Page 75 of A Life Chosen

Mathias stared at him, a coldness settling over his features. “This has to stop.”

Rayan blinked.This?

“The family, my role—it’s changing. This was a lapse in judgment. Now it stops.”

Rayan heard a rush in his ears. Mathias continued to speak, but only some words made it through the noise. “I’m transferring you to Denis Larrivée, the booking head in Quebec City. He’ll take you on as a favor. Starting next month.”

“A favor?” Rayan echoed in disbelief.

“With your arm, you’re no use in the field, and I can’t justify the dead weight. The options are limited. At least you’ll be working.”

It came as a flurry of hits, each one harder than the next. He’d been tossed aside like he was nothing.

“Mathias…” he said, if only to stop the volley. He couldn’t think. His mind was frozen.

Mathias’s eyes narrowed with growing frustration.

Does he expect me to simply agree and walk away from the only thing in my life that matters?

“We’re done,” Mathias pronounced curtly.

A numbness crept into Rayan’s chest, stealing his breath. And then one thing became clear, rising above the mess. Words he’d swallowed again and again, too afraid to give them voice.

“I’ve loved you for years,” Rayan said, his throat constricting. “That doesn’t stop because you say it does.”

The admission, the first said aloud, shocked them both into silence. Mathias opened his mouth to speak but said nothing. The stillness was deafening. Something unnameable flickered in his gray eyes.

Then his face darkened, lips curling into a sneer. “You think that’s what this is?” he scoffed. “What would you know about love?”

Rayan’s stomach seized. Then came the surge of anger. Mathias was blind to the ways he excised his own feelings.

“More than you.”

Mathias stiffened, the mask slipping to reveal a glimpse of the man beneath. But it disappeared in an instant, and Rayan found himself face-to-face with the stony glare he’d seen employed on countless jobs—menacing and dangerous, a look that whittled those who encountered it down to nothing.

“I’m done with you, Rayan,” Mathias said quietly. “I don’t need you anymore.”

Rayan could say nothing, words abandoning him.

“Understand? This ends.”

Rayan felt as though he inhabited a space outside his body. He could not make Mathias keep him.

“Do you understand?” Mathias asked again, anger lifting his voice.

Rayan spoke without hearing the words. “I understand.”

Mathias drove through the streets of downtown Montreal on his way to see the boss. After months of clandestine meetings, it was strange to be invited to Giovanni’s home, treated like an honored guest. Jacques had settled in well, undeterred at having to leave Hamilton behind. He seemed determined to get his stripes, hungry for the potential of life amid family ranks. While Mathias couldn’t fault the man, he found himself newly cautious. Ambition, greed, power—all were accepted currencies in his world, yet they brought the potential for corruption and betrayal. It only served to highlight how completely he’d trusted his former second, someone unconcerned with such things.

Catching himself, Mathias shuffled the thoughts quickly and forced them to the back of his mind. It was a temporary exercise, leaving him exposed for when they inevitably rose again, like a dense fog, clouding his vision.

While Jacques remained unranked, Mathias preferred to keep him out of the more intimate discussions of family affairs. That day, Mathias had left him at the Collections office, figuring Franco could use the help. There was a gaping hole where Tony had once been, and almost three months after his death, they were no closer to determining his replacement.

It was still dangerous for Mathias to be out alone. A small minority continued to resist the boss’s newfound clout in the city. That was to be expected. Five decades was long enough for the groove to run deep. But Mathias took his chances, less concerned these days with his own safety and more with getting the job done. It was simpler that way. Mathias operated far more efficiently when he scrubbed away the weaker parts of himself—desire, hope. No more blind spots.

In his pocket, Mathias felt the buzz of his phone. He pulled it out, not recognizing the number.

“It’s Serge.” The man’s voice crackled in his ear.

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