Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Fabien
The present
There’s a knock, and I straighten as Angelo enters, and I rise. “Little brother.”
“Big brother.”
“I’ll be in the basement.” Nic leaves us, closing the door.
Angelo strolls across the room like he owns the place, and I’m already annoyed, which isn’t a good sign. He sits, adjusting his perfectly straight tie. “You’re selling the house?”
There’s a for sale sign in the front yard, and he undoubtedly noticed.
In her will, Mama left me this property and Angelo the weekend house.
Why? Fuck if I know. Weekend houses are for relaxing, and my brother wouldn’t know the first thing about that.
And this house, I’d just as soon burn it to the ground than bring Sienna here.
“This is Vitto Calvani’s palace, not mine. ”
Angelo nods in understanding, crossing his leg at the ankle. “I’m ready to transfer power to you immediately.”
Taken off guard by his blunt offer, my fingers strum the desk. “What’s the catch?”
“I’ll be sworn in next week as mayor, and with that position comes certain powers. I could run this city in alignment with Calvani family interests. Police chief. Public works department heads. Codes. Meter readers. Top to bottom friends of the family.”
“Still waiting on the catch.” I lean back in Vitto’s chair.
“I will scratch your back if you scratch mine, but only if you swear to keep family business out of the public eye,” Angelo warns.
A bitter laugh nearly chokes me. “I can assure you, that lesson was learned the hard way. But I swear it. What else?”
“I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder, or over Remi’s shoulder, for the rest of our lives. New Orleans is our city, and we’re not going anywhere,” he warns.
My arms crossed, I inform him, “My wife and I sure as shit aren’t going anywhere.”
“Then we swear a truce with a blood oath.” Angelo reaches into his pocket, and my hand falls to the butt of my gun holstered inside my jacket. But he produces the family’s ceremonial knife.
“With the understanding that if you touch Sienna again, the only blood shed will be yours and your girl’s.” The compromise sits like a lead ball in my stomach. I vowed to place Sienna first, but am I doing that by letting my brother off the hook?
“Understood. Now you need to understand this.” Angelo leans forward. “Threaten my future wife again, and the only blood shed will be Sienna’s. Not yours, because I’ll keep you alive to make you watch.”
“When did you grow a spine?” I taunt, ignoring the overwhelming urge to hop over the desk and bash my brother’s skull.
“And congratulations to you on your engagement; condolences to Remi. Interestingly enough, my wife mentioned knowing your fiancée.” I fish, seeing what, if anything, he knows about their connection.
“Small world,” he says without inflection. “So, do we have a truce?”
“We have a truce.”
Angleo pricks the palm of his hand, drawing a bead of blood. Sliding the blade across the desk, I grab it and do the same with my hand.
“Truce,” we both vow, and we shake on it, bound by blood.
“What else?” I toss the knife in the air, catching it before I slide it across the desk.
“Complete ownership of my restaurant and hotel belongs to me, as both of those are my personal ventures,” Angelo tells me matter-of-factly. “As for our seafood company, I’ll remain a one-third owner, with you and Al.”
“No objections to any of that. And your proposed buyout for the family side of things?” I press, worried I may have jinxed it, because it can’t be this fucking easy.
“The twenty million you bilked out of me from the hotel deal. Plus, a fifty percent cut from your monthly take of illegitimate earnings while I’m mayor, the proceeds funneled through said personal ventures. Oh, and I get to break your finger.”
“You still holding on to that?” I taunt him.
“Yes.” The muscles in Angelo’s jaw tighten. “With a crooked finger.”
Fabien
Nineteen-year-old
“Hey, Mama.” I stick my head in her music room, concealing a scowl. She’s seated on her piano bench beside Angelo, doting on her favorite son and his musical acumen.
“Fabien, take a seat,” Mama tells me.
“I actually need to talk to—”
Angelo begins pounding on the keys, drowning out my voice.
“Papà.” Gritting my teeth, I turn around and walk out.
I go in search of Vitto, finding him in his office with Michele.
“Boss. Michele.” I nod.
“Fabien, my boy, good to see you. Chantelle says hello,” Michele taunts.
“That’s nice. Tell your wife I said hello,” I say, just to fuck with him. Michele’s wife is a little mouse of a woman who wisely stays out of family business.
Michele’s face turns beet red.
