Page 47 of A Life Chosen

“Well, fuck me,” Tony said with a smirk. “Why am I surprised you’re not sitting back and cooling your heels? Let me talk to De Luca. You grease the wheels with Giovanni. We’ll need council buy-in.”

Mathias hid a smile. Family politics be damned. Just a whiff of cold hard cash was enough to get Tony off his ass.

It was almost ten on a Sunday morning, and Rayan found himself still in bed. All the downtime was messing with his regular routine. Mathias had left for Hamilton two days earlier after instructing him to go and see Tony at the office on Monday.

He lay under the duvet, the room cold enough to discourage a trip to the kitchen for food. There was the faint stirring of an erection he could coax to life if given the necessary attention. On the bedside table, his phone began to buzz. Rayan reached out and pulled it to his ear.

“I need you to do something.”

No longer just a stirring. Mathias’s voice—flat, authoritative—had the effect of sending all the blood rushing between Rayan’s legs.

“There’s a safe in the wardrobe at the apartment,” Mathias continued.

Rayan knew the one.

“Code is eighteen, fifty-six, thirty-two, oh seven.”

He repeated the numbers, committing them to memory.

“Right. Take out a couple grand, two—no, three—grand. Put it in an envelope. Drop it off at 2087 Saint Urbain.” There was a rush of static. It sounded like he was driving. “She hates the envelopes,” Mathias muttered, his frustration evident. “Put it in with something else—a bag of fruit or a fucking baguette.”

Rayan raised an eyebrow. “Okay.”

There was a pause, longer than expected. “I didn’t stop by before leaving,” Mathias said finally. “Just check in, make sure everything’s all right.”

Before Rayan could ask who he was checking on, Mathias hung up. Rayan glanced at the blackened screen and tossed the phone onto the bed. He reached beneath the covers, first needing to resolve a more pressing matter.

When Rayan showed up at 2087 Saint Urbain later that afternoon, an older woman opened the door. As he met her pale-blue eyes, it was clear she was Mathias’s mother. The man had her nose and the same strong chin. Rayan realized he was staring and handed her the paper bag of apples, not sure whether he should offer an explanation. In the bag, he’d stowed the envelope of cash taken from the fortune Mathias had locked away in his safe. While the stack of money didn’t have an effect on Rayan, Mathias’s trust in him did. The safe held not only cash but also bond certificates, several foreign passports, identity cards, and title documents. And Mathias had given him the code as flippantly as he would his lunch order. It was pathetic how good that made Rayan feel.

As it turned out, no explanation was needed. Mathias’s mother, with what he could only imagine to be a perfect Parisian accent, invited him in for coffee.

“He said to expect someone,” she said, busying herself in the kitchen, her long silk dress swaying as she moved.

She wore lipstick and pearl studs. Her hair was arranged deliberately. She looked like she should be holding court rather than making coffee. He watched as she tookthe envelope from the bag and slipped it into a pile of unopened mail on the counter.

“But I didn’t expect…” She paused, turning to him. “You don’t look like the rest of them. What’s your name?”

“Rayan Nadeau.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Nadeau. I’m Marguerite.” She opened the refrigerator door and peered inside. “Do you take milk?”

“No, thank you.”

“Where are you from?”

“Maskinongé.”

She laughed then. “But you’re not Quebecois!”

He smiled, not correcting her.

She filled a kettle with water at the sink. “Did you know he’s left the city?”

Rayan nodded.

She exhaled sharply, snapping the lid shut. “I suppose everyone knew but me. All I can hope is that one day, his children will be equally ungrateful.”

Rayan could only imagine the woman’s disappointment when that particular reparation did not come to pass.

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