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PartOne
Chapter1
Knight
Organ music. Fucking organ music filled the air, accompanied by the church choir in the loft behind our heads. I adjusted one cufflink and then the other. I wasn’t known to stall, but what kind of person was eager to give a eulogy? Especially when that man was the devil.
Uncle Zeke.
I cleared my throat. My aunt clutched my hand with an ice-like grip before I stood from the pew. There was something desperate and pleading in her eyes. I leaned down to peck her check, only because I knew everyone was watching.
“Don’t worry. I won’t destroy my own name,” I whispered.
With that, she seemed to relax into her seat, no longer needing the assurance of my father or sister, planted on either side of her.
With the notes tucked in my breast pocket I took my position in the pulpit—a space I never wanted to command. Death had tapped me for this moment. There was little I could do to say no. Not as Zeke’s only nephew. The man didn’t have children. There were no other heirs. I looked out on the congregation gathered to pay their social respects to this man. Their expressions vapid. Eyes tearless. I wondered who in this church was responsible for my uncle’s murder.
“Thank you. My Uncle Zeke would have been warmed to see so many family and friends gathered here today to say goodbye.” My voice carried, assisted by the microphone. I scanned each pew, each bowed head, each set of hands fumbling with a rosary. They were all suspects.
But the truth was, in this congregation no one was truly ever innocent. If they ever confessed the sins on their tongues would spill over the confessional and drain into the sewers and catacombs beneath the cathedral. There was enough to drown the city in this one building.
By the time I finished, Father Philip was ready to usher me off his territory. I nodded and rejoined my family.
“Beautiful,” my aunt whispered. She tapped my hand. “Just lovely. You made Zeke proud.”
After the service, my father and I escorted Zeke’s wife to the front steps of the cathedral. She pressed one of Zeke’s handkerchiefs to her eyes as the casket passed in front of us. It was hard to distinguish theater from what was authentic anymore. After today, I would take control of all the messaging. Today, she got her tears.
I turned when someone tapped my shoulder. “Knight, there’s something you should see.” It was Dante. A man who had worked for the family for at least a decade.
I gritted my teeth. “I’m in the receiving line.”
My father had one ear in my direction. “Go,” he ordered sharply.
“Yes, sir.” There was no other option.
I stepped out of the line and followed Dante, slipping behind the church. “What is it?” My jaw clenched.
We rounded the corner into the parking lot. I spotted two of my father’s men, arms folded, standing at the back of a Town Car.
Dante pointed and they popped the trunk. I stared inside. It reeked of urine and sweat. The man inside was bound, and his mouth gagged. He began to thrash when he saw me.
“Who is this?” I asked.
“He has information,” Dante explained.
The sun beat down on us. It was the beginning of summer, but New Orleans didn’t care. The heat was unrelenting.
“Then, I’d like to hear it. Let him talk.” I motioned toward the gag.
He wrestled against the men’s hands as he pulled the gag from between his teeth. “Water,” he pleaded. His voice was strained.
I nodded, allowing the request.
They dribbled water over his lips. “Now what’s the information?” I needed to return to the receiving line.
“He saw something.”
I reached inside my jacket and checked my phone, as if this was mundane. Boring. I drew the sunglasses down my nose and tucked the phone back inside.
