A Life Chosen (Montreal #1)

Chapter Eight

“ P aterlini wants to send his son over here for a bit. Get a leg up,” Tony said. It was late in the evening, and they’d stayed on at the office for a nightcap. Everyone else had been sent home.

“Silvano Paterlini?” Mathias knew of the man but had never formally made his acquaintance. He was old-school, tending to stick with the same handful of senior mafiosi.

“Yeah, tight with Russo, from the same village in the old country, yada yada. Generally a right pain in the ass.”

Despite the prickle of annoyance, Mathias spoke cautiously. “I don’t know the kid. What’s his deal?”

Tony shrugged and took a long swig from his drink. “Fucked if I know. But I’m putting him on your team. Show him the ropes, teach him a thing or two. Make sure he doesn’t get killed.”

“No,” Mathias said bluntly.

“You owe me, Beauvais. I put in a good word with the boss. Scratch your back and all that.” Tony looked at him pointedly. “Besides, he’s asked for you. Seems you made quite the impression at the last meeting.”

“I don’t have time to watch some kid piss himself.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Now that your boy’s all trained?”

Mathias gave him a warning look as he downed the last of his scotch. “Rayan has earned his place.”

Mention of his second stirred up a conflicting flurry of thoughts that Mathias quickly quashed. Despite having spent the last few days working in close proximity to Rayan, Mathias found himself avoiding eye contact, barely speaking, as though if he willed it hard enough, everything that had transpired between them would simply disappear .

“And here’s Paterlini wanting the same for his kid,” Tony said. “Sends a bit of attention our way. Lord knows we could do with the manpower.”

“Put him on another team.”

Even as he spoke, Mathias realized he was considering it. He’d lost confidence in his ability to keep himself in check. He relied on Rayan too much to have him reassigned but at the same time needed to put some distance between himself and the man. Mathias had allowed him to get too close. He needed a buffer, perhaps in the form of some higher-up’s sniveling brat.

“Did it sound like I was giving you a choice?” Tony glowered. “Wise up, Beauvais. The kid’s starting Wednesday. Here I was trying to be gracious, giving you a heads-up. Should have just thrown him in the car and told you to shut your mouth.”

“Gracious?” Mathias scoffed. “The fuck you think you are, Tony?” He pulled out his cigarettes and lit one. “How much did Paterlini slide you?” He should have known his boss would be off padding his fat pocket regardless of what he had to say about it.

Tony waved him off, reaching across the desk and helping himself to one of Mathias’s cigarettes. “The way I see it, with an extra set of hands, you can take on a few more contracts, bump up your weekly take. So it all comes around.”

Mathias pulled in a lungful of smoke. Bastard. Not only was the old man landing him with some presumptuous daddy’s boy, but he was also cranking up his workload. “I want five for my troubles.”

Tony scowled. “Fuck off.”

Mathias leaned back in his seat and exhaled slowly. “Our pal Paterlini slipped you a nice chunk of change to make sure his boy got what he wanted. Don’t disappoint him now, Tony.”

“Two.”

“Five.”

Tony blew a cloud of smoke between them, squinting. “Fine. But no complaints, you hear me? Or I dock your commission next month.”

Mathias smirked. “Deal.” He didn’t need a cent of the money, but he’d be damned if he did Tony a favor for free. His time was worth something at least.

Tony finished his drink and cleared his throat. “Heard about your old man.”

Mathias felt a familiar clench in his stomach. He worked hard to keep his face neutral. “Anything interesting?”

Tony gave him a level stare. “You can be cocky all you want, but there ain’t no shame in a man mourning his father. ”

“Who said anything about mourning?” Mathias said with a snicker, pushing away the thoughts of his father. “Good riddance.” He stood and pocketed his smokes before Tony could say something more. “So, what’s this kid’s name?”

His name was Silvano Paterlini Junior, and he was a short, stocky twenty-one-year-old with a nose that flattened across half of his pockmarked face. He had an entitled smirk but was mindful to show Mathias the proper respect when he appeared at the Collections office on Wednesday morning.

“Call me Junior,” he said, holding out his hand.

