Victoria

Upon waking, I find myself alone in the middle of the bed. Instinctively, I search for my phone to check the time. It’s just after eight, so that explains why I’m feeling relatively refreshed. I notice that I have a missed call and voicemail from Dad. My heart skips a beat and I toss the phone to the bed. It’s too early to hear a message from him, so I need to compose myself for a few minutes before listening to it. After several minutes of procrastination, I feel strong enough to listen to it. I click the speakerphone button and keep my head firmly nestled in the pillow.

“Victoria,” he says, starting out the message the same way he always does. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry things haven’t worked out better between us.” There is a several-second pause before he clears his throat and continues the message. It’s honestly the closest thing to an emotion that I’ve ever witnessed from him. “To be honest with you . . . I wish things could be different, but you’ll see this is for the best.” I nearly hang up on him, but I wait to see if there is anything more. “I just want you to know that I’m sorry . . . for everything.”

My heart drops upon hearing those words and I don’t really know why. I should feel a bit better due to the fact that he apologized, but something about the way he did it had so much finality. It almost seemed like something someone would do prior to committing suicide. I click to call him back, but it goes directly to voicemail. “I just listened to your message. Give me a call. I would like to talk to you. About everything.” I hang up, knowing that I won’t receive a return phone call. I’ll get a chance to talk to him face to face soon enough. I slip out of bed and glance in the mirror at the sight of the crumpled red dress that I’m still wearing. I was too tired to get up and take it off before falling asleep. I pull a pair of shorts and a tank top from my bag and slip them on. I need a cup of coffee before I shower and get ready. I run a brush through my hair and wipe some stray mascara from the corners of my eyes. Good enough for now.

The smell of a good old-fashioned breakfast greets me as I make my way down the staircase to the kitchen. “Good morning, sunshine!” Devon says, beating Grandpa to the punch. “You were out cold when I checked on you at seven.”

“Yeah, I haven’t slept that hard in a long time,” I reply, taking the seat next to him. “I think the lack of sleep the past few nights finally caught up with me.”

“It’s because you’re back home, honey,” Grandma says, pushing a plate of pancakes and eggs in front of me. “Would you like bacon or sausage?”

“Oh, this is more than enough,” I reply, not really feeling at all hungry. “I was just looking for a good cup of coffee.”

“You need your protein,” Grandpa counters, tossing a strip of bacon and a sausage patty on my plate. “You’re going to need your strength.”

“Yeah, if I’m going to go kick some ass in New York, I might need a couple more strips of bacon,” I reply with a laugh. “By the way, Dad left me a message sometime late last night. It was weird. He was apologizing for the fact that things haven’t been better between us and for everything he said.” I turn to Grandpa, who immediately gets a sour expression.

“That’s not good.” He shakes his head, turns, and walks out of the room. That hollow feeling that I had earlier in my stomach returns with a vengeance.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s been fussing for days.” Grandma sets a cup of steaming hot coffee in front of me. It smells delicious, just like I remember from my younger days. It was her who taught me to like coffee. Two cubes of sugar and a splash of Half and Half.

“I still drink it this way,” I tell her as I pour the Half and Half in my cup and stir in the sugar cubes. “It’s kind of funny how we do things out of habit.”

“Or we just do it because we like it,” she counters, biting down on an egg sandwich. “I’ll bet I’ve had ten thousand sandwiches just like this one, but I still love them. If I don’t start my day with a good bacon and egg sandwich, I feel like I haven’t had breakfast.”

“My chef introduced your granddaughter to French cuisine last week,” Devon says after taking the last bite of his breakfast. “If we end up in Manhattan, we’ll probably have to take him with us. I brought him straight from Marseille last fall.”

“Were you in France for business or pleasure?” Grandma asks. “I always wanted to go, but Antonio was always too busy to take me.”

“I was in Naples on family business and a cousin of mine talked me into a weekend excursion into southern France,” he replies, widening his eyes. “It was the most amazing food I had ever tasted. When I found out that the chef aspired to come to the states, I hired him on the spot.”

“Well, since I probably won’t make it to France, maybe you can send me one of your favorites,” She replies, looking at me with an incredibly sad expression.

“I’ll tell you what.” I rise and put my arm around her. “When we come back, I’ll talk Devon into bringing Jacques along. There are so many wonderful things that you have to experience. It wouldn’t do them justice to send any of them.” I look over at Devon for confirmation.

