Page 65 of Absinthe Minded

“I appreciate that, if not for Gabe’s sake, then for my sister’s children.”

“You’re a talented young woman. Too talented to be writing fluff for a local magazine. If you ever decide to spread your wings, I hope you know I would write you one hell of a reference letter.”

Ah yes, the old follow your dreams speech. What was it with people using it while trying to get rid of me? It stung, and that pissed me off. “If I’m so talented why were you about to fire me not too long ago?”

Marlena tilted her head. “To force you to come up with something new, or to push you into looking for a position that will challenge you.”

“Thanks, but I have all the challenges I need right now.”If she only knew.

“Being engaged to Gabe Marchionni will do that.” She winked and walked away.

I waited until she disappeared around the corner and opened Shanna’s file.

An hour later, I’d created a list of over twenty known associates of the Marchionni family who’d been convicted of crimes ranging from racketeering to RICO violations to murder. Another dozen or so associates had died violent deaths or were missing.

I flipped to the police reports concerning my sister’s death. Page after page of descriptions of the scene, my sister and brother-in-law, the car—crushed bodies, severed brake lines, broken lives.

One name caught my attention, Chantal DuBois. Papa Joe named her as a disgruntled business partner, but the woman had an alibi the night of the accident. Papa Joe believed someone had murdered them. The reports all but agreed, and yet the police had ruled it an accident.

By the time I’d finished reading, I knew two things for certain—I needed to find out who was making the threatening phone calls, and I needed to talk to Gabe.

22

Gabe

After my disastrous morning,I’d called in reinforcements. Hildie, mine and my brothers’ former nanny, arrived within the hour, which freed me up to do my father’s bidding.

I glanced at the man sitting next to me—a man about to take his last breath.

“Please. If I could explain.” Artie Guzman, accountant at the Marchionni Corporation for the previous six years, smelled like tuna fish and cheap cologne.

I’d never done this sort of thing, but I’d hung around people who had since I’d started sprouting pubic hair. Tough guys, the kind you wouldn’t want to sit next to on a bus, who seldom spoke and rarely smiled. The type of man I never wanted myself or my brothers to become.

I clenched my jaw and stared straight ahead.

Artie Guzman had no wife or kids or family other than two prize-winning poodles. I knew this because he’d reached for his wallet to show me a picture of his dogs a split second before my father’s go-to-guy broke Artie’s fingers.

“I didn’t mean anything by it. It was a joke in the break room. Accountant humor.” His voice warbled between terror and laughter. “I didn’t steal anything.”

Every criminal sang the I-didn’t-do-it tune, but this felt different. I believed him. It took serious balls to steal from a man like my father. Artie Guzman didn’t seem the type.

The thug beside him slammed his fist into Artie’s jaw hard enough to break bone. Blood and spit splattered across my six-hundred-dollar Ralph Lauren dress shirt.

I focused on a drop of crimson on the back of the seat in front of me and thought about Maggie. Her smile. Her laugh. Her hair. Then I thought about my father and his possible motives for ordering this murder. Was Guzman a pawn in Papa Joe’s plan to rope me into the business?

The driver came to a stop. No longer able to speak, Artie’s moans turned to howls.

I glanced at my phone. An image of Maggie and Ella smiled at me from the screen.DearGod, I can’t allow this.

“You ready, boss?” My father’s guy stepped out and tugged the accountant toward him.

I stepped from the car; humid Louisiana air and the musty odor of swamp hit me like a freight train. I squared my shoulders and walked to the back bumper. I had the beginnings of a plan, but I had no way of knowing how the other men would react. “Stay here. I’ll handle this alone.”

The large man arched a skeptical brow. “He’s bleeding. I’ll drag him down to the river for you. No sense in ruining your fancy clothes.”

I motioned for him to get on with it.

Artie went, but he didn’t go quietly. I wondered if I’d behave the same way in his shoes. I would like to think I’d have more dignity, but no one knew how they’d react to being kidnapped and dragged to their death.

---