Sunrise Malice

43. Julien

Chapter 43

Julien

I spend the next few days staking out the Carter Building.

It’s an upscale apartment complex with decent river views just south of the downtown area. There’s a lot of foot traffic and an underground parking complex with an elevator accessible only via swipe card. The main lobby’s guarded by two people at all times, the front desk clerk and the head of security, and they have CCTV cameras watching the interior.

There are Bianco men too. I don’t spot Pascal, but I do see the Bianco thugs hanging around. Their schedules are predictable though, almost like they want me to figure out their patterns and routines. Almost like they’re hanging my grandfather out to dry.

“What do you think?” I sit low in the seat of my BMW with Brianne by my side. I can’t stand leaving her alone in that apartment all day long while I’m out here working. It’s not exactly safe to bring her, and it’s definitely boring, but I feel better having her by my side.

“I think it’s not going to be easy.” She chews her lip, looking thoughtful. “The lobby’s out, right? I mean, they’ll see you coming.”

“Totally agree.”

“And since we can easily tell the Biancos protection detail’s schedule, we’ll have a pretty good window to make our move.”

“But how do we get up to the penthouse?”

She nods at the garage entrance. “From down there. The elevators will take us all the way up.”

“We need a card for that.” I lean across the car and brush hair from her neck. “How do you propose we get one?”

“Easy.” She turns and faces me. I kiss her gently. “We wait for a resident to show up and rob them.”

I bark out a laugh and kiss her again, this time deeper. She returns the kiss, the fiery little monster, and I know she’s right. It won’t be as easy as she’s making it sound, but that’s the general plan. Steal a card, ride the garage elevator up, and get at my grandfather.

“You know, I’m impressed at your criminal mind,” I say, lingering on her mouth with mine. “I’m tempted to take you back home and punish you for having such bad thoughts.”

“Promise? I think we still have a few boxes to check off my list.”

I grab her and pull her onto my lap. She shrieks and laughs, but I hold her ass tight and kiss her mouth hard. Anyone could walk past, but I don’t give a shit.

I want my wife, and I’m not going to be denied.

But she wriggles free after kissing me for a couple minutes.

“Don’t act like you’re shy all of a sudden,” I snarl at her.

She bats me away. “Keep focused,” she scolds, her face flushed and her lips slightly swollen. God, she looks fucking perfect. I don’t know how I’m not spending every day with her in bed.

But she’s right. We spend the afternoon watching, and when it gets close to the Bianco shift change, I drive her back to the apartment. We kiss goodbye on the threshold, and I make sure to check my gun before heading back to the parking garage. It’s around seven at night, and the Biancos will only be hanging around for another half hour—then I have a solid twenty-minute window before they’re back.

I find a parking spot and lie low. I’m taking up a resident’s space, but that’s all the better. Minutes slip past and I think about Brianne waiting for me back home, and all I want to do is go meet her as fast as possible.

She’s everything now. For a while, I was doing this for myself—for my future and for everything I’ve worked to build—but now it’s also for her. I want to give my wife the world, and I’ll be damned if I let my fucking asshole grandfather try to take that away from me.

Not after I bled to build this kingdom.

At seven thirty, I start paying closer attention. The Biancos are gone, as far as I can tell. Five minutes pass and nobody shows up. I get out of the car, grab my gear bag from the trunk, and creep around the edge of the parking garage until I reach the single camera watching the underground elevator entrance. I fish a can of black spray paint from my pack and spray over the lens, completely covering it over.

As I’m putting the can away again, the elevator dings.

Someone’s coming down. That’s good enough. I draw my gun and wait as the doors slide open. An older man steps out. He’s wearing khakis, a polo shirt, and has the look of a CEO heading out to a casual business meeting. I approach fast, gun out, and shove it against the back of his neck as I grab his arm and kick him hard in the knee.

He goes down with a gasp of pain.

I hit him hard in the side of the head with the butt of the gun. His body goes limp as he collapses to the ground. I couldn’t leave him conscious—he’d call the cops before I could get up and take care of business—and this is better than killing him. Assuming he’s not already dead. I check for a pulse, make sure he’s breathing, then drag him over to the shadows before rifling through his pockets.

His key card is right in his wallet.

I leave the poor bastard on the cold concrete as I head to the elevator doors. One swipe and they open with a friendly ding. I check my watch and whistle to myself, keeping my head down and away from the camera that’s definitely watching right now. Fifteen minutes until the next shift arrives.

Plenty of time.

Simon Bianco said the penthouse apartment. I hit the button and lean back as the car slides up with barely a jolt. Once it arrives, I step onto a quiet hallway with two doors: an A and a B.

Well, fuck.

Nobody mentioned two different apartments. I don’t know which one Pascal’s staying in, and knocking on the wrong door could tip him off. I stare at them, wasting time, before I decide to just commit myself and knock on A.

An old lady answers. She’s got short, white hair, a white blouse, white jeans, and a glass of wine in her hand. She squints at me, frowning. “Can I help you?”

“Sorry, ma’am, I believe I have the wrong apartment.”

“Are you looking for that new gentleman? The French man? Please, would you tell him that he’s very rude?”

I try not to smile. “He’s my grandfather.”

She makes a face as though something were rotting. “Then you can talk to him. I’ve never met such an unpleasant person in all my life. I say hello, he ignores me. I try to strike up conversation, he tells me in no uncertain terms that he isn’t interested in speaking. Honestly, young man, your grandfather needs manners.”

“Yes, ma’am, I agree. I’ll speak with him.” I turn to apartment B, but the old lady’s still watching.

“Really, young man, just because you’re French doesn’t mean you can treat the rest of us as though we’re not as good as you. Tell him I said that. He’s very uncouth, I’ll say, very uncouth, and I really can’t believe?—”

“Please shut the fuck up and go back inside.”

The old lady gasps. Her hand flies to her mouth. She jerks back inside and slams the door shut. I hear her jabbering away on the other side, clearly very upset, but I don’t have time for this. I listen at the door to apartment B, but there’s no sound inside. I knock once, twice, and wait. No answer.

Fucking hell. I lean my shoulder against it and try the knob. It’s definitely locked.

No other way around this.

I aim my gun at the lock and shoot until it’s a mess of wood splinters. Then I kick the door hard twice until it cracks open, catching itself on the chain. That takes another kick before it’s ripped from the wall.

“Pascal,” I say, storming into the apartment with my gun drawn. “Time to go home.”

The place is silent. It looks like it came staged: modern, clean furniture, not a speck out of place. There’s a single glass in the sink, the only proof someone’s been living here, and the TV’s on. I check the living room, the dining room, and head into the bedrooms.

Bullets slam into the wall in front of me when I reach the master. I stagger back, cursing. If Pascal weren’t so fucking old and out of shape, I suspect I’d be dead right now. Lucky for me, I bet he hasn’t done target practice in at least a decade.

“Don’t make this hard,” I snarl into the bedroom.

“You ungrateful pig,” he snaps back. “You think you can kill me? You think I’m going to roll over and die for you? After all that I’ve done. Who gave me up?”

“Shut your damn mouth and put the gun down. We don’t have to do this, Pascal.”

“I notice you’re not calling me Grandpère anymore. Have you really lost all respect, boy? I remember when you were just a sewer rat. I remember?—”

I go in low and fast, rolling into the room and coming up shooting. Pascal’s crouched on the far side of the room beside the bed and he’s startled when I charge. His shot goes wide, but mine finds the mark. It hits him in the forearm, blasting a chunk of blood and muscle into the wall behind him, and knocking the gun from his grip.

He curses in French and grabs his wounded arm to his chest. He’s bleeding all over the fucking place. Simon can bill me for the damage.

I stand over Pascal and aim the gun at his face.

He stares up at me, teeth bared. “So that’s it then? You come in here and you’re going to murder me? I gave you everything. I made you what you are today.”

“You’re wrong.” My voice is soft but I feel years of anger flowing through me. “You gave me a chance. You gave me opportunity. But I made the best of it. I built this for myself. I left France to get out from under your shadow and I proved that I don’t need you. I never fucking needed you.”

“You little shit,” he snaps. “You pathetic little shit. Go ahead, kill me. Don’t drag it out. Kill me!”

I kick him hard in the guts. He groans and rolls onto his side on the floor as I grab his weapon and toss it well out of reach. I find a length of rope and a black cloth bag at the bottom of my pack, and kneel down on Pascal’s chest as I bind his wrists behind his back.

“What are you doing?” he groans as I drag him to his feet. “Get the fuck off me. What are you doing, you bastard?”

I yank the black bag over his head.

“You’re coming with me.”

He lets out a long string of curses in French as I drag him stumbling and spitting to the front door. We step out into the hall again, and the nosy old lady’s staring at me from her doorway, her phone up to her ear.

“It’s him!” she shrieks. “It’s the Frenchman. He’s coming for me too!”

She slams the door in my face.

“Stupid lady,” I mutter and call the elevator.

“You’re making a mistake,” Pascal says as we ride back down to the parking garage. “The Biancos. They’re going to be angry.”

“Who do you think told me where you were? You really should’ve stayed in the oasis, you stubborn old fool.”

He’s breathing hard and bleeding all over the place. Part me thinks he might not make it. And another part of me doesn’t care.

We reach the garage. I drag him out and flip the card toward the man I robbed. He’s sitting up and rubbing his head, looking dizzy and barely with it. I’m not even sure he notices as I shove Pascal into my trunk.

I slam it closed on the old bastard and start driving as police sirens get closer and closer.

Two Bianco thugs are sitting in a truck out front.

Neither of them moves to stop me.