“Michele, that will be all.” Vitto dismisses his capo with the flick of his hand.
Michele eyes me down as he walks out, but I don’t take the bait, at least not in front of the boss.
“Have a seat.”
I sit across from my father, and he watches me intently. “I don’t recall us having a meeting scheduled.”
“We didn’t. I just stopped by to let you and Mama know that I’ve closed on my first real estate deal. I’ll be moving into my own place at the end of the month.”
Vitto considers me. “Ice business must be booming.”
Worried this is another trap, I answer tentatively, “It’s doing alright.”
He rises, walking around his desk and leaning against it.
“You think you can dethrone me, boy?” Moving fast, he sucker punches me in the nose.
Blood gushes, and I cry out, “Fuck!”
“Don’t be such a baby,” he chides, cracking my nose back into place with an ungodly painful crunch. “Remember, I see everything.”
My hands attempt to catch the blood streaming down my face. “Am I dismissed?”
He eyes me with contempt. “You’re weak as an old man’s piss stream. Out of my sight before I break your nose again.”
Rage bubbles inside me, but I silently rise, walking to the door.
“Oh, and Fabien?”
Turning around, I keep my cool. “Yes, Papà?”
“This ice business, I expect to start seeing the family’s cut.”
Rage bubbles inside my chest. “Of course, Papà.”
“You’d better think bigger in the future, my boy. Your brother’s been accepted to every Ivy League school on the East Coast. If you don’t watch it, he’ll run business circles around you.”
“So you want me to go to college now?” I swear, I cannot keep up with this man. Not a week ago, he was mocking Angelo for being a bookworm.
He snorts. “You couldn’t get into clown school.”
“Am I excused?” I grit.
“Go,” he says with a long-suffering sigh.
I storm out of his office and to my bedroom, slamming and locking the door. My nose needs ice, and isn’t that the shittiest of ironies?
It takes about twenty minutes to stem the bleeding, and needing someone else to bleed, I settle on the training dummy in the corner. My old man’s face is envisioned with every strike.
Vitto.
Strike.
Fucking.
Strike.
Calvani.
Strike.
The.
Strike.
Fucking.
Strike.
Devil.
Strike.
There’s a pounding on the wall from the next room, and my brother shouts, “I’m trying to study.”
With a growl, I turn up the volume for Mr. Ivy League.
His door slams, rattling my wall, and I hustle out into the hallway, bumping into him on purpose. “What was that?” I get in Angelo’s face.
Not as cocky now that we’re face to face, he clears his throat. “I said I’m trying to study.”
I smack the book beneath his arm, and it skitters down the hall. “What now, smart guy?”
“Aren’t you a little too old for the bully routine?” Disdain punctuates his words.
Despite my being considerably bigger, my little brother’s always looked down on me. Pisses me right off.
“Probably, but you’re such a pretentious little shit, I can’t seem to help myself.” I grab his wrist, and Angelo screams as I snap his left index finger. Didn’t mean to do it so hard, but shit, it’s hanging limply out of the socket.
“I’ve got a piano recital this weekend, you asshole!”
“Don’t be a baby.” To cover for my fuckup, I try to fix his finger by popping it back into place. With a nasty crunch, Angelo screams again.
Having no defense for my little outburst, I return to my room and slam the door.
Papà hates me for breathing, and after Mama finds out what I’ve done to her precious baby, she’ll hate me too.
I unleash, knocking the head off the dummy, except I can’t shake the feeling it’s my head, and I’m the dummy.
Fabien
The Present
Instead of apologizing, I speak in terms Angelo understands. “Ten million, and twenty percent,” I counter.
“Twenty million, forty percent, and your dislocated finger. Final offer,” he warns.
I consider my brother and our fucked up relationship. Is there a path forward for both of us in this city? In this family?
Angelo leans forward in his chair. “If there’s no agreement, then you can find out for yourself how inconvenient it is when the mayor wages war against organized crime.”
I chuckle softly. “You actually make a hell of a boss. Vitto would be proud.”
“Vitto can rot in hell,” Angelo says with venom.
It’s like I’m seeing my brother for the first time. “And here I thought I was the only one that man terrorized.”
“Maybe we’ll exchange war stories another time,” he answers vaguely. “Do we have a deal?”
“Deal.”
We rise, and I inwardly brace myself as I extend my left hand. Angelo moves quickly, snapping my index finger out of the socket.
