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Mathieu stiffened.
“Cut off the head.”Cesar chuckled, slamming the beer bottle he held onto the table.“Cut the head off the snake and the entire thing collapses.”
“You want to kill Moïse?”That was Jairo.
Moïse. Mathieu’s father.
A knot formed in Win’s chest and he glanced around for a chair. A sudden sense of doom settled on his shoulders, and he just knew he’d need to sit the fuck down.
“If we kill Moïse, his son will just pick up where he left off,”another one said.“If we do this, both of them will have to go.”
Mathieu listened with zero expression while ice chilled the blood in Win’s veins. Those men had a roundtable about killing Mathieu and his father, and Jairo—Jairo who’d sworn to Win he’d had nothing to do with it—had been there! He’d been part of the planning. Bile rose in Win’s throat, hot and bitter.
“The son is a completely different animal than his father,”Jairo said.“He’ll run that organization into the ground or his people will deal with him. Nah, the old man is the bigger threat. With him out of the way and the organization in shambles, we can move however we want without restrictions.”
Win grabbed the edge of the desk, knuckles white.
Jairo lied to him. He’d lied!
“I’m with Beltran on this one. Moïse is the bigger threat.”
A chorus of voices sounded, echoing that.
“It’s settled. Moïse Pascal will die by our hand.”Cesar sounded so fucking pleased.“Let’s get it done before the week is out.”
The screen went black as the video ended.
Win touched Mathieu’s arm. The other man was as stiff and cold as a statue. “Mathieu. Do you know the others? Who are they?”
“All men who used to work with me and my father at one time or another.”
Christ! Win didn’t know what the fuck to say. He’d defended Jairo to Mathieu. He’d asked Mathieu to trust him. It’d all been a lie. He cupped Mathieu’s jaw. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t know.” He’d been a fool.
Mathieu allowed his touch for a few seconds then pulled away. Picking up his phone, he barked into it. “Are you still on the compound?” He must be talking to Jason. “Let one of the others handle that. I need you in my office. Now.”
“Mathieu—”
Mathieu pushed his chair back and stood. “Not now, Win.”
“Hey.” Win grabbed his arm. “Yes, now. Talk to me.”
Mathieu’s jaw ticked, eyes blazing angry fire. “And tell you what? That the man you married plotted with our enemies to execute my father? That you swore to me he wasn’t involved, but it turns out he was?”
Fuck. Those words were a stab to the chest. “I didn’t know. Mathieu, I’m sorry.” The apology felt so inadequate. And Mathieu didn’t say it, but it came too little too late. Win should have known better, but he’d allowed himself to believe in Jairo, to take him at his word, because he’d needed to. There was no way he could have lived with himself if he’d believed for a moment that Jairo had been behind Mathieu’s father’s assassination.
He’d needed to believe the lie in order to continue with the marriage to Jairo. So he’d believed it. He’d trusted it.
And he’d been wrong.
The door opened and Jason stepped into the office.
“Gather the men,” Mathieu told Jason. “Prepare for war.”
35
Mathieu heard the snide,self-satisfied voices in his sleep. The men plotting his father’s death, ordering it as if it was nothing. As ifhewas nothing. Three days since he’d watched the video and he swore he still felt the tearing in his chest when he realized the ammunition he’d been handed.
Who’d sent it, he didn’t know. He didn’t care. Nothing else mattered except getting justice for his father.