Mathias could think of several other names he’d have preferred to call him. He shook the kid’s hand reluctantly, and they walked out to the lot, where Rayan stood waiting by the car.

“Who’s this?” Junior asked, cocking his head in Rayan’s direction.

His second remained silent, looking warily at Silvano, who sported a gold chain and sunglasses. Mathias had briefly mentioned the favor to Tony on the drive back to the office the previous evening. They hadn’t spoken much since the day of the hospital, a coolness settling over their regular interactions. Rayan, to his credit—or more to Mathias’s training—had said nothing.

“Does he talk?”

“Exactly. You should take some pointers.” Mathias pulled open the passenger door as his second got in behind the wheel. Junior’s face darkened as he climbed into the back seat. Rayan started the engine and began reversing out of the parking lot.

“Wait—so the estraneo sits up front?”

“Stop the car,” Mathias instructed.

Rayan thumped the brake, and the kid smacked his head on the seat in front of him. Mathias turned to look at him.

“Silvano, this is Rayan. He sits up front because his job is to get between me and a bullet. You sit in the back because your papà paid me to babysit. Clear?”

Junior scowled, nodding slowly. Mathias cracked his neck, and they rolled out onto the street.

Rayan pushed Eugene Waith’s head into the murky water that filled one of many rusted oil barrels stacked behind the mechanic’s workshop at Beaubien Auto Service. Waith’s fingers scrabbled at the metal and at the grip around his neck, but Rayan held firm. Mathias studied his second’s blank expression. So practiced was he at masking what lay beneath, yet Mathias had seen Rayan’s face when he allowed that mask to slip. He could not get the image out of his mind.

Junior stood beside him, grinning. He had the air of a kid who’d been jacked up on sugar all morning. Rayan pulled the man up. Waith coughed and spluttered as he sucked in a wracked breath.

“We can do this all day,” Mathias said. “Though I’ve got better places to be.”

Waith owned several automotive repair shops around the city and had borrowed a not insignificant amount of money from the family to open a new garage after the banks turned him down. For good reason, apparently. He was two months behind on interest for the loan.

One month, Mathias could handle. Two months left him looking a fool.

Waith shook his head in panic. “Honest to God, I don’t have it, but I’ll get it. Tomorrow. Give me until tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to come back tomorrow,” Mathias said, walking toward him. “That’s why I’m here today.”

He stooped to pick up a discarded crowbar, brushing the dirt from his Armani pants. Waith’s eyes widened, but Rayan’s grip on his arm held him in place. Mathias swung fast before he could protest and brought the metal bar down on the man’s right foot. Waith howled like an animal, his leg collapsing as Rayan kept him upright. Behind him, Junior let out a hoot.

“Where’s the money?”

Waith’s eyes jumped from him to Silvano then back to Mathias. “In the safe. There’s some in the safe. Not everything, but it’s all I have. There’ll be more. I just need time.”

Mathias spun the crowbar, and the man flinched. “Give us the code. Careful—I don’t want my associate here to have to go in twice.”

Waith rattled off a series of numbers.

“You got that?” he asked Rayan.

His second nodded and let Waith go. Unable to stand on his shattered foot, Waith dropped to the ground with a yelp. Rayan walked past him into the workshop while Mathias lit a cigarette and squinted up at the sky. The sun was barely visible through the dense blanket of cloud.

Junior appeared at his side like a dog. “Can I have a swing at him? ”

Mathias shook his head. It was pathetic, the glint in his eyes. A kid brought up on senseless violence. He’d seen so many pass through the ranks. They were always messy and inefficient, getting off on the bloodlust rather than using it as a tool. Violence was an art form. Used well, it could make even the most rigid man compliant.

They waited in silence, Junior kicking at the muddy ground, aiming for Waith’s crumpled form. Not for the first time, Mathias resisted the urge to strike the boy. He’d seen the likes of him before in the easy self-assurance of his half brothers.

His second emerged with an envelope in one hand and a clump of purchase books in the other. He stopped beside Mathias, taking in Silvano’s antics.

