Sunrise Malice

41. Julien

Chapter 41

Julien

I t’s a blustery fall day in the park.

Sunlight streams through yellow and orange leaves. Moms follow kids around on the playground. A couple teenagers kick a soccer ball back and forth like they’re waiting for more players to show up. People jog on the paths, weaving around couples out for comfortable walks.

I spot Don Bianco sitting with Marco on a bench not far from the swing sets.

Bianco soldiers lurk all over the park.

“They’re not even trying to hide,” I mutter, slightly annoyed at how brazen the Biancos are being about it. “Like I’m supposed to believe that huge guy in the leather jacket is reading the New Yorker? With that fucking scar on his face?”

“Relax,” Ronan says, sounding annoyed. “What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Common decency? I’m kind of annoyed we’re even here.”

“Suck it up. You’re lucky Don Bianco’s willing to meet with us at all.”

“Since when did you want to suck on the Bianco pole?”

Ronan grabs my arm and his fingers dig into my muscle. “Watch yourself, Julien. You need friends right now.”

I shrug myself free. “You’re right. I need friends. Not a fucking backstabbing cocksucker like Marco.”

Ronan’s anger fades as he glances over at where Marco’s waiting for us with the Don. “Listen to me. I don’t blame you for being pissed. But for what it’s worth, I don’t think Marco ever wanted shit to go down the way that it did. He tried to stop it.”

“Yeah? Is that what Valentina says? Your wife was his best friend. Now she hates his guts.”

Ronan starts walking away. “She knows I’m here. That should be enough.”

“Well, you’re right, if the great Valentina Santoro is fine with this shit show?—”

“Careful,” Ronan snarls. “That’s my fucking wife.”

I let it drop. He’s got a point. And I’m not even angry with anyone in this situation except for myself. I’m lashing out and I just need to shut my mouth before I get myself in more trouble.

We approach the bench. Marco stands and nods at us in greeting. He looks good, like he’s been working out more lately. But I barely glance at him. Instead, I study Don Bianco, as he lazily gets to his feet.

The Don of the most powerful crime family in Chicago is in his early forties, graying at the temples, with a big, muscular frame and sharp eyes. He’s distinguished and handsome, if a little rough around the edges, and he’s wearing an expensive suit that seems out of place in a public park.

“Thanks for meeting us, Don Bianco,” Ronan says, extending a hand. I never in a million years would’ve guessed Ronan Hayes would greet the Bianco Don like that, but here we are.

Don Bianco shakes. “Call me Simon. It’s good to meet you, Mr. Hayes.”

“Ronan.”

I nod at him, but don’t offer a hand. “And I’m Julien.”

“I’m glad you two came,” Marco says. “Should we walk?”

The four of us set out at a slow pace. Simon takes the lead, strolling along. I’m on his right, and Ronan’s on his left. Marco brings up the rear.

“Your grandfather is an interesting man, Julien,” Simon says, glancing at me sideways. “You should hear the stories he’s been telling me about his life back in France. He’s quite the character.”

“I’m sure he’s charming when he’s not busy stabbing you in the back,” I say, struggling not to sound too bitter, and failing miserably.

“He’s telling me other stories too. Like how you instigated a war with Dusan Petrovic by killing his cousin. How you’ve been aggressively accumulating more and more power for yourself. How you tried to kill him.”

“Pascal Moreau will tell you anything to make you do what he wants.”

Simon nods, not looking at me. His gaze is sharp and heavy. “But how much of that is true?”

My hands curl into fists. I hate that I’m here right now dealing with this man. For a long time, I saw the Biancos as my enemies, or at least as an obstacle to doing good business. It’s worse for Ronan—he married the daughter of the Bianco Famiglia’s greatest enemy.

And yet here we are, three heads of three strong crime families, walking along an idyllic little park while kids scream and shout on the slides, all because otherwise the city might decay into fucking chaos.

“I tried to kill him,” I confirm. “But the rest is bullshit.”

