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Chapter Sixteen
-Dante-
INEEDED TO BE ALERTand aware. Instead, I was pissed-off, and my fucking jaw hurt like hell. The only thing I looked forward to was taking my frustration out on the next person on my list. I told Noemi hell hadn’t broken loose yet and after my conversation with Willis and letting him beat my face in because I’m a dick, I was ready to start delivering on that promise.
I suffered being Willis’ punching bag because I deserved it. I knew what I was doing when I took Noemi to Barbados. I knew what would happen. Her emotions were involved. There was no way to avoid hurting her. I could have said “no” to her proposition, but the temptation was too great. I had to have her, and I regretted nothing.
But I also couldn’t get her off my mind. Willis’ well-placed jabs weren’t what made me angry. It was that I agreed with why he hit me that pissed me off. During the flight to New Orleans, Noemi was all I could think about when I should have been focused on reviewing my hastily arranged plans.
For a wealthy man, he had a pathetically useless alarm system, but in the end, I decided not to break in during the middle of the night but to use the front door in the middle of the afternoon.
I pulled up in my rental and rolled down the window, allowing the stuffy, humid air into the cool air-conditioned SUV. I leaned on the intercom and wondered what the fuck Christian Delacroix was thinking to leave himself so vulnerable.
“Can I help you?” the faceless voice crackled through the aging system. Delacroix was about ten years behind the times.
“Dante Calegari for Mr. Delacroix.”
I took my sunglasses off and stared at the massive wrought iron gates in front of Delacroix’s estate.
“Is he expecting you?”
“If he’s the sneaky bastard I expect he is, then yes, he’s expecting me.”
“I don’t understand. Mr. Calegari, do you have an appointment?”
“Tell Mr. Delacroix I’m outside his gate. I’m getting hot and irritable. He’ll make an appointment for me.”
“I don’t ... wait there. I’ll check with his assistant.”
I turned the music up on the radio. “I’ll be right here.”
Two minutes was all it took before the heavy gates creaked and slowly started to part. Once the opening was wide enough, I followed the tree lined pavement to the end of the drive. I parked the rental right outside his fucking front door which opened before I reached it.
A butler. The son-of-a-bitch had a butler.
“If you will follow me, Mr. Calegari.”
Delacroix was living in a different era. He either thought he was untouchable, or he was adept at hiding the extent of his security measures. I didn’t think he was that cocky, but he was the king of the New Orleans underground, so maybe I underestimated how much fear that placed in others.
I followed the silver-haired gentleman down a long hallway lined on either side by tacky velvet wallpaper and badly painted portraits of people Christian Delacroix didn’t know. Those stodgy plantation owners and uppity women were not related to him. He was an orphan from the south of France with not one drop of American blood in him. Like me and theMary Theresa, he inherited his estate as a reward for a job well-done. It seemed every time I saw him, he had a new piece of property or a shiny new toy to show off. He owned several dummy corporations that made it appear as if he were the quintessential New Orleans businessman, but I knew some of his truths.
I was shown into a billiard room where Christian stretched over a table, attempting to make a corner shot. He looked up when I entered and waved the butler away. As soon as the massive double oak doors closed, Christian took his shot and sank the striped ball he was aiming for.
“Do you play?” he asked as he circled the table, looking for his next opportunity.
“No,” I answered. “I don’t have time for games.”
He nodded, then chalked the end of his stick. “I understand. Billiards is something I acquired a taste for later in life.”
“How fascinating,” I drawled. I said I didn’t play games, but I was playing his... for now.
“I was surprised to see you outside my gates,” he said as he lined up behind the six ball.
“No, you weren’t.”
My matter-of-act statement caught him off guard. His grip slipped causing him to miss the shot.
“You knew I’d come here. Not only did you expect it, you wanted me to make an impromptu appearance. You get to keep up pretenses that way.”