“There’s two in cash and another three in prepaid parts,” Rayan said quietly in French, aware of Waith’s fearful gaze. “Barely covers the first month.”

Mathias sighed. It seemed nothing was going smoothly this morning. “Heads up, kid.”

Junior looked up expectantly as Mathias tossed him the crowbar. Might as well get some use out of the jumpy fuck.

“Have at it.”

“Hey, estraneo .” A hand shot out, grabbed Rayan’s shoulder, and yanked him around in the narrow corridor of the Collections office.

Mathias had released Rayan from his duties and disappeared into Tony’s office for one of their strategic meetings. He’d been on his way out, quietly happy to have the rest of the afternoon to himself. After almost a year, Rayan was still getting used to life working for the family. The late nights and strange hours of his time at Guillet’s remained fresh, having formed a deep groove.

Franco’s second, Mikey, stood leering at him, fair headed with a bulbous nose. In the few months Rayan had spent driving for Franco, the man had never treated him like anything but shit. Beside Mikey was Paolo, the thickset kid who’d replaced Rayan after he’d been reassigned as Mathias’s second.

“The fuck you pulling? One minute you’re some burnout on loan. Now you’re shadowing Beauvais?”

Rayan had drawn the ire of many after his capo took him on. As surprised as he’d been to be working with Mathias, there were those within the division who were even more so—men who’d barely known he existed until they felt threatened by the possibility that he’d wormed his way to their level. Rayan didn’t have much to do with Franco’s jurisdiction. He handled protection money, something his capo had done when their paths first crossed.

“You know outsiders can’t get made,” Mikey spat. “It’s a goddamn disgrace they kept you on.”

Rayan said nothing. Speaking would only give them more ammunition. Mikey was right in all respects—Rayan certainly didn’t belong in their ranks. He himself didn’t know why Mathias had decided to keep him on. He felt no more worthy of his position than they thought he was.

“That’s right—you’re a quiet little shit. Not too keen on English either. Es-tu un crétin ?” Mikey dragged out each syllable as though speaking to an imbecile.

Tired of the exchange, Rayan turned and continued down the hall.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Mikey hollered.

Rayan felt Mikey’s hand on his shoulder once again, and this time, he swiveled and smashed a fist into that giant nose. The man let out a howl, his hands flying to his face, as Paolo launched himself at Rayan, his tacky signet ring catching him on the temple, breaking the skin. Rayan countered with a knee to the guts, sending the kid sprawling against the wall.

Mikey, blood streaming down his face, had regained some of his composure and was coming at him with heavy, clumsy swings, which Rayan dodged, getting close enough to him to clamp him in a headlock. Right when Paolo was about to slam his knuckles into Rayan’s exposed ribs, the door at the end of the corridor flew open, and Tony stepped into the hallway.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

Rayan released Mikey and stepped back, blinking away a drop of blood that trailed down from the cut on his forehead.

Mikey held his face protectively. “Fucker broke my nose!”

“Did he, now?” Tony said glibly. “You starting something, Mikey?”

“No. The guy’s a psycho. Tell Beauvais to leash his dog.”

“Tell him yourself.”

Mikey looked past Tony to where Mathias stood just out of view. He stiffened. “Uh, no offense. I was just minding my business. Kid doesn’t know how to stay in line.”

“I find out you’re making trouble where it’s not needed, I’ll make it my business,” Mathias replied, his voice low. “Understood?”

Mikey nodded.

“Go home, Rayan,” Mathias called down the hallway .

Rayan wiped a sleeve across his forehead, stopping the slow drip of blood, then turned and walked out the door into the parking lot.

Mathias picked him up from the office the following morning. “What is it with you and trouble?” he muttered. “You can’t be so stupid not to realize you have a target on your back.”

Rayan had woken up to a few bruises he hadn’t anticipated. He wasn’t sure if he should defend himself, knowing his capo did not take kindly to excuses. But if he’d let Mikey and his buddy smash his face in, what kind of soldier would he be? “Should I have let them rough me up?”

Mathias raised an eyebrow. “No. Idiot.”

