Page 127 of Oddly Fine

Beckett also gave Nickel’s head a rub.

“If the children are done—” Matthew snapped at them.

Beckett turned to give him a hard stare.

“It was so good, I nearly forgot you were still here,” he declared sardonically. “You sure I can’t just—shoot him and be done with it?” he asked Hayes, not for the first time.

“Absolutely certain,” Hayes confirmed with a nod.

“I’ll admit, while I’m profoundly disappointed, I’m also relieved by the results of today’s research,” Matthew said, getting back to the business at hand.

“In what sense?” Hayes asked.

“If he’d actually been housing trafficking victims in apartments under his name—then he was getting sloppy—dangerously so.”

Hayes had to admit he’d also thought it was uncharacteristically careless of a mob boss to do such a thing.

“But what now?” Beckett asked, sitting back, one hand on his abdomen, feeling stuffed from the family-size portion he’d just inhaled.

“I’m not sure,” Matthew said, shrugging. “I’m afraid I was perhaps mistaken about my uncle’s activities.”

“You’re afraid you were perhaps mistaken?” Beckett snapped. “My mother thinks my brother is dead because of you, dick bag!” The wave of anger seemed to hit suddenly, totally out of the blue, like a tsunami.

“Yes,” Matthew readily admitted. “And I am truly sorry for that inconvenience, but—” he shrugged. “If my uncle isn’t housing these women in the condos, then perhaps I was mistaken about his intentions from the get-go. He might have invested in Montreal solely because the market conditions were good.”

And while Hayes could tell Matthew was trying to believe his own words, no one seemed convinced.

“There has to be something we’re missing,” Hayes argued.

“Why?” Matthew countered. “What evidence do we have that suggests his businesses aren’t legit?”

“Because we’ve only scratched the surface of his businesses,” Hayes replied. “Your theory was that he stashed these women in apartments—pretended to be offering them a new life before selling them. It made sense since he had the resources to do so. But the fact that he didn’t stash them here doesn’t mean he didn’t stash them elsewhere.”

“What elsewhere?” Matthew asked, and his tone implied Hayes was being stupid. “There is no secret dungeon. No illegal location,” he said, rolling his eyes dramatically. “The only thing we’ve established in Montreal is his strong interest in real estate.”

“Really?” Beckett asked, doubtfully, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

“Truly,” Matthew stated with a tired sigh.

“But what about the Serbians?” Hayes asked, finding gaps in the story. “I thought the idea was that he could do imports and exports on multiple goods.”

Matthew’s eyes glittered with anger, like he didn’t want to hear any of Hayes’ suggestions.

“It was—it is—,” he answered. “In New York, that is the deal we’ve struck. They move the product in and out. I admit I thought it would be the same here, but there is no product being moved here. There are already too many hands in the cookie jar in Canada. My uncle didn’t want to risk it.”

“Think you mean the coke-y jar,” Beckett mumbled.

Adeline snorted and offered him a fist bump.

Matthew shot him a death glare, but Beckett pretended not to notice while Hayes pursed his lips to suppress his smile.

“So—excuse the limitations of my pea brain, but is your uncle in bed with the Montreal branch of the Serbian Mafia or not? Think I lost the plot sometime after I dug up my dead brother.” Beckett gave Matthew a rather pointed look.

Whether Adeline had heard the full story on Beckett’s brother or not, she merely lifted an eyebrow in surprise at hearing that.

“Hard to say,” Matthew said mulishly.

Hayes saw the glint of pure, barely leashed anger in his boyfriend’s gaze, indicating the urge to strangle the mob boss was alive and well. Shooting him wasn’t entire out the question either, it seemed.