Page 44 of A Life Chosen
“I’ve brought Cesare with me. He manages the office.”
An older man with small dark eyes sidled up beside Moretti, mouth pulled into a scowl. He didn’t offer his hand. Cesare was well below his station yet failed to show the proper respect. Mathias was starting to get a feel for the place. It wasn’t just the local drug lords he needed to be wary of.
He gestured toward his second. “This is Rayan.”
Fortunately, Moretti spared him a hand-drenching shake, instead clapping him firmly on the shoulder. “Let’s talk inside,” the departing regional head said.
Moretti scaled the front steps and walked up to the building’s entrance, fumbling in his pocket for the keys. Mathias felt sorry for whomever would be saddled with this man on his return to Montreal. How a guy like Moretti got to head a regional office was a mystery.
Except, Mathias thought, jaw tightening,aren’t I here, too, accepting my consolation prize?Perhaps that was how the family managed to keep people in Hamilton—by showering them with undeserved promotions.
His vision tunneled, the realization fixing him in place. That was what this was. The title hung around his neck like a noose. The whole position had been tarnished from its very inception. No doubt, the elite in Montreal were laughing behind his back, just as he had looked down on Moretti. To think he’d worked hard to move up every rung, one step at a time, and now he’d made it tovangelistabut at the cost of the reputation he’d fought so hard to preserve.
Rayan appeared at his side. “Boss?” he asked quietly.
Mathias nodded, gesturing for Moretti to go first. He couldn’t bear to look at the pathetic man’s face any longer. They entered the lobby of the building and headed to the stairwell. The place was a mess—peeling wallpaper, scuffed floors. He gripped the banister hard in an effort to steady himself. As Rayan walked by him on the stairs, he caught Mathias’s eye, an unspoken exchange passing between them.
The plate outside the door declared it Hamilton Central Contracting. Inside was a disheveled room that smelled of old cigarette smoke. Shelves lined the wall, buckling under the weight of stacks of paper, unmarked folders, and bits of junk. There was a single desk in the far corner, with the rest of the office set up as some sort of recreational space. Chairs were spread out haphazardly, empty beer bottles stacked beside them. Poker chips and playing cards covered a large crate that doubled as a table.
“How many men do you have working here?” Mathias asked, his eyes crawling around the room, discovering one small horror after the next.
Moretti shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Not sure. There’s some coming and going. We’ve been down the past couple months. Three, four? Cesare?”
Four men running a territory of this size? No wonder they’re barely breaking even.
Cesare gave a grunt. “Something like that.”
Mathias frowned. The man ran the office but had no idea who worked there. “Where are you recruiting?”
“Most kids who make money like this have a bad reason for spending it.”
“You hire dopeheads, and you’re surprised they’re unreliable?”
Cesare glowered at him, but Mathias refused to look away.
Moretti laughed. “Things are a little different here. You’ll learn.”
Mathias bristled at the condescension. “I’d like to meet with Truman. When can you make the introduction?”
“Will Truman?” Moretti asked, shaking his head. “I’d stay away from him.”
Mathias raised an eyebrow, incredulous. “The Reapers hold the port here. They determine what comes in and out of the city. Why would I avoid him?”
Moretti shrugged. “Our business is on the strip. Porn shops, shake joints, the odd payday lender. The family doesn’t deal with the Reapers. They’re scum.”
“And how much of our business kicks back to Truman? I’ve seen the books. He’s gouging us.”
Moretti laughed again. He seemed to think a lot was funny. “Look, Beauvais, this isn’t Montreal. We don’t run this town. So we play by the rules. Pick up our bit on the side and call it a day.”
“The Hamilton division hasn’t run a profit in almost two years. Either he’s fucking us over, or whatever’s brought in is lining someone else’s pockets.”
The air in the room shifted. The grin was gone from Moretti’s face. “What are you implying?”
Mathias had his suspicions. Maybe the reason the region hadn’t been profitable wasn’t just due to Moretti’s blind incompetence. He shrugged. “You tell me.”
Moretti’s eyes darkened. “They said you were an upstart. You should know by now who’s who in this family. Mind your respect.”
The earlier swirl of self-doubt dissipated, a single-minded clarity surfacing. “I don’t give a fuck who you are,” Mathias said stonily.
