The piece had been over a year before. The headline?
Baptiste Prince, Patriarch and Mafia Don Murdered
A cold shiver replaced the earlier wafting waves of heat from my lurid thoughts. The article was brief but powerful.
The father with decades-long ties to the city had been murdered outside a restaurant, the eldest brother taking the helm. Considered a ruthless mafia family, they’d ruled the entire state and beyond for over a hundred years. With crimes ranging in the early days from racketeering and extortion centering around bootlegging, progressing to the sale of illegal drugs and weapons along with legitimizing more of their business activities, they were as highly revered as they were feared.
I scoured more articles, finding some from years ago, each one more scathing than the one before. While there’d been accusations over the years, including murder, no court of lawhad ever managed to convict a single member of the family. That’s how important they were as a family.
The cold chill refused to go away. Even my fingers were stiff. I’d slept with a monster. Maybe that wasn’t completely fair, but I had to accept Montgomery wasn’t just some fantasy. He was a dark one and with such fantasies, the ending was usually messy, often bloody, and every once in a while contained death.
The man who’d been so generous to the town had been murdered. I wasn’t entirely certain how that changed anything. The truth was right there in my face. How strange that I wasn’t angry at my lapse in judgment or with him. Now I knew why he’d purposely not shared anything about himself but the basics.
Sitting back in my seat, I reached for my coffee, almost knocking the mug to the floor.
I’d asked the question about who Montgomery really was. Now I knew.
He was exactly as I’d feared.
A very bad man capable of doing heinous things.
Just like I feared with my brother.
While I’d been right about ending what we’d shared before anything had officially started, the ache remained. What was the expression I’d heard Tilly use more than once?
Oh, yeah. Jumping from the frying pan into the fire.
Montgomery
The hot shower had done nothing to ease the tension. In finding two sets of footprints, I’d remained enraged for the full two hours I’d hunted my own property. Finding nothing.
Nothing of use, which boosted my level of anger.
What the scalding water had done was remove any lingering scent of my guest from my skin, although the house itself smelled like her. Damn it. I had assassins on my tail and I was thinking about the amazing sex from the night before.
I certainly needed to get my priorities straight.
“Yeah, I’m serious. I tracked the footprints to the road on the other side. That’s three miles. There was evidence of a vehicle parked on the side in the snow. There’s no other reason the assholes cased the property other than that they know I’m in Vermont.” You bet I was furious. I’d found nothing of use on my trek through the woods.
No sign of shell casings or marks made on trees to indicate a path, but whoever had walked through the forest had done so with a direct line of sight to the house.
Alexander sighed. “Are you aware there’s a controlled hunting area located on the property adjacent?”
I hadn’t been aware, but my instincts were never wrong. “What does that matter? Locals know where they’re going, although I would think the mountains would be a better area to catch whatever the fuck hunters would be interested in killing.”
“Maybe tourists getting lost. You don’t know. The timing is questionable, Montgomery. You’ve only been there two days.”
“It’s a few hours’ flight away from New Orleans. New York even shorter. You don’t know the lengths the Barishnikoff family is willing to go to finish their task.”
“And we don’t know for certain the hit was given by the Barishnikoff Pakhan either. Did you forget he’s in prison? I’ve had his men followed, all channels monitored and if they’re guilty, they’re certainly not broadcasting it.”
My turn to exhale. “There’s something going on. I can feel it.”
“I know you rely on your instincts and by all means, keep a close watch, but don’t panic yet.”
“Who’s panicking? I’m being practical.”
“Then do an old-fashioned perimeter test like Pops taught us when we were kids.” Alexander laughed. Our father has taught us survival techniques for extreme conditions from being penned in by weather or under direct attack from an enemy, as well as additional, more traditional skills he’d learned as a boy to help keep us alive.
