A Life Chosen (Montreal #1)

Chapter Six

M athias’s promotion didn’t change much in regards to the work—he’d already managed most of the division’s business and construction clients, and any he hadn’t were now firmly under his jurisdiction—but it formalized his place as Tony’s second-in-command. While this had been obvious to everyone for as long as Rayan could remember, the new title made it official. And Mathias wasted no time using it as an opportunity to jettison the last remaining dregs from his roster. Anything street level went to Sonny, which was about as much responsibility as he could handle. Mathias had even attempted to rid himself of the Russians until Tony—who hated Belkov with a passion—put his foot down.

“So this is less a commercial split and more all the shit you don’t want to manage yourself?” Mathias had asked, and the old man had agreed with a snigger.

The two were volatile together, but the Collections head had always been somewhat of a mentor to his boss. Rayan knew part of the reason Mathias had stayed in the division for as long as he had was that he respected Tony. They had a mutual understanding—as long as Mathias made money for him and Tony let him off leash to manage things on his own, they were both happy. Not that anyone could tell.

One late morning, they were on their way to a visit with Hubert Leblanc, a two-bit Quebec businessman who ran a handful of car washes around the city. Rumor was he’d recently started taking in a considerable amount of cash. The man was clearly laundering. For whom, they had yet to find out. It wasn’t them—that was for sure. After all, the family had its own ways of making dirty money clean. But Leblanc wasn’t being nearly as careful as he should be, and Mathias had enough motivated police personnel in his back pocket to rat out any rival business that didn’t toe the line.

There was a loud bang, and the car shuddered, lurching to the right. Rayan pulled over to the side of the road, and they both got out.

“ Tabarnak ,” Mathias muttered, kicking the flat with the toe of his shoe. It was amusing that at times like these, his cursing was so very Quebecois.

“I’ll call someone,” Rayan said, reaching into his pocket for his phone.

He shook his head dismissively, walking over to the trunk. He pulled out the jack and dropped the spare onto the pavement. Then he shrugged out of his jacket, threw it over the hood, and began rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt.

Rayan stood, phone in hand, as Mathias shimmied the jack under the Mercedes and began to turn the handle, the car lifting with a creak. A not unfamiliar stab of shame hit him as he simmered in his own uselessness. He was more adept at stealing cars than fixing them—one of many life skills omitted from his upbringing.

He crouched beside him. “Let me. I’ll never live it down if the office knows I let my capo change a goddamn tire.”

Mathias glanced at him with a smirk, a line of sweat already forming across his brow. “Then I suggest you watch closely. You might learn something.”

Rayan did as he was told, watching as Mathias unscrewed the flat and yanked it off the hub. He pushed it toward Rayan. “Make yourself useful, and throw this in the trunk.”

When he returned, his capo already had the spare on and was tightening the lug nuts. He stood, looking at Rayan expectantly. “Now, bring it down.”

Rayan knelt, unwinding the jack in the opposite direction and slowly lowering the car to the ground. He stood to stow the jack with the flat. Behind him, Mathias shrugged on his jacket, grumbling about the fucking Quebec roads. As if the family hadn’t been skimming a fat slice of profit off road construction for the past twenty years.

Slamming the trunk shut, Rayan heard his boss’s phone start to ring. He rounded the car to see Mathias staring at the screen as it lit up, an odd look on his face.

The number that flashed across the screen was one Mathias knew by heart but had never saved. The phone rang three times before he finally picked up.

“What?”

“It’s me.” His mother’s voice was tight.

Mathias felt himself tense. There was no reason for her to be calling him at this time, on this number, unless…

“He’s gone,” she said in a low whisper .

A buzzing filled his head, and Mathias leaned hard against the car. “Where is he?”

A small sob came through the receiver before Marguerite spoke. “Hospital Notre Dame, on Sherbrooke.”

His mother continued speaking, but he no longer heard her. He lowered the phone from his ear, looking over at Rayan, who was standing before him, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“Boss?”

“Notre Dame Hospital,” Mathias instructed as he pulled open the passenger door and got in. He needed time to think. He couldn’t focus on anything, his mind buckling, refusing to cooperate.

His second got in behind the wheel, glancing over at him before slamming the door and putting the keys in the ignition. The drive to the hospital took an eternity, Rayan navigating the car through the city as it filled with midday traffic. But Mathias barely noticed.

His father was dead. He wondered why that information was so difficult to comprehend. He’d been expecting the news for weeks, confident about how little it meant to him.