“Hey, if things turn out the way we want, Jacques can spend as much time down here as he wants.” Devon gets up from the table and gives Grandma a pat on the back. “He would love to cook for you.” He gives her a smile before turning and heading out the door that Grandpa had exited through. “I’m going to see what Antonio’s up to.”

Devon

The expression that Antonio had on his face when he left the room was a little eerie. The fact that he never returned can’t be a good indication. I find him sitting in the same rocking chair as the evening before, puffing on another cigar.

“I don’t usually smoke before noon, but today I’m a little stressed,” he says as I walk over to the adjacent chair. “You want one?”

“No, I’ll just enjoy the smell of yours,” I reply honestly. “I like the smell of them a lot more than the actual taste. When I woke up this morning, it tasted like someone had shit in my mouth.”

He laughs, shaking his head and giving me a look that my father used to give me when I said something stupid. “When you get to be my age, everything kind of tastes like shit.” He smiles and takes another puff before the scowl returns to his face. “Something’s not right,” he adds in a deadly serious tone.

“Why?”

“Victor reminded me yesterday that our agreement is between my corporation and The Syndicate, not between the two of us.” He pauses, taking another long drag and slowly blowing it into the air. “I didn’t think that much of it at the time, but then he also sent an apology to Vicki.”

“And that’s bad?” I ask, not understanding the issue.

“The only time he ever apologized to Felicia was the day before she died,” he says, his scowl deepening. “She actually called me and told me all about it. She was so impressed that he had finally taken responsibility for hurting her. The next morning, we received the call that she was dead of an apparent suicide.”

“Even though she had called you and seemed happy?” I ask, immediately seeing the similarity.

“She said that it was the first time he had ever apologized to her.” He looks over at me with concerned eyes. “And obviously, it was the last.” He gets up from his chair and paces the length of the porch before stopping once again in front of me. “I wonder if he has ever apologized to Vicki before?”

“From what I’ve heard, it’s not something that he normally does,” I tell him, immediately wondering if he is planning to do something to her . . . to us. That would be the ultimate irony. We are down here planning how to get him to turn the power over to Victoria while he is up there planning how to get rid of her. “What’s your gut telling you?”

“Did you buy roundtrip tickets?” he asks, squinting against the bright morning sunlight.

“Yes. I bought the return leg for late this afternoon, knowing that I could extend it if we needed to stay longer. Why?” I ask, wondering where his thought process was heading.

“Well, since he immediately knew that you guys were down here . . .” he says, the creases in his forehead becoming even more well-defined. “Lets take a walk.” He walks in silence to the stairway and doesn’t say another word until we’re well away from the house. “I’m starting to think that he’s got this place bugged somehow.”

“When was the last time he was down here?” I ask out of curiosity.

“He hasn’t been here for years in person, but he’s always sending pilots down here to pick up product and drop off cash. Some of them I know, and others I don’t,” he replies, sounding as if he’s in deep thought. “There was a new one last week. He came up to the house to drop off the cash because I was caring for Val.” He stops and looks back at the house, shaking his head in disgust. “Val is always accusing me of being paranoid, but this is what happens when you let your guard down.” He takes one last puff of his cigar before throwing it to the ground. “Son of a bitch! If this place is bugged, he most likely heard our conversations yesterday.”

The look on his face matches the feeling in my gut. The thought of Victor hearing us plot against him is the absolute worst-case scenario. “Good God, I hope there is another explanation. Maybe someone at the airport saw us and tipped him off. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s had people following us back home. I’ve had several run-ins with the Irish mob in the past week.”

“Ah, the Irish Mob.” Antonio gives an amused look. “I always thought it would’ve been fun to be part of the old Sicilian Mafia. I really enjoyed The Godfather.”

“Well, Victor is as close to the real deal as anyone,” I gasp, amazed that he doesn’t realize that he’s the American version. “He runs the whole eastern seaboard. You know that. I’ve heard that the two of you supply over forty percent of the coke for the entire U.S.” I stare at him, looking for confirmation.