As they drove, Mathias’s lips curved into a smirk. “You broke the fucker’s nose.”

Rayan frowned, failing to mirror his boss’s amusement. “They won’t accept someone like me.”

The smirk had disappeared, Mathias’s mouth forming a hard line. “Then you make them respect you. You make them fear you. Acceptance? Overrated.”

“Hey, estraneo .”

Rayan jolted back to the present. Silvano Junior stood before him, holding out a take-out coffee cup, which Rayan took silently, the heat warming his palm. The man’s other hand gripped a second coffee, tiny curls of steam snaking out from the hole in the lid. It was early, and they were at the office, waiting for Mathias to finish up with the Collections boss before starting on the day’s jobs. Rayan glanced down the hallway at Tony’s door, still closed.

“So, what are you?”

Rayan stared straight ahead. Junior, as he preferred to be called, was young. Younger than him, if he had to hazard a guess. He gathered from Mathias’s brief explanation that the kid’s father was high up and was pulling a favor, so Rayan was to mind his tone. After a week working with the man, it was already proving challenging.

“Saudi, then?” Junior asked smugly. “Or just another mixed-up Quebec hick?”

“All Quebecois are hicks.”

Junior chuckled. “How’d you get to work with him?”

The family employed a great deal of people from all over Montreal—the Algerians, the Haitians, the Chinese—but rarely did it let any of these outsiders into the fold. Rayan had been made painfully aware of this fact as Mathias moved up the ranks. Silvano wasn’t the first full-blooded Italian to take issue with that.

Rayan shrugged. “Lucky break. ”

Junior watched him, sizing him up. Rayan could tell he was growing tired of evasive answers. He had a feeling the kid was used to getting what he wanted. If Junior thought he could mine him for information by ingratiating himself with a cup of coffee, he could get fucked.

The door opened, and Mathias came down the hall toward them. Rayan tempered the immediate quickening of his pulse. As the days wore on, he was finding it difficult to maintain their continued pretense, considering that when he closed his eyes, he could conjure every inch of his capo’s naked body.

It hadn’t been nothing—he’d felt too much for it to be nothing. The man’s mouth had captured his with a force that left him breathless, his hand seeking and claiming Rayan’s release. Yet as his capo’s frostiness refused to thaw, Rayan was beginning to doubt himself, becoming more and more convinced that Mathias regarded that fateful afternoon as a grievous mistake.

Silvano’s presence had only widened the gap that had formed between them. And Rayan had done nothing. He simply carried on, propelled by sheer habit. But there was the twinge he felt when Mathias addressed Junior or requested his assistance while Rayan shadowed. The slow break was harder simply for the space it left for him to wonder about what had once been and what exactly they’d become.

“Here, boss.” Silvano handed Mathias the remaining cup as he walked past him toward the door.

Mathias took it wordlessly, the kid trailing behind him like a dog waiting to be praised. Rayan scowled at Silvano’s back, tossing his untouched coffee into the trash and following them to the parking lot. As they walked to the car, Mathias absently took a sip, grimacing. He spat out the mouthful at his feet, snapped off the lid, and hurled the liquid into the curbside drain. Then he turned and pushed the empty cup into Junior’s hand.

“You put milk in my coffee?”

Silvano looked back at him, wide-eyed and momentarily speechless. Rayan hid a grin. Not that he hadn’t also learned this lesson the hard way, but he took a secret pleasure in someone else drawing Mathias’s ire. Compared to Silvano, Rayan was in another league altogether.

“The fuck you waiting for?” Mathias snapped. As Junior hurried back into the office, the man leaned against the car, patting down his pockets for a cigarette. “Useless.”

For a moment, it was like before, Junior’s incompetence uniting them in shared enmity. Rayan smiled ruefully. He’d missed this.

“Something funny?” Mathias asked .

Rayan glanced up to see his capo watching him. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, but something lingered on his tongue, threatening to betray him. “No,” he murmured as Silvano returned with a fresh coffee in hand like he was the Savior himself.

Rayan silently reproached himself. He should know how things worked between them by now. Mathias led, and he followed. He would be a fool to think he had any say in the matter.