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There was no one else. No sound. No worries.
Just the music.
And that was okay by me.
CHAPTER 5
Maddox
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered when I pulled into the driveway leading to Arman’s estate. Vehicles had lined the street, more parking on both sides of the aggregate surface. I’d heard he’d invited everyone who was anyone from Texas to Miami, but I didn’t think that many would attend a freaking graduation party. It wasn’t as if the girl was getting married.
The thought brought another horrific taste in my mouth.
What would I care anyway if that were the case? I’d been her bodyguard. I was certain I’d do that again when necessary. Especially given the recent issues Arman had faced. Granted, I wasn’t surprised he’d insisted on Zoe returning home for the entire summer. It was much easier to keep an eye on her when she lived under the same roof instead of a couple thousand miles away.
He’d sent me to New York for a week, fearful that she’d be abducted or worse, used against him. I made certain Zoe hadn’t seen or heard from me, remaining her shadow the entire time.It was something that I’d perfected to an artform, the ability to hide in plain sight when necessary considered an attribute in our world of organized crime.
It didn’t matter the corporation had gone mostly legit. A significant portion of the money earned still came from more lucrative ventures no one could call on the straight and narrow. I was forced to return to the street, finding a parking spot three blocks down. That alone was enough to keep me in a piss-poor mood.
After parking, I checked my watch. The party had started over an hour before. Stopping to change, purchase flowers and the exact brand of champagne the precious girl deserved taking me more time than I’d allotted. Fuck. I hated to be late for anything.
I’d been forced to contact our cleaning crew to handle the situation at Gina’s house, sending her packing in the process with a tidy sum of cash in her hand. I wasn’t worried the woman wouldn’t accept her good fortune. She was being provided more than enough to start a new life in another city. But her hatred of me fueled her, something I’d need to keep in the back of my mind.
I grabbed the flowers and champagne, scanning the street before heading toward the house. The moonless, humid night seemed more oppressive than normal, the absence of noise, including from the usual insects, odd. There was usually nothing quiet about New Orleans even in the summer months, especially when a party was in full swing.
While my weapon remained in my suit jacket, it wouldn’t be in good form to walk the upper echelon neighborhood brandishing a weapon. The thought allowed a smirk to cross my face.
As I took long strides toward the house, a tightness formed in my chest. The reason had nothing to do with the recent unrest in the organization, although I’d had a terse conversation with Arman only days before.
I refused to think about it as I finally made it to the driveway. More guests were arriving, everyone in a festive mood. While I could easily see soldiers surrounding the house, it was obvious they’d been told to remain in the shadows as well. There was nothing that could break up a party faster than being terrified of a gunman.
Once I was near the house, I noticed Landry in a suit near the front door casually smoking a cigarette. He remained where he was as I approached. He was Arman’s other trusted man, someone who’d come up through the ranks from being nothing more than a gopher to sharing the same title of lieutenant as I did. However, I had full seniority, my rank considered third in line of power. As if either Arman or Francois would give up the reins. “Anything going on?”
“Just a lot of people preparing to get drunk,” he said, taking another puff. “And some fucking reporters showed up. Bastards.”
The family had been in the news dozens of times, lately more for their philanthropic actions versus the early days of being treated as a family kin to the devil. A lot of changes had occurred over the years, most of them beneficial to both the family and the city. However, there were reporters determined to get their fifteen minutes of fame by scraping up dirt on the family. I refused to allow that to happen. “Make certain none of the fuckers get into the house.”
“Don’t worry. Tony is casing the grounds, making certain every single one of them is leaving. You know how he is.”
Tony Teracino had started working for me only recently. Given my workload had increased, my promotion to vice president of operations keeping me away from Arman’s estate more often than not, Arman had assigned the man to remain by my side. While Tony was trustworthy, we’d yet to develop a rhythm, Tony’s idea of a chain of command and mine completely different. At least in this regard, his instinct had been on the money. Tony was considered a high ranking made man, the old term something Arman’s grandfather had used and it had stuck through the generations. The two men I’d hired were low ranking members on the totem pole, unacceptable to be my main man according to Arman.
As my best friend had grown older, he’d become more like his father, whether he wanted to believe it or not. He’d challenge me to a brawl if he knew I was even thinking that way.
“Good. Keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. Let me know if you see anything.”
“Is there a reason to be concerned?” Landry lifted his head, studying me intently.
I scanned the well-lit area, every tree sparkling with twinkling lights for an added festive nature. “I just have a bad feeling churning in my gut.” And I did. Arman had been acting odd lately, keeping things to himself. That wasn’t like him, the man sharing just about everything with me. Plus, there was talk of trouble brewing, various sources on the street acting cagey as fuck. That didn’t bode well for doing business on any level, legitimate or otherwise.
“Well, fuck. When you do that usually means some kind of explosion.” Landry grinned although he was right. My instinct had almost never steered me wrong.
Snickering, I moved toward the front porch, stopping just long enough to chastise him. “Those things are going to kill you.”
“Yeah, maybe if I lived long enough to see that happen. Did you know the average life span of a made man inside a mafia organization is forty-five years old?”
I rubbed my jaw, thinking about his statement. He was the master of often useless details. It would be great fun watching him on an episode ofJeopardy. I had a feeling he’d clean up. “Think of it this way. You have six more years to fuck up your lungs.”
He burst into laughter, and I shook my head. Within a couple of years, I’d hit that magical plateau. It was a good thing I had my will in order. I rolled my eyes at the macabre thought.
