A Life Chosen (Montreal #1)

Chapter Fourteen

A fter the meeting with Russo, Mathias had gone silent, something he was proving surprisingly good at. When he and Rayan were working, there had been a routine, a certainty to their interactions. Without it, Mathias seemed to disappear, only to call out of the blue, as he had that morning, expecting Rayan to drop everything and play nice.

Not that he wasn’t relieved to get out of the house. The idleness was making him restless. He hadn’t realized how much he relied on work to function. Full days that rendered him unconscious by the end had morphed into long empty stretches of time, allowing the thoughts, never really gone, to resurface with a vengeance.

“How’s the hand?” Rayan asked as the waitress placed two cups of coffee down on the table between them.

They were in a small café a few blocks from the office. Despite the jumble of mismatched furniture that crowded the dingy interior, the coffee was decent. When the two of them were sick of the cheap slop Tony served up, they came here.

“Fine,” Mathias replied, tapping the side of his steaming mug with his knuckles.

They sat across from each other as customers bustled in and out of the store, drinking their coffee in silent avoidance—a tactic Rayan had become increasingly familiar with. If his capo wanted to tell him something, he would sit and wait.

Finally, Mathias sighed and stood up, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor. “Let’s walk.”

They left the café, passing Mathias’s Mercedes, which was parked outside on the street. Crossing the road, they continued past the metro station before making a left and turning into Parc Jarry. It was late morning, and the park was empty aside from the occasional jogger who appeared on the path ahead. As they walked, Rayan realized what a rarity it was to be out in the city without being on a job. It was strange to see his capo integrated with the outside world .

Mathias lit a cigarette and exhaled into the crisp morning air. As if he’d simply needed the extra time to organize his thoughts, he then spoke. “I’m leaving for Hamilton at the end of the month.”

The departure was sooner than expected. The radio silence made sense now. He’d been busy preparing.

“You’ll stay here,” Mathias continued, his eyes trained forward, not looking at him.

Rayan stopped walking. He’d heard his boss perfectly, but the words were having trouble registering in his brain. Seeing he had fallen behind, Mathias came to a stop.

He turned to face him, his expression unreadable. “Tony needs the help. You’ll be assigned another capo.”

“No,” Rayan said, adamant. “If you’re going, I’m coming with you.”

Mathias’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think you understand—”

“No, I don’t,” Rayan cut in, anger making him bold. “With everything going on, you need someone watching your back. That day, I hung back when I shouldn’t have. Not this time.”

“It’s not up for discussion,” Mathias said, his voice lowering dangerously. “Moretti’s leaving his team there. I won’t need you.”

Strangely, his words didn’t sting as much as the thought of staying here without him. Even though Rayan had spent most of his life in Montreal, the thought of leaving felt insignificant. He barely recognized the person who’d existed before the family took over. Without realizing it, somewhere along the way, Rayan had tied his future to Mathias. He’d never harbored thoughts of his own promotion, preferring instead to remain ancillary, watching the man’s ascent with quiet pride. It pained Rayan to think of him treading water, attempting to find his footing alone in a new city.

Mathias took another pull from his cigarette and squinted into the sun. “Are we clear?”

Rayan wasn’t sure which of the thoughts churning inside his head to address first. Mathias did not want a scene—he wanted a soldier. It was just another order, no different from the countless others that had come before. Rayan didn’t fucking like it, but he would do it. That was what he was good at, after all: accepting whatever came his way, content to be a rock in a landslide, tossed about on a whim.

“We’re clear,” he replied, mirroring his boss’s impenetrable reception.

Mathias paused as though trying to read him. “Good,” he said finally, continuing along the path.

“Who’s going to head Commercial?” Rayan asked when they were back in step .

Mathias’s lips curled like he’d tasted something foul. He flicked the cigarette from his fingers and watched it bounce along the pavement. “Nothing’s confirmed yet. Tony will find someone. Or take some of it on himself. The man doesn’t trust easy.”

Rayan frowned, silent.

Mathias was looking at him now. “What?”

“Who’re you going to get to replace me?” It was a simple question, aimed at his boss’s shoulder so Rayan didn’t have to look him in the eye.

Mathias shrugged. “Someone local. Familiar with the city.”

