Page 31 of A Life Betrayed

“Right,” Rayan said, averting his gaze.

Mathias let out a reluctant sigh and leaned back in his seat. “Angelo Caravella was one of De Luca’s captains a couple years ago. He made a name for himself taking risks, but he got too cocky, and the cops started snooping around. They didn’t go to him direct—they came after his contacts—the ones more likely to roll over. Then they started singling out people closer to the family. Word gets to the council then the boss, and soon, Caravella stops showing up. The family acts like the man never existed. The cops can’t get a case together, and eventually, they back off. Still, Caravella’s nowhere to be found—disappeared completely. That’s what happens when you get too much of the wrong kind of attention.”

Rayan knew now why Franco had bristled at Mathias’s warning.

“You would do well to remember that, Rayan,” his capo said, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “You’re part of something bigger than yourself. Like the boss, I won’t hesitate to remove a weak link from the chain.”

It was late when Mathias let himself into the safe house. Since Rayan’s unexpected reappearance in Montreal, he’d found his attention splintered—which was dangerous, especially with so much in the air. He needed his head on straight if he was to figure out how to get them through this mess. But when he’d stopped by the apartment with supplies the previous evening, Rayan had seemed unusually thrown. Mathias hadfelt compelled to return that night, if only to assuage his own nagging concern.

The lights were off, and he assumed Rayan must have gone to bed. So he was surprised to see a darkened figure in the kitchen when he closed the front door behind him.

“You keep this place well stocked.” Rayan’s speech was slower than usual, and Mathias spotted an open bottle of Macallan on the counter.

Mathias took off his coat and hung it by the door. “Figured if I ever got holed up here, I’d want the essentials.” He walked into the kitchen, prized the half-empty glass of scotch from Rayan’s hand, and downed the remainder. “It’s late. You should sleep.”

“Why? It’s not like I have anything to do tomorrow.”

“You have work to finish.”

“Work?” Rayan gave a short laugh. “That’s not work.”

“It’s not nothing.”

“It’s pointless bullshit.”

They stood across from one another, the light from the window illuminating Rayan’s face, tired and hostile. “It doesn’t suit you,” Mathias said.

“Maybe I’ve always been a drunk,” Rayan said with a lazy half smile. “Just waiting to live up to my potential.”

“Giving up,” Mathias corrected him. “It doesn’t suit you.”

Rayan’s smile disappeared, and his eyes glinted. “I don’t know why I didn’t try it sooner. Life has shown me over and over again it’s not worth the effort. About time I took the hint.”

Mathias placed the empty glass down on the counter, put a hand on Rayan’s shoulder, and guided him toward the bedroom. He would deal with this tomorrow when the man had sobered up. They made it to the end of the hall when Rayan reached for him, his hands presumptuous and demanding.

Mathias was in no mood. “That’s enough,” he said, growing annoyed.

“I don’t get to fuck angry?” Rayan retorted. “Hasn’t stopped you.”

Mathias grabbed his arm, stilling him. “You want to fuck angry?” he murmured, his face inches from Rayan’s own. “I’ll make it so you can’t walk tomorrow.”

There was the slightest flicker in Rayan’s eyes that gave him away, an almost imperceptible flinch as Mathias called his bluff. Enough to cool the sudden flare of anger. Mathias let him go, and Rayan stepped back, glaring at him.

“Did you know about my brother?”

“About what?”

“The investigation into his death.”

“Peripherally,” Mathias said, remaining tactful. “Enough to be sure nothing came back to the family.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Mathias asked, narrowing his eyes. “That they found him washed up ten miles down the Saint Lawrence? That the cops launched a half-assed inquiry into how some junkie ended up with a hole in his chest—” He stopped when he saw the look on Rayan’s face.

“I saw him,” Rayan muttered. “Allen showed me. There were photos.”

Mathias understood then. The scotch, the dark smudges beneath Rayan’s eyes, the shadow of the man unearthed from the past. He silently cursed the meddling bitch.

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