Page 30 of A Life Betrayed

Rayan dropped the lawyer off at the municipal police station and then parked the Mercedes across the street to wait. Beside him, his capo rolled down the window and idly tapped out acigarette, watching the trickle of people moving in and out of the building. Twenty minutes later, Franco—looking slightly worse for wear—emerged from the station, accompanied by a smug-faced Dubois.

“He sent you,” Franco sneered when he reached the car and stopped beside the open passenger window. “Big surprise.”

“A little more of that gratitude, and I’ll leave you here,” Mathias replied stonily, flicking the butt of his smoke at Franco’s feet before turning to address the lawyer. “Appreciate the favor, Dubois. Payment will be forthcoming.”

“Pleasure doing business with you fine fellows. Until next time.” Dubois grinned and raised his hand to hail down a passing taxi.

Franco got into the back seat, and Rayan started the engine. He pulled the car out onto the road and joined the line of vehicles inching through downtown traffic.

“Franco,” Mathias said flatly as they made their way past the convention center.

“Yeah, it was stupid,” the man muttered.

“It’s more than that. You can be stupid without drawing attention to yourself,” Mathias scolded. “Caravella should’ve been enough of a deterrent.”

“You had to bring up Angelo fucking Caravella,” Franco growled.

“You seem intent on following in his footsteps. Keep this up, and Franco Ricci will be the next name thrown around as a warning.”

“All right, all right,” Franco said. “What do I owe you?”

“My fucking morning back,” Mathias snapped. “You can take the money up with Tony.”

“Ah, Christ,” Franco said with a grimace. “Do you know what a pain in the ass it is owing that man money?”

“I think our clients have a fair idea.” Mathias smirked. “Never been dumb enough to have the privilege myself.”

Free from the worst of the congestion, Rayan merged onto Pie-IX Boulevard and headed toward Rosemont.

“Back before your time, Tony never would have trusted anyone with something like this,” Franco said. “But now it’s all Beauvais this, Beauvais that. You’re the closest one to figuring out how he runs the joint.”

“Only because he hates getting off his ass,” Mathias scoffed. “So he sends me out like a trained monkey.”

“Because he trusts you,” Franco retorted. “And he sure as hell doesn’t trust the rest of us. Even though I’ve been working for him since you were in fucking prep school. You should know what that means.”

Rayan turned the car down a narrow street beside Marché Jean-Talon and shot his boss a furtive glance. Mathias was staring out the window, silent.

“You know he’s going to give it to you,” Franco continued.

“What?”

“Collections.”

“I don’t want it,” Mathias said curtly.

Rayan had a feeling Mathias’s eyes were on a bigger prize. He pulled the Mercedes up outside Franco’s house.

“How’d you—” Franco laughed and leaned forward to clap him on the shoulder. “Shit, I always forget this one drove for me. Nadeau, isn’t it?”

Rayan nodded.

“He doesn’t forget much,” Mathias remarked, and Rayan tempered the swell of pride at his capo’s indirect praise. “Get yourself cleaned up. Tony’s expecting you back at the office.”

Franco muttered a string of curses, stepped out of the car, and slammed the door behind him.

“Who’s Angelo Caravella?” Rayan asked as they drove back toward the Collections office.

Mathias gave him a sharp look. “At least give the impression you’re not listening in.”

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