Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Fabien
The present
I’m seated at mine and Sienna’s table inside the lounge, eagerly waiting for the show to begin. I tug at the top edges of my bulletproof vest, repositioning it.
My phone buzzes, and I grab it from my pocket and read the message from Saint.
The hotel closing went without a hitch. Angelo’s headed your way.
A grin stretches my face as I pocket my phone and wait. The old Fabien would’ve already put a bullet in my brother’s head, but if my prison stint has taught me anything, it’s patience.
And that patience pays off, because the door opens, and one of Kirksey’s men flicks on the light, with all guns drawn on Angelo.
“Returning to the scene of the crime; an interesting choice to announce your return,” my brother comments nonchalantly, and doesn’t that just piss me off.
“I’m a sentimental bastard; what can I say?” I lift a shoulder.
“You could start with ‘I’m sorry, Angelo.’ Getting on your knees and begging would certainly help your case.”
That gets a belly laugh out of me. “Knew all that unchecked power would go to your head, little brother. Have a seat.” I kick the chair across from mine, and it goes flying from the table.
“Congratulations, by the way.” Angelo strolls across the room and grabs the chair, dragging it back to the table and sitting across from me.
“What for?” My head cocks. “Using the element of surprise with my early release? Bilking you out of millions on this hotel deal? Outwitting you and reclaiming my rightful place as boss? Or is it my devilishly handsome good looks?”
“None of the above.” Angelo’s tone drips with amusement. “Congratulations on your nuptials. Too bad your new bride, Sienna, can’t be here with us to celebrate. Don’t worry, I’m taking good care of my sister-in-law. For now.”
My heart stops beating.
“You didn’t think I’d walk into this little trap without an ace up my sleeve, did you?” Angelo raises an eyebrow. “I’m the boss; you want to be the boss. In negotiations, we’re at what’s called a deadlock.”
“Fuck your business school terms. I’ll show you deadlock.” My gun is now pointed at Mr. Ivy League’s skull.
To Angelo’s credit, he doesn’t flinch. “Brute strength over brains; is that really all you’ve brought to the table?
Kill me, and your wife is a dead woman, and you can explain my corpse to our baby sister,” he says calmly.
“Let’s cut the shit and get down to what this is really about.
” “Please, enlighten me.” It takes all my restraint, but I place my gun on the table.
Giving it a spin, it comes to a stop with the barrel pointed at the empty chair to my right.
“Your fragile ego couldn’t accept that Vitto chose me to lead when you fucked up.”
I consider his words. God knows he’s not wrong.
“I would have never ordered your hit if you hadn’t tried to kill me first,” Angelo continues. “You’re such a lying prick.” My fist slams the table. “I would have never ordered your hit if you hadn’t tried to kill me first!”
“I have my former lawyer’s phone. Read the entire conversation between you and Bennett.” Angelo seethes. “You ordered the drive-by, and when that didn’t take me out, you tried to destroy me by turning the new mayor against me.”
“What bullshit are you spinning?” I cry incredulously. “I don’t know a Bennett. But yeah, I ordered the drive-by. After you tried to off me in prison.”
“No,” he says emphatically.
“Yes,” I say emphatically.
“Was your cellmate’s nickname Cornbread?” Angelo asks.
“Yeah. What the fuck does that have to do with any of it?”
“Were you communicating with my lawyer named Bennett?” Angelo continues.
“Already told you no. I got my own damn lawyer to keep you out of my business,” I say with a derisive snort.
“Did you try to kidnap Al at Lundi Gras?” Angelo presses.
I cross my arms. “No.”
A bitter laugh escapes my brother. “When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me.”
“What are you going on about?” I demand.
“We’ve been played, big brother.”
A slow clap of hands has us both snapping our necks to the stage.
My former cellie appears, looking far too pleased with himself.
“Kirksey, you little weasel.” I reach for my gun, but now all the weapons in the room are aimed at me. My hands raise in surrender.
For now.
“You asked to borrow a crew, Fabien; you didn’t ask for loyalty.” Kirksey takes a seat on the piano bench.
“How the fuck did you get out of prison?” I demand.
“Same way as you. Recalculation of time served.” His fingers bang on the keys, the sound as angry as I feel.
“You have our attention, Mr. Willis. What is it you want?” Angelo calls.
Kirksey fixes his smirk on my brother. “The great Angelo Calvani. Working so damn hard to launder the reputation of the Calvani family. Businessman. Philanthropist. Mr. New Orleans. King of Carnival.”
“I’m not giving autographs at the moment,” Angelo says in a bored tone.
Kirksey chuckles. “Fabien, you never mentioned your brother had a sense of humor.”
“News to me,” I mutter.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m expanding my territory, which now includes New Orleans. Angelo, you’re going to sign over the deed to the hotel; so really, you are giving autographs.”
“You want to cosplay me?” Angelo clicks his tongue.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Kirksey, but an ex pimp such as yourself would be better suited in a brothel than a boardroom.” That rewards my brother with a kick under the table.
Kirksey’s more prideful than I am, and I don’t plan on fucking dying today.
Kirksey’s eyes flicker with anger, but he covers the direct hit with a chuckle. “Fabien, I’m starting to understand why you wanted your brother dead. He is a self-righteous prick.”
“No argument there,” I agree, and it’s my turn to receive a kick under the table.
Kirksey grabs a cigarette from a pack, lighting it and taking a puff. “Here’s how this plays out. Fabien, you’ll commit the homicide of your brother, and then you’ll kill yourself. The least I can do is let you go out with a little pri—”
Kirksey freezes at the strange sound coming from overhead. “What the hell?” He looks up, as do we all.
A large piece of sheet metal comes crashing down, along with some kind of wild animal.
The bobcat-looking thing latches its claws onto Kirksey’s head as he squeals, falling to the stage floor. “What the fuck is this? A bobcat?”
Before I get an answer to that question, gunfire pops off, and I grab my gun, kicking the table over. I jerk my brother down, but he shrugs out of my hold.
I pop back up with gun drawn; Kirksey’s face looks like it’s been through a meat grinder as he flings the creature off him. The bobcat goes flying, and Kirksey takes off like a little chicken shit backstage as gunfire pops off.
My brother sprints to the stage.
Oh, hell no. I sprint to the stage and tackle him to the ground, shielding his body with mine as the deafening sounds of gunfire reverberate through the room.
And then there’s silence.
Over the ringing in my ears, I can faintly make out the sound of Italian, and I raise to find some familiar Calvani family soldiers.
Dazed, my brother lifts his head.
One bullet could end this, but I find myself cursing as I holster my gun and roll him on his back. “You better not die like a little bitch and leave this unfinished between us. And when the fuck did you get a bobcat?” My eyes dart between the creature and my brother.
“I’m wearing a vest.” Angelo rips the buttons of his shirt and unsnaps the vest, and a single bullet drops to the floor. “She’s not a bobcat, but yes, Nola’s mine. We’ll work out our situation later; right now, go put a bullet in Kirksey’s head.”
“With pleasure.” I take off in a dead sprint outside, skittering to a stop when my sister appears with a woman I don’t know.
“Where did he go?” I ask Al.
“Where is Angelo?” The woman beside my sister demands with way too much bravado for her pint size.
“Inside with his bobcat. Where did Kirksey go?” I ask Al again, shielding her with my body. “That way. Follow the blood.” My sister points toward the alley.
I take off in a sprint and round the corner, only to find a car barreling toward me. Jumping out of the way, I land beside the godforsaken dumpster.
Pulling myself off the ground, I aim my gun, but Kirksey is long gone.