“That’s what I thought.” Simon sounds thoughtful rather than angry. “Your grandfather is very convincing, but I have people looking into the situation, and from what I can tell, he’s been at the heart of everything.” Simon stops walking and stands gazing out across a field that ends nestled against a small lake. A fountain sprays water in the center; soon, the city will turn it off, as the winter comes and freezes this all over. “All I want is the space to do good business without worrying about the city tearing itself into pieces. There has been too much violence for my tastes lately.”

“I won’t make excuses. This has been about survival.” I stand beside Simon, my shoulders back, refusing to be cowed.

“Here’s what I’m willing to offer.” Simon glances at Ronan to make sure he’s listening. “I will make the Moreau family a vassal of the Bianco Famiglia. The Hayes Group may continue to operate as normal, but we will hammer out a truce between our organizations to make sure the lines are clear. Once all that is settled, I will handle Dusan Petrovic and I will send Pascal back to France where he belongs.”

I stare at the Don. His words reverberate in my head. Vassal of the Bianco Famiglia . That would effectively end my business as I’ve always known it and make me a client to the Biancos. I’d answer to them, have to run my plans past them, and be forced to do what they fucking ask. I’d be their goddamn lap dog.

The idea is too repulsive, I can barely keep myself from cursing at the bastard.

“That’s not acceptable,” I manage to say, barely keeping my cool. I’m surrounded by Bianco soldiers right now, and one wrong move will get me killed.

But the goddamn arrogance of this man.

Simon doesn’t seem remotely surprised by my refusal. “Then I can’t help you.”

The piece of shit. He dragged us out here only to offer a deal he knew I’d never accept. Becoming his vassal would be the same as cutting my own throat. Hell, dying would be better.

I spent my life working for other people. At first, I struggled to survive on the street, and then I clawed and fought under Pascal’s painfully exacting tutelage, only to end up one of his glorified soldiers. The whole reason I came to America was to build something for myself.

That’s what I’ve been fighting so hard for. This gang, this city, this fucking country is mine , and if I agree to be a vassal of the Biancos, I might as well be nothing at all.

“There has to be some other way,” Ronan says, playing peacemaker. “You can’t really think he’d agree to that.”

Simon’s smile is tense, but not unfriendly. “The problem is, you’re asking a lot and offering very little. My main concern is the city’s stability, and I think if we worked more closely together, we could create a good environment for everyone.”

“You mean, if I agree to be your fucking employee?” I know I’m pushing it, but I can’t help myself.

“It wouldn’t be so bad. We have resources and access. You’d be safer, overall, for only a very reasonable cut.”

“No, thanks. I’d rather let Dusan shoot me in the face.”

Simon laughs and turns away. “I don’t blame you, honestly. I’d probably react the same way if someone made me that offer.”

“We appreciate your time then,” Ronan says, giving me a hard look.

I say nothing, because fuck him.

“It’s a shame, really, that we couldn’t come to better terms. But I suppose it shouldn’t be surprising. Your grandfather Pascal is just as stubborn. He didn’t want to stay in the oasis, and instead preferred one of our safe houses. The penthouse apartment in the Carter Building. I’m sure he’s happy there.” Simon walks off, swaggering slightly.

“Well, that was interesting,” Marco says and gives us a nod. “Good luck.” He follows Simon away, and I’m left standing alone with Ronan, totally stunned as I try to process what just happened.

“What the fuck was that?” Ronan asks me, shaking his head, looking mystified. “Did he seriously just fucking say that?”

“Seems like he did.” I narrow my eyes as Simon and Marco get into a black BMW and drive off. The Bianco soldiers follow after them. “Sounded like an invitation to me.”

“Why? I mean, do you think it’s a trap?”

“I don’t know what his game is, but if Simon Bianco wanted us dead, we’d be dead right now.” I blow out a long, frustrated breath.

Now we know where Pascal’s hiding. I have no clue what Simon gains by telling me, but there’s no way I won’t make use of this information.

Even if it costs me everything.