“Yeah.” He waves his hand in the air. “But it’s not nearly as interesting as in the movies. All I do is buy off politicians who promise to keep the path smooth and hire a small army of mercenaries to keep any intruders off the property. Other than that, I spend most of my time trying to figure out what to buy with all of the money we make. Luckily, it’s easier now that Victor has that food service business. I’ve grown to be one of the biggest real estate owners in the city of New York.”

“Yeah, that’s what Victoria was telling me,” I concur. “She said she spends most of her time buying distribution centers and investment properties for you guys.”

“Yes. It’s a good setup. That’s why I can’t believe he’s going to throw it all away by bringing that riffraff into the picture.” He shakes his head again while looking out at the vast fields of cash crop. “It’s just a fucking shame.”

“That’s why she wants to get back and talk with him as soon as possible,” I tell him, looking at the time. “Is there anything you need to discuss with us before we take off?” I assume that he is going to share the neurotoxins with us and give us an idea of the best way to use them. It’s not the kind of thing that you want to go into flying blind.

“We’ll stop by my lab and I’ll give you the best one. It mimics TTX, so it immediately affects the respiratory system, the lips, and tongue, as well as upper arm strength. It really is the ultimate negotiation tool,” he says with the steely look of a man who knows a thing or two about bare-knuckled negotiation tactics.

At the lab, he goes into a cabinet and pulls out two tiny vials, one containing a finely ground white crystalline powder and the other one a pink version. “Call Vicki and tell her to come down here, and I’ll go over how I would play it. No one has ever been in here except me and the man who designed these, so I know there aren’t any bugs in here,” he adds, pulling up a seat at the long, white lab table.

“Are you familiar with TTX?” he asks me while we’re waiting for her.

“No, I’ve never heard of it,” I admit. “Poisoning someone has never been my thing.”

“The toxin comes from the puffer fish and a few other exotic sea creatures. Some Japanese businessmen I know consider puffer fish to be a delicacy. They like to get just enough of the toxin to make their lips tingle.” He turns his head and watches Vicki as she walks toward us. “God, she looks like her mother.”

“I noticed that in the pictures in your hallway.”

“She’s got a much stronger personality though.” He shrugs his eyebrows. “Which is a good thing in this day and age. Girls need to be tough.”

“Who needs to be tough?” Victoria furrows her brow as she comes through the door.

“He was just saying that in today’s world, girls need to be tough,” I explain.

“Then I should be all set,” she replies with a grin. “What are these?” She picks up the two vials from the lab table.

“The white one is a neurotoxin that acts like TTX, so it leads to muscle weakness and will make the victim slur,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone. “The pink vial is the antidote.” He stands up and motions for Victoria to take his seat. “The white powder can be injected, inhaled, swallowed, or it can even penetrate a small skin abrasion, so it’s incredibly versatile. And believe me, your victim will believe that they are in immediate peril. Especially if they know anything about TTX. I would try to have dinner with your father and his son. That will give you multiple opportunities to add it to food or drink. You can also add it to a cigar, but be careful that you don’t inhale any of the smoke. Also, be careful not to get this on your skin, especially if you have cuts.”

“What are those?” she asks, pointing to a couple of space age-looking guns hanging on the wall.

“Those are my tranquilizer guns. I use those for taking care of the Jaguarondi that come around here occasionally.” He looks at both of us as if we should know what that means. “They’re smaller versions of a cougar or mountain cat that scare the shit out of the workers. Val doesn’t want me shooting them, so I tranquilize them and a guy takes them over to the game reserve.”

“Cool, what kind of tranquilizer do you use?” Victoria asks, seeming intrigued by the idea.

“I use a combination of ketamine and xylazine,” he tells her. “Knocks them out pretty quickly and makes it easy to transport them. But it wears off pretty quickly too, so we have to get them moved within twenty minutes.”

“That’s interesting.” She pulls out her phone and takes a picture of the gun before sticking it back into her pocket. “How close do you have to get to the cats?”

“Oh, they say you can shoot from thirty meters, but I try to get within twenty because I’m not that great of a shot anymore. It’s got a laser on it though, so you just point and shoot.” Without so much as a pause, Antonio goes back to talking about how he would introduce the neurotoxins to Victor and Eduardo, but I can tell that Victoria is on an alternate line of thought. If she could shoot her father from thirty meters, that would be preferential. The problem, though, is that he is one of the most well-protected men in the world, so the odds of her being able to get any type of gun within thirty meters of him is pure fantasy.