The way he spoke, as if swapping Rayan for another was simply a matter of logistics… interchangeable toy soldiers… The thought made his blood boil. “So that’s it?” Rayan asked flatly.

He wanted more. He asked for so little, but this time, he deserved more than the party line. He wanted Mathias to acknowledge the reliance they’d built on one another, which had kept them alive in many a hairy situation. He owed Rayan that at least.

“Want me to say something indulgent?” Mathias taunted him. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this…” He looked away, his handsome face darkening. “It’s that everyone can be replaced. You, me—we’re all fucking expendable.”

Rayan’s shoulders went slack. He felt the willpower that had kept him pliant and obedient drain out of him. “That all for today?”

Mathias gave him a sharp look.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Rayan said curtly, turning and heading back the way they’d come.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Mathias called out, the warning in his voice clear.

Rayan kept walking.

Mathias called later that evening, when Rayan was back at his apartment, stewing.

“Come for a drink.”

He’d been expecting something more along the lines of a harshly worded dressing-down. Rayan was immediately suspicious. “Why?”

“Humor me,” his capo said.

They met at a lounge bar on Saint Denis, Mathias ordering a scotch neat, Rayan a black coffee .

“You don’t drink because you’re religious or because your father’s an alcoholic,” the man observed.

Rayan stiffened at hearing a name for the drunken tumult he’d lived through as a child. “I never told you that.”

“Educated guess.”

Rayan stared at him. “I’m not religious.”

The truth was, he didn’t trust himself, convinced that given the opportunity, he’d disappear down the black hole, like his father and his brother. He’d inherited a set of faulty genes hardwired for addiction.

“How is it you know so much about me, and I know nothing about you?”

Mathias pulled out his cigarettes. “What do you want to know?”

“What’s the catch?” Rayan shot back.

Mathias lit a smoke, leaned back in his chair. “Try me.”

The questions reeled through his mind. What were you like as a kid? What is this thing between us? Did you always know you were different?

“Why did you join?” he asked finally, afraid that if he took too long, Mathias would revoke his offer.

“I had something to prove.”

“To your father?”

Mathias blew smoke through his teeth. “My father worked for the family all his life. And he never moved beyond his station. Was never good enough for a title.”

Their drinks arrived.

“He must have been proud. His son, a santista. ”

Mathias smiled, but his eyes hardened. “The man couldn’t have cared less. In his infinite wisdom, he’d have preferred I do something else.”

Rayan felt the hurt he refused to show, his own bitterness softening. “He said that?”

“As he lay dying.”

They sat in silence, his capo swilling his drink.

“Do you regret it?” Mathias asked, lowering his voice. “Not walking away back then? Now you have blood on your hands.”

There was a familiar clench in Rayan’s gut, and for a moment, he couldn’t keep his face from betraying how close the question landed.

“There it is—I remember that look,” Mathias said, as though confirming his own suspicions. “You’re not made for this life, Rayan. I don’t know why you’re so intent on getting in even deeper.”

“Is that why you’re leaving me here?”

Mathias said nothing, his eyes shuttering .

“And you’re wrong,” Rayan said coldly. “I chose this.”

“Why?”

His mouth went dry, unable to speak the truth aloud—that after meeting Mathias again at the Collections office, his bearings had recalibrated, placing the man front and center.

“I never pretended to have options. I know how to survive,” he said at last.

“When you’re done surviving, what then?”

Rayan stopped short. It was as though Mathias had seen right through him. “Now that your father’s dead, what’s left to prove?”

Mathias stared at him. Rayan felt a sting of remorse, remembering how shaken Mathias had been as they left the hospital. Then his capo snickered.

“You asked why I joined, not why I stayed.” Mathias threw back his drink, pulled out his wallet, and dropped several notes onto the table between them. He stood, buttoning his jacket. Then he looked at Rayan. “You coming?”

Mathias led him into the apartment without a word. Rayan walked past him to the living room, which had been restored to its former glory. The smashed cabinet was gone, the shelves removed, and the glass swept. Mathias stood in the hallway, watching him.

“Will you miss this place?” Rayan said.

Mathias shrugged. “It’ll be here when I get back.”

“So you are coming back?” he asked cautiously.

Mathias smirked. “Would you like that?”

“What does it matter?” Rayan glared. “You’ll find a new second, I’ll be assigned another capo, and this will all be a footnote.”