So what the fuck is happening? Mathias didn’t even know why he was going to the hospital. For one last look? Physical evidence that the man was gone from this world?

Mathias felt a sharp pain in his chest, and his hand shot out, clutching the dash to steady himself. There were so many things he’d wanted to tell the old man. How badly he’d fucked him up, for one. How much of his life he’d devoted to the pursuit of being better—or rather, being nothing like his father at all. Instead, he saw it unraveling, sacrifices that amounted to nothing. A man who hadn’t cared then sure as hell didn’t care now.

It was as though he was being wrenched open, the pathetic little boy clawing his way out, spilling with need, none of the usual tricks working to subdue him. Mathias was so much more than this, but at the moment, it was all of him.

A hand gripped his shoulder. When Mathias looked up, Rayan’s face was lined with concern. “What’s going on? Are you sick?”

Shaking his head, he brushed away the man’s hand, turning to stare out the window as the streets flashed past.

Rayan pulled into the hospital parking deck. Cars were packed into every available spot. They drove from one level to the next, Rayan muttering a string of curses until finally, on the top level, he maneuvered the Mercedes into an uncovered space. Mathias got out and headed to the garage elevator as the clouds darkened in the sky. He was barely aware of Rayan one step behind, following him through the sliding doors to the hospital reception.

“Federico Mancini,” he said to the receptionist once they were within earshot. The woman looked up, startled.

“I’m sorry, but you are…?”

Mathias stopped then as though his life was encapsulated in that question. There was no good answer.

“His son,” he said finally, the word ringing false.

The woman glanced at her computer, typing away, before giving him a long look. “I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. Mancini passed away this morning.”

Mathias gripped the desk. “I know that,” he said, his voice curling viciously. “I’m here to see him.”

The woman blinked, recoiling, then glanced back to check the screen. “He’s in the C Wing, ninth floor, room 908. He should be there for another hour or so until they move him.”

Mathias didn’t stop to thank her. Instead he turned and headed for the elevator.

As they waited, Rayan spoke softly. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Mathias countered, looking straight ahead at the illuminated arrow on the wall.

His second fell silent. They rode the elevator through the chaos of the hospital, visitors and medical personnel stepping in and out with each lurching stop. On the ninth floor, they walked through a series of automated doors, the hollow sound of their footsteps projected down the hallway. As they approached the room, Mathias could hear Sofia’s thin wailing voice. He stiffened. In the fog of haste, he hadn’t considered that his father’s family would be there. Mathias wondered who had told his mother. Sofia would have done everything in her power to ensure that Marguerite had not been informed of his father’s death. But Mathias knew one thing—his mother had her ways.

They rounded the corner, and Sofia appeared, wrapped in the arms of Freddie Junior, a doctor in a white coat standing to one side. The door to the room behind them was shut, but Mathias could see the number clearly: 908. Sofia looked up as he approached, her reddened eyes widening.

She pulled away from her son and pointed directly at him. “How dare you come here!”

Her shriek echoed through the empty hallway, causing the doctor and a passing nurse to glance up in alarm. Mathias watched Freddie tense beside her.

“Get out!” his half brother spat .

“I want to see him,” Mathias said, his voice sounding dull even to his own ears. The doubt he’d felt at the reception desk reared again. He was unaccustomed to this paralysis. The pain in his chest returned.

But Sofia advanced, blocking him from moving any farther down the hallway. “I hope you know he left everything to us—his wife and children,” she said pointedly. “You and that woman aren’t even mentioned in the will.”

“You’re not welcome here,” Freddie snapped. “You need to leave.”

“Careful,” Rayan warned sharply, stepping forward, and the man visibly shrank.

None of the usual fury burst forth. Mathias was tired of fighting for something he would never have.

The doctor held up his hands, watching them with concern. “What’s the problem here? Family are allowed to see him before he’s moved. Are you family?”

“No,” Mathias heard himself say. The realization came like a slug to the stomach. He wasn’t—never had been. His father had made sure of that. “I’m not family.”

He stared at Sofia, his eyes boring into hers. She drew back, fear filling her face. Then Mathias turned and strode past a stunned Rayan and back down the hallway the way they’d come.

Only moments before, he could think of nothing except seeing his father, getting one last look at the man with whom so much was unresolved. Now he needed to get as far away from him as possible. Alive or dead, he’d done nothing but carve a ragged gash through Mathias’s life.