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“I know, I know. Business calls.” He points to me with an unyielding look in his eyes. “You an’ me. Next week. Crawfishin’. ‘Fore you know it, season will be over, Cous’.”

“You have my word.” For fucks sake, Julio will be up here any minute.

“Man’s word’s all he got. I’ma hold you to it.”

“Fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

With a sharp nod, he pushes up from the chair, stamps out his cigar, and strolls toward the door. When he swings it open, Julio is standing on the other side, head kicked back as he seems to take in the enormity of my cousin, who passes him. With as rare as these visits from Julio can be, the two have never really run into each other before. Perhaps on the main floor in passing, but Luc would’ve fit in with every other blue-collar that comes in when they’re looking for something a little classier than the low-scale T and A down the street.

Luc tips his hat, and continues on down the hall without a word, while Julio and two of his bodyguards enter my office. Smiling, Julio pats me on the back. “Thierry, my boy. It’s been a while. Cómo estás?”

“Good,” I say, gesturing toward one of the two empty chairs. “My apologies, I can grab another seat, if you’d like.”

“No, no. Matteo can stand.” After an ungracious plop onto the chair, Julio grips the arms of it and leans back. Relaxed. Perhaps not here to assign another job, as I originally suspected. “Tell me. Who was that leaving when I arrived?”

“Someone looking to put Levi out of a job. Told him we’re not hiring.”

Chuckling, he shakes his head. “Levi is a good worker. I don’t blame you for turning the other away.”

“A thorough bastard sometimes, but that’s what we like to have guarding the door here.”

“Precisely right. Although, it’s always good to have a backup.”

I glance to the men behind him, who I noticed, as soon as they stepped in, are unfamiliar faces. “You replaced the other two?”

“Ah, yes. Was a shame, you know, but certain things can’t be tolerated. Lying to my face is … unacceptable to me, you know?”

I’ve come to perfect the poker face over the years, so I don’t so much as twitch when I say, “Absolutely.”

“Tell me, are you familiar with the old Charpentier Estate?”

“Yes, of course.” There isn’t a local on this island who isn’t familiar with the grounds that are believed to be haunted.

“Seems a trespasser has been showing up there. Making some trouble. I want you to check it out for me.”

“A territory thing?”

“You could say, I suppose.”

“And if I stumble upon them, do I eliminate?”

“No. No, we want to observe. And report back to me.”

A fairly simple task this time. “Consider it done.”

“That’s what I like about you, Thierry. You’re a no questions man. I give you an assignment. You carry it out. No problems. That’s why we get along.”

It’s not for a lack of curiosity that I keep my mouth shut, just that I learned not to ask questions a long time ago. Specifically, when I was eighteen and first saw a kid my age bleeding out of a hole in his head after asking questions. That kind of shit changes a person.

And what’s to ask this time? I observe and report.

“Drink?” I push an empty glass toward him and pour a double shot.

“One. I have to catch a flight to New York. Seems I’ll be heading up a new operation there.”

“Business is good, then.”

“Business is real good, my friend.” He lifts the drink in the air. “Salud.”