“Maybe.”

Rayan felt his anger flare, mixed with a heady desire. Being this close to Mathias, in his orbit, scrambled his frequencies. Mathias stepped forward, his hand sliding along Rayan’s jaw and lifting his chin.

“Maybe not,” he murmured.

Then the man’s lips were on him, the smoky taste on his tongue. Rayan knew what he would miss. They stumbled through the hallway toward the bedroom, hands tangled in clothes, tearing at one another, unable to wait a moment longer. Mathias threw Rayan down on the bed, tugging off his shirt. Rayan sat up and rolled Mathias over so that he was beneath him. Mathias pulled his face down, kissing him roughly. With his other hand, he thumbed open the button of Rayan’s slacks, unzipping him. The pressure of Mathias’s fingers working against his cock made Rayan lose focus, and his capo took the opportunity to flip him onto his back, yanking off his pants. Rayan wrenched at the buttons on Mathias’s shirt as the man ground his hips between his legs, eliciting a deep groan.

Mathias lowered his mouth to Rayan’s chest, captured a nipple in his teeth, then grazed his stomach with his lips. Everywhere he touched left a trail of seared skin. Rayan pulled Mathias’s hardened cock from his pants and ran it through his fist, pressing the pad of his thumb into the slick head as the man gave a low growl. Mathias spat into his palm and reached for Rayan as he arched hard and wanting into his hand. His capo gripped their shafts together, bringing his wrist up and down. Rayan’s breathing shallowed, the friction between them sending his arousal surging. When he couldn’t bear it any longer, his hand shot out, stilling Mathias’s movement.

Releasing him with a knowing smirk, Mathias grabbed the back of Rayan’s knees and lifted. His face flushed as he found himself so thoroughly exposed. Mathias teased the hot head of his cock against his opening, and Rayan shivered, clenching his teeth, as Mathias entered him.

“Fuck…” he hissed, and Mathias pulled back. “No—” Rayan clutched at his thighs. “Don’t stop…”

Mathias pushed him into the mattress, his strokes measured, deep. He lowered himself so they lay skin to skin, all distance between them gone, bodies fitting together as though they had never been apart. It was a closeness Rayan craved yet could barely stand, overpowering his carefully laid defenses. Incriminating words threatened to tumble from his tongue. He bit his lip, forcing his mouth shut.

The pace increased, and Rayan felt himself slipping, his vision narrowing as his body shuddered in time with each thrust. “Harder,” he growled into his capo’s shoulder, giving—no longer taking—orders.

Mathias raised himself up and slammed into Rayan, who rolled his head to the side with a groan, anything to avoid the man’s eyes on him as he unraveled.

“I need you here,” Mathias said, his voice tight with restraint. “I don’t trust anyone else.”

He reached down to grip Rayan’s cock, sliding it through his hand. Rayan felt the swell of release. He sucked in air, gritting his teeth as it took him. Mathias’s words scattered in different directions as his mind splintered.

Rayan woke to find himself pressed against Mathias’s chest, the brush of the man’s breath on his cheek. He lifted his head, knowing how rare the opportunity was to observe him this close, lips parted ever so slightly, face void of all expression. It was uncanny, the transformation he went through. One would never recognize the softened features that appeared on the sleeping man, dark hair splayed loosely across the pillow. It was hard to reconcile this Mathias with the severity of who he was when he was awake.

Mathias stirred and shifted toward Rayan, an arm sliding around his waist. Rayan froze, not wanting to wake him. Mathias settled once again, skin deliciously warm against his own. When he found himself this close to Mathias, he felt as though he’d been granted access to a part of him that few people saw. Why does he do it, when he otherwise keeps me at arm’s length?

If Rayan could, he would wake every morning beside Mathias. The thought struck him hard in the chest. Immediately, he sought to erase it. He did well when he didn’t want things. When he didn’t want, he couldn’t be disappointed, only pleasantly surprised by what he did get—like this morning with Mathias in this bed, a man he admired and respected, so clear about who he was that Rayan felt like a shadow in comparison. It was what he’d always found so compelling about his capo—how sure he was about what he wanted.

Rayan stared at the lock of hair that had fallen across Mathias’s forehead. In the darkness of the room, with the man asleep, he reached over and brushed it back with his fingers.