Page 25 of The Butcher

This was the part where I bragged about all the fucking I did with his wife, but I had too much respect for her to say a word. I wouldn’t rub my conquest in his face, not when I had to drag her name through the mud to accomplish that.

“She doesn’t mean shit to you—and I love her. So stay the fuck out of my relationship, alright? You claim to be the Justice of Paris, but you’re bedding another man’s wife when he’s trying to put that marriage back together. Fucking hypocritical.”

“You would have been divorced if you hadn’t stopped her paperwork—to be fair.”

With a burning anger in his eyes, he clenched his jaw. “Are you going to step off or not?”

I barely knew the woman. I’d had good sex, some that I paid for and others that were free, but with her, it was different. Couldn’t explain it. But her situation was complicated, and the timing just wasn’t right. “I’ll bow out. But if she comes to me, she’s fair game.”

The restaurant had closed to the public, but I walked inside like I owned the place—because I did. All the tables were crammed together, but they were empty of plates and already wiped down for the night.

Manuel stood at the bar, and he greeted me with a nod before he headed to the back. The kitchen staff was still working after the rush they’d had. From what I’d been told, reservations started a month out.

Guess the place was good.

There was a lone table in the middle, the only one that was easily accessible and not pushed up against others. I made myself a drink at the bar then sat down. The street outside was a one-way road, and sometimes people passed the window. It was a cold evening, but I got warm as I walked, so I hardly ever wore a jacket, not unless it snowed.

I sat there and drank my wine, listening to the chef yell at the staff because he yelled at everyone. He was a good cook, so I let him run his kitchen however the fuck he wanted.L’Ami Jeanwas an old establishment, one of the oldest restaurants in the city, even before the Second World War. I bought it because I wanted to keep it exactly the same forever. History and legacy were important to me—and not just because the blood of the nobility ran in my veins.

Minutes later, my guest joined me, wearing a pea coat like a goddamn pussy. He barely looked at me before he took a seat across from me, dark hair and eyes, an ugly scar over his lefteyebrow where a hook had dug into his flesh years ago. He looked at Manuel and ordered him around like he was his own employee. “Make me a drink, son.”

Manuel looked at me.

I nodded.

Manuel poured him a glass of wine before he set it on the table.

He took a sip before he finally looked at me. “Butcher.”

“Darius.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Hope you have good news.”

“I do. We resolved our shipping disputes and have prepared the payment.”

“Good.”

He pulled out his phone, did some typing, and then passed the screen to me.

I checked the funds before I hit send and slid it back.

He did it again, calculated the total, and slid it across the table toward me.

I eyed it, making sure the details of the sender were encrypted before I hit send and handed it back.

Darius dropped the phone into his pocket. “I appreciate your patience.”

“I appreciate you doing your job. Less work for me—and my knife.”

He smirked as he reached into his jacket and grabbed a cigar before he lit up.

I’d had enough for the day, so I didn’t join him.

“Lemme ask you something, Butcher.”

“I suspected something was coming down the pipeline.” Most of these transactions didn’t happen in person. In the digital age and in my special line of business, physical goods were unnecessary.

“You could make a lot more if you cut ties with the Fifth Republic. A lot more.”

“I’m aware.”

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