“It’s okay. I got you back. Are you hurt?”
Shivering, Joshua shook his head.
“We’ll discuss everything about this shit and your love shack scenario later. Go with Sunny before you freeze your balls off.”
Sniffling, Joshua walked away with Sunny as Julius walked over to the body. In the background, the distinct sound of sirens drew close. He searched the man’s features for any recognition and came up with nothing. “Anyone know him?” he asked and got a bunch of no’s.
Whiskey approached carrying a big fucking gun.
“You have another man out here?” Edwards asked.
Whiskey nodded and stepped right up to the body, studied it briefly and shook his head. “No. Don’t know him. Probably Russian mafia.” Even close, Whiskey remained a mystery beneath a hoodie and a mask on the lower half of his face. “He wasn’t on my radar. Fuck.”
“Clusterfuck is more like it! How did they know when and where to strike? How did they know?” Julius demanded.
“It’s Thanksgiving. Unless you’re a douche and disowned by your loved ones, more people are with family. Since you don’t have any and your woman does, it seems reasonable you would be with her family on the national holiday. Factor in you moved her family to this not-so-secret location, and voila, one plus one equals two, divide by some common sense, and you have your answer.” Whiskey snorted, his attention remained focused on the dead man.
Yeah, Julius had his answer alright. Just not an answer he liked and there was nothing he could do about it.
Whiskey straightened. “I need to call in more people. The price just went up.”
Julius got in his face. “I don’t give a damn about the fucking price. This ends now.”
“Patience.” Whiskey backed away. “He’s lost a trusted minion and didn’t gain anything for it. He’s on the back foot. Defense instead of offense. He’s gonna go underground for a bit and strike again. This time we stage where it will be and trap him.”
Whatever it took. “Get. It. Done.”
Red, white, and blue lights raced up the long driveway. Whiskey’s answer was a whistle followed by a sharp pivot. He took off at a jog, vanishing into the night, as tires screeched and car doors opened and slammed closed. The authorities had arrived—police, fire, and an ambulance.
“What’s the story?” Edwards asked.
“The truth. We tell them everything except Whiskey. The chopper blew up. Don’t know how. Don’t know why.”
“You got it, boss.” Edwards murmured something into a microphone. Julius didn’t listen. His mind was focused on Calista coming his way fast. Scotts and a few other guards couldn’t keep up. He had to protect them. Whatever it takes.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I n disgust, Alezandar Karpovilov tossed his cell phone onto his Louis XV desk. That was his best shot at getting the boy and killing Morgan. His best shot at gaining control of Morgan International, JMI Capital, and JMI Head Funds, once their stocks tanked after Julius’ death. His chance to go legit, in a fashion, had just imploded.
“Fuck!”
His entire operation would’ve expanded worldwide. Morgan International’s biotech division was worth four billion and growing in emerging markets, until Lynda Morgan had taken it over and lost almost fifty percent in bad management with her fashion house folly. The manufacturing division had suffered a hit with an earthquake in Indonesia and flooding in Thailand. No market could insulate against the unpredictability of Mother Nature. Add the drop in the oil markets and Morgan International wasn’t the only company in a slump. It was vulnerable for a hostile takeover. Bought, it could be broken apart and sold for a huge profit. That was his intention. With all that American money, Alezandar could legally start another business on U.S. soil and no one could stop him.
All his plans dangled out of reach because Joshua Morgan refused to heel and Julius Morgan refused to die.
He opened his laptop and started an encrypted message when one came through from Salinky.
Harden Gage encroaching on territory. Instructions?
That half Irish bastard. He’d made a deal with the Mexicans, doubling his territory without a bloodbath. Money laundering, and drugs. The man could’ve been an ally or, at the very least, an asset. He had skills, skills he used against Alezandar. Unacceptable. Harden wasn’t in the flesh trade but owned several legit clubs, most high-end. Rumors were he was a friend to Julius Morgan. It was time for a distraction. A distraction which could work in Alezandar’s favor. Timed correctly, two birds with one stone would be dead. Harden Gage and Julius Morgan. But how? The answer came to him, an answer he had been quietly working on for some time. And with more than enough money in his coffers, any palm could be greased. Everyone had a number. You just had to put enough zeroes behind it.
Kirov and Nilisky failed to snatch the boy. Both dead. Kill Julius. Boy can be snatched later.
Harden would be dealt with in a different, more personal way.
Alezandar sent the message as the insistent click of Lynda’s stilettos alerted him of her presence seconds prior to her barging into the room and shoving her phone under his nose. The woman had no manners, no class, no finesse, no interpersonal skills, and only a rudimentary education. She was unsuitable to be his fucking maid, yet, through her son, owned billions, proving justice and fairness were incompatible in everyday life.
He took the phone from her and held it at arm’s length. “My love, what are you attempting to show me?”
Exasperated, she sighed and pointed at the screen. “He has a pregnant fiancée. What is it your mafias always say? You take from me. I take from you. He took my son from me. I’ll take his son from him. I want that baby. And I want him to live long enough to know I have his child and to mourn its loss. Then he can die.”
Alezandar studied the possessive hand on the woman’s rounded stomach and the proud glint in Julius’ eyes, and nodded. This was good. There was nothing more vulnerable than a pregnant woman. Nothing more precious than an unborn child. All that hope and anticipation in one tiny bundle. For both, a man would do anything, give up everything. A man unlike himself who wouldn’t give a damn if the mother of his child were killed as long as it saved his life. Women and children were commodities to be used and discarded. Not cherished. It was a hard, cold lesson he’d learned twenty years ago in the alleys of Saint Petersburg.
He studied the picture again and noted the establishment they exited. Catalyst. The newest possession of that Irish upstart bastard. The thorn in his side. Were they friends? Acquaintances? He had to find out.
A plan formed, one that would clear the board of all his enemies. It wouldn’t be easy. A bit of luck would have to be on their side, but it could be done. Julius Morgan didn’t need to die when he could be controlled, used, then disposed.
Alezandar scrutinized the whore who’d brought him this valuable piece of information. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. “As you wish, my love.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
T hree weeks later and the FBI still had questions. They had taken over the case hours after the helicopter crash. Calista had feigned ignorance, which wasn’t a lie. She wasn’t there, and that had pissed her off. They weren’t sure if the FBI bought the story Julius conjured. Calista suspected the only reason Julius and entourage weren’t under arrest was because the FBI was watching and hoping to catch the hitman in the act. Maybe they’d be able to flip him. Not likely, but they were allowed to dream.
The last three weeks had been…difficult. The FBI aside, being stuck in the penthouse, twenty-four hours a day, her and Joshua alone most of the time, no matter how pretty the cage, it was still a cage.
Julius worked from home most of the time. That helped her and did little for Joshua. Five days in and he’d had enough. His whining fell on deaf ears. Sunny threatened to pistol-whip him if he didn’t man up. It got better once Virgil could play Fortnite with him. Morning, noon, and night, they were together. Virgil was the friend he needed for
the time being. Rebecca gave great advice on parenting. Myths and truths. What had worked with her kids and what hadn’t. Calista picked her brain for any tidbit that would help her not completely fuck her kid up.
The same people day in and day out. The continuity was gratifying. The seven of them—she, Julius, Joshua, Sunny, Scotts, Edwards, and Virgil were a misfit family. It should’ve staved off cabin fever.
