seems like we’re in the same city again. I missed hanging out with you and talking about art. God knows how long it’s been since I’ve been able to do anything like that. I hope that with time… you might forgive me for what I did.”
“Why did you do it, though?” I couldn’t bring myself to let go of this burden I’d been carrying around until I understood his reasoning for luring me into his criminal scheme.
He sighed, raking a hand through his already-dishevelled hair. “It’s the family business, George. It was never personal.”
Katerina’s conversation drifted back into my mind. Closure… I’d dismissed her idea of closure. But perhaps God had put me back into Sebastian’s path in order to show me something. In order for me to rid myself of the incessant guilt I’d carried for so long.
The taxi pulled up outside a restaurant that read CAVALLI’s in gold script.
“Are you coming?” he asked. A line of people snaked outside the restaurant.
“No. I already told you, I have a work meeting to get to.”
“Suit yourself, then. Don’t be a stranger, George. ”
Sebastian slid out, leaving only a stack of bills that he thrust at the driver and a white business card on the seat.
SEBASTIAN CAVALLI
OWNER OF CAVALLI’S RESTAURANT
His phone number was printed beneath it in a plain serif font on heavy cardstock, with his family’s logo embossed in gold on the back.
I shook my head and stuffed the card in my pocket.
The day had certainly taken an unexpected turn. But maybe I had God to thank for that.
***
After taking a quick shower to wash off the travel grime, I hopped in another cab to get to the university for my meeting, which I would definitely be late for.
I arrived at the humanities building and sprinted up the stairs to the room where the staff meeting was. I bit back a curse as I checked my watch. I was seventeen minutes late.
“Ah, Mr. Devereaux, you’re here. Excellent.” The Dean’s voice held no trace of biting sarcasm, which I had expected from him. I’d thought he would admonish me for my lateness. His tone seemed cordial, even genuine, as I walked into the room. “Take a seat.”
I took the last empty seat to the right of the Dean. “I apologize for my lateness. I had some, ah, travel delays on my way here.”
That wasn’t a lie. I didn’t have to specify who had delayed me.
“There’s been a new opening in the faculty of Art and Classics,” Dean McCallum said. “Our sessional instructor of modern art, Professor Finch, is retiring this semester, and we have yet to find a replacement for him. How would you like to be our new sessional instructor?”
I blinked, unsure of what I had thought would happen in this meeting. It certainly hadn’t been this. The meeting had been arranged weeks ago as a simple way for me to recap what my students had learned and how my class was going. It wasn’t supposed to give me a job offer.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” I said, glad I was sitting so I wouldn’t fall over.
A wave of shock and warm pride flushed my cheeks. Was someone really recognizing my skills and talents? I started picturing my office, a plaque with my name on it inside the hallowed halls of the art department. Something more permanent than my current temporary office—a sign that I’d really made it. Even if it was a job teaching modern art, I’d still make the most of it.
“Why modern art?” I asked. I wasn’t the biggest fan of contemporary art. If I could be completely honest, things like the Art Basel stunt where someone had taped a banana to the wall, or a Jackson Pollock painting, made me agree with the general public that most contemporary art was garbage. Still, becoming a more permanent fixture in the NYU faculty wasn’t anything to scoff at.
The Dean arched an eyebrow. “Positions in the art department do not become available often, Mr. Devereaux. Are you wishing for a subject more to your liking?”
I straightened in my chair. “No, not at all. I was only curious.”
Dean McCallum chuckled. It was the first time I’d ever heard him laugh, but it felt fake somehow. Not a real expression of his humour or good mood. “Well, given the generous donation that Aaron Steele promised us to fund our arts department here, I couldn’t think of a better man for the job. ”
My stomach sank, my shoulders slumping. Everything in me seemed to slope downwards, sinking toward the floor, which I wished could swallow me whole. So it wasn’t about my skills as a teacher. It wasn’t about me at all. It was about my connections, my family.
I should have wanted this, shouldn’t I? It was a stable position, regular income. It would tie me to New York—perhaps to Georgia. Would she tell me to take it? Why couldn’t I bring it in me to be as excited as I was about teaching this Christian art course?
Taking my silence for agreement, the Dean continued. “Of course, our strict anti-fraternization policy would still be in place if you took this role.”
Georgia wouldn’t be a student anymore. But what we’d done in Italy weighed heavily on my conscience. Not that I could ever regret what had happened between us, but if I took this job, I’d always be watching over my shoulder. Waiting for us to be found out.
Then there was also the matter that taking this job would feel like settling. It would mean choosing the convenient over the fulfilling—choosing what was easy over what I really wanted and felt called to do. Just like I’d done when I’d agreed to Georgia’s fake marriage proposal. I wasn’t going to do that anymore.
“As flattered as I am by you offering me the job, I can’t take it.” I stood from the chair hastily, almost knocking it over as I shoved it back. “Thank you for considering me, though.”
The Dean tried to hide his shock. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like more time to consider it, Mr. Devereaux?”
“No, but once more, I thank you for asking me to fill this position.”
I couldn’t lie or pretend or sneak around anymore. Nor could I deny that modern art wasn’t what would fulfill me—teaching what I truly loved would.
I wanted my life to be real.
I wanted a life with Georgia that was real.