Page 6
Except for the fact they turn the victim’s blood green.
My attention whips to the picture frame on my desk.
Of the woman I still needed to avenge.
We had only been married a few weeks. An arrangement made by our families to join a united front.
While she and I only had fourteen days together, the guilt would last me a lifetime.
“I’m aware,” my cousin snaps, stepping into my space. “Seems the bad luck of the Rouxs is returning ten-fold.”
I wince as he brings mud inside with him onto my white carpet.
And then his words land.
The Rouxs and Barleys, for generations, had been wrought with bad luck. From a piano falling and crushing my great grandfather, Peanut, to a banana peel taking down my Aunt Rosemary, and all the way to…
“A bunch of superstitious bullshit,” I settle on. “They say our bad luck goes away when we meet the person we’re supposed to bring into the family. The one we are to marry and keep by our side.” My mind flashes to my late wife. I can’t help but feel that it was my fault she died. That it was my bad luck that killed her.
“Yes, I’m aware of the lore.” My cousin narrows his eyes at me as he leans over my desk and places his hands on it. “That if we start down the wrong path, it will force us on the correct one. I must be on the right one because I have had nothing but good luck, starting with my dad finally dying.”
That is a statement that I don’t want to touch with a thousand-foot pole.
Falling back in my chair, I put as much space between us as I can and redirect the conversation. “Speaking of bad luck, did you hear The Marbled Bison caught fire again? This time, a knife landed in a toaster and caused an electrical burn that took out most of the kitchen. They let go of their sous chef, and they cancelled my reservation because of it. I’m going to have to find a replacement spot to do business in the meantime.” I push up my sleeves, flexing my hands out, an attempt to release some stress. “I have a meeting with Benedict on how he wants to handle the new influx of drugs. We think the Aldentes and Napolitans are trying again. It might finally be time to act.” And I know exactly what Benedict is going to want me to do.
And I’ll do it.
“Just meet in one of the restaurants you own.” My cousin straightens up, cocking his head. “The head of the Barleys? Is it finally time? Luckily for you, I came prepared.” He digs into his back pocket, pulling out a folded up paper that is stained with mud and a color that is reminiscent of blood.
He unfolds it before slamming it onto my desk.
A list of six names.
“Bring him this. These are the men who had a hand in tainting the drugs in our town. Who laced the shit with whatever the fuck killed them. I imagine they’re the ones who are back at it again.”
Leaning forward, I examine the names.
The last one causes me to wince internally, but I don’t react otherwise.
A long time ago, we were friends. But that was then and this is now.
I look up at him. “Are you sure? If we go after the wrong men, there will be consequences.”
The first five I know are culpable, but the last one…
My cousin levels me with a terrifying glare, his stormy eyes turning to voids. “Yes. I used my father’s contacts. Followed the trail. The same drugs that took my father out, killed your wife. And he”—he points to the last name—“is the one who manufactured them.”
And I know it’s the truth no matter how much I want to deny it.
I allow the regret to flow through me before forcing myself to calm down. I need to keep a level head.
Always.
He turns to leave, but I call him back.
“Orzo, the night your father died, there was another woman. Did you find anything on her?”
Orzo stiffens, his hands balling into fists. “As you are aware, the woman had a daughter. But the girl got lost in foster care. I couldn’t uncover anything else on either of them. But there are no signs she has died.” His tone shifts, uncharacteristic emotion filtering through.
