Perhaps being left alone in a locked room for several hours would provide her with the incentive needed to share her darkest secrets.
If not, she’d learn just how cruel a man I could be.
CHAPTER 12
Alexander
Black magic.
Specifically mixed with variations of Hoodoo, a folk tradition entirely separated from Voodoo that mixed herbs and graveyard dust with other items for spells and curses. Half of the Prince heritage had the blood of such spirits running through them.
At least according to my grandmother.
The other half, our Anglo heritage fit well given our beliefs in Catholicism. If you asked my beloved sister to explain the art of Hoodoo, she could go on for days. Dabbling was something she’d been doing since a child, of course nurtured by both our mother and grandmother. Other than funerals, we’d remained away from various rituals such as music and dance, but the children had never been allowed to forget where they came from and what spirits evoked evil.
Perhaps my ancestors would roll over in their graves if they knew I used the fear of the unknown involving both Voodoo andHoodoo to… make a point with my enemies. As I pulled the car to the outer edges of the cemetery, I realized if my ancestors were as powerful as I’d been taught to believe, they knew and were likely giving me their blessings.
“Gris-gris. Really?” Jarvis asked from beside me.
The two small sachets were filled with several crushed bones, graveyard dust, and wolfsbane. They were often used by those practicing black magic in placing curses or simply to terrify whoever they wanted to warn to stay away. I couldn’t take the credit for the theatrics and superstitious methods used. Once my father had learned about the rituals, he’d adopted the use of perpetuating superstition whenever possible.
Given there was a large contingency of those believing in black magic in New Orleans, the deterrent had come in handy on several occasions.
“Do I need to remind you that one of our men is missing a hand?”
“You don’t know that for certain yet.”
I twisted my hand around the steering wheel. But I knew. It was a message much like the one delivered in a tidy box from my CFO. Since when did anyone who took weeks skimming money from various bank accounts come forward and admit doing so? It was unheard of, which meant the employee in question had been used for a little… black magic game of his own. While I didn’t know shit about Jimmy Parker, my gut told me he would be the last person I’d believe would steal from a mafia empire.
Why take the risk?
“We both know that’s exactly what happened. I don’t care if we run DNA on his fingertips, DeMarco was killed and you know it. This war that’s started is already getting out of hand.” Just as with the severed hand, this was a warning. And they highlighted inconsistencies in my operations.
Fuck, my father’s seat at the head of the table had yet to grow cold and my entire empire was being challenged by some lowlife.
“So what does it have to do with Voodoo?” Jarvis demanded.
“Hoodoo. There’s a big difference. Jimmy is a devout believer of the darkness.” I don’t know why I was bothering, but the last thing that could happen was allowing the man to go without receiving punishment.
He chuckled. “What darkness would that be? Being alone in a goddamn spooky ass cemetery in the middle of the night?”
I threw him a look as I cut the engine. “I hardly think nine at night is the wee hours of the morning.”
“Speak for yourself. You like carnal activities. It’s dark enough for me and this place creeps me out.”
“That’s what it’s meant to do.” I snatched the small satchel from his hand. Emmeline had also been instrumental in teaching me about how gris-gris was used.
“What in the hell is that stench?”
“Maybe the wolfsbane is decaying.” Like Jimmy would soon find himself. A perfect place for an interrogation. I certainly didn’t believe in ghosts or the afterlife. Unless accepting the fact I was going to hell when I died being a true believer.
“He stole a hundred k. You make that in a few hours. Why are you bothering?”
Jarvis’ question was a good one. I ordinarily didn’t bother with low-level issues or crimes within the organization. That’s what I paid my men to handle and did so handsomely.
“You know how I feel about anyone in my employ stealing from me. And this is some elaborate game, not a man suddenly feeling remorse.”
He snorted. “Or maybe you’re trying too hard to make some sense of the simple fact Russo is trying to pin his son’s murder on you.”