“Fuck!” I scream, my finger dangling.
“Don’t be a baby,” Angelo chides with glee as he pops my finger back into place. With a nasty crunch, I scream again.
“Happy?” I bare my teeth, cradling my fast-swelling finger.
“Very.” Angelo laughs.
“Pretentious prick.” I spit at him.
He chuckles. “Let’s go make the announcement.”
We both head for the door, reaching it at the same time as we try to squeeze through the tight space. “The boss goes first.” I give Angelo a little shove.
“I’m still the boss until you’re sworn in, so I go first.” My brother shoves me back.
“If you two don’t stop, I’ll pop you both and take over this entire empire.” Al appears in the doorway.
“Sure you will, kiddo.” I ruffle Al’s newly dyed blonde hair as she squeals.
“You’re still grounded,” Angelo reminds our sister as he and I squeeze through the doorway and take off for the basement stairs. I shove my way past Angelo, but the fucker kicks the back of my calf, causing my leg to buckle.
Angelo surges past me.
Oh, hell no.
My heel connects with his calf, and I shove my way past him.
My brother tackles me, the two of us tussling at the foot of the steps.
Someone clears their throat, a reminder that the family is here watching this childish display.
“Enough.” Angelo whisper-hisses at me, and we rise from the floor, both of us straightening our suits.
“Gentlemen, welcome,” both Angelo and I say in unison. Angelo eyeballs me; he’s technically still the boss, and so I shut my mouth.
“In case any of you haven’t heard the news, I’ve been named mayor of New Orleans,” Angelo continues.
“That’s great, boss.” A capo pipes up.
My brother nods. “With my mayoral duties, I will be unable to lead this family. I’ve decided to step down permanently and name Fabien Calvani as boss.”
You could hear a pin drop.
“Gentlemen, we are here to swear in the new boss of this family.” Angelo hands me the knife, and I’m reminded of what Nic told me, and how easy it would be to do the same to my brother now.
But just like my girl, I’ve never been one to take the easy route.
Holding the blade with a broken finger is tricky, but I manage to prick my palm. Making a fist, red droplets plop onto the family Bible.
“Congratulations, boss.” Angelo shakes hands with me, and my men cheer. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Hold up. You’re not leaving without a parting gift.” I snap my fingers, and two soldiers enter the basement carrying a medical chair.
“We swore a blood truce,” Angelo whispers furiously to me.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” I whisper back at him. “We’re getting you properly inked.” His parting gift, and my olive branch.
The artist sketches out the words on my brother’s right bicep, the family tattoo.
La famiglia prima di tutto
And then my brother shocks the shit out of me by having inked a butterfly tattoo for his girl. I frown, not knowing this man at all.
Boom.
The foundation of the house rattles violently, and my brother and I sprint up the stairs, flinging the door open.
All that’s left of my brother’s vehicle is a burning shell, with Maks futilely attempting to put out the blaze with a fire extinguisher.
“Molotov cocktail,” he shouts. “Stay inside.”
“I thought you handled the Kirksey problem!” Angelo sprints through the house in search of Al, with me hot on his heels.
“I’m working on it!”
Al appears in the hallway, and we skitter to a stop. “Was that a bomb? I can’t believe I missed it!”
Angelo stabs me in the chest with his finger. “Act like the fucking boss and fix this before I’m sworn in. Oh, and you owe me a new vehicle.”
I curse under my breath.
“Al, get in the panic room,” Angelo orders our sister before he’s on the phone, and I get on the phone, ordering a lockdown for Sienna.
“Can’t believe I only clipped that fucker!” Al exclaims.
“Did you give her a gun?” I cast a judgmental glare at my brother.
He bristles. “You’re questioning my child-rearing style after being away for nearly ten years?”
“I’m not a fucking child!” Al stops her foot.
“Get in the panic room,” both Angelo and I say at the same time.
“You know what’s worse than one controlling Calvani brother? Two!” Flipping her braid, she stomps her cowboy boots down the hall.
“Wear that home at your own risk; you know Nola doesn’t like country music,” Angelo calls after her.
“I don’t even know who you fucking are,” I mutter to my brother.
A small grin stretches his typically stern face as he slaps my back. “Kill Kirksey. That’s what you fucking need to know.”
With pleasure.
Just as soon as I flush out the rat who snitched about this meeting.