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There wasa great hall attached to the cathedral where wedding receptions were held, celebrations for baptisms, and funeral luncheons. I always thought it was odd that the funerals were lumped into the same category. They should have their own dark room with chippy tables and hand-me-down church linens. They shouldn’t be allowed to dampen the happier life events.
I stepped into the hall, searching for Felicia Corban. Once my condolences to her were extended, I could exit quickly and make the rest of today’s meetings.
The problem was there was one person standing between Felicia and me—Knight.
It was as if he felt my eyes studying the broad length of his shoulders. He turned. But unlike last night, the soft smile wasn’t there.
I saw hard lines around his eyes. Obsidian irises glaring at me. His sexy jaw fixed.
I didn’t know whether to turn and run, but instinct kicked in. A mafia queen doesn’t run. I slowly let my gaze drift to the doorway. Kimble was scanning the crowd. He always was.
I held my ground, throwing my shoulders back, jutting my breasts forward. I removed the glove from my left hand to offer it to Felicia. I continued to make my approach. As I moved closer, Knight blocked my next movement. He wouldn’t let me in the receiving line.
“We need to talk,” he hissed.
“I’m here to offer my sympathies to your mother and your sister,” I whispered, desperately trying not to make a scene.
“No.” He gritted his teeth. “You’re coming with me.”
I squeezed my eyes tightly. “Knight, this isn’t the place.”
“I’m making it the place. I insist.”
I thought I was quicker than him, but he wound his hand through mine. My body reacted to the contact when it shouldn’t have. He tugged me away from the line. Kimble instantly reached inside his jacket. I put my hand up to stop him from following us.
I wasn’t familiar with the maze of back offices in the church. Knight shoved open a door. I realized it was one of the confessional rooms. He locked the dark mahogany door behind us. It smelled like incense and velvet. The wall was lit with red votive candles.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” he growled.
“This isn’t the place to discuss business.” I realized my mistake when his eyes clouded with venom and fury. We should be kneeling. Praying. Begging for forgiveness in this room.
“Business?” he huffed.
“Look, Knight. You’ve been gone a long time.” He wasn’t the first angry organization member I’d had to settle, but he was the first one that made me want to beg to erase the last five years of our lives. To undo the hurt. To lace it back together like it was never ripped.
I kept my voice steady. “We could set up a meeting once you’ve had a chance to finalize all of the funeral plans and events. I’ll give you as much time as you need.” Forty-eight hours was ungenerous. I could extend the grace period.
His hand extended toward me, and my breath caught. I didn’t know if he was going to grab me and pull me toward him or strike me. The fire in his eyes was a mix of hate and lust. Instead, he turned with little space to move in the confessional.
“You are going to give me time?” he mocked me.
I nodded. “Whatever you need. Really. I remember how hard it was when my father died.” I didn’t mention that he never contacted me. My father died from complications from pneumonia only a year after Knight was shipped to Paris. I had stared at my phone for weeks, hoping, praying, begging he would reach out to me.
“I had a meeting with Paul last night,” he explained. “I know everything, Kennedy. I know what you own. Who you have deals with. What you stole from my family.”
“I’ve stolen nothing.”
He shook his head. “Who are you? What happened to that girl I met?”
I sighed. “The girl in the pool house?”
“Yes.” His eyes softened briefly. “Why are they calling you the queen of the Crescent City? How the fuck did that happen?”
“You make it sound like a bad thing.” My eyes narrowed. He had no idea how hard I worked to earn the respect of our fathers’ peers.
“You’re proud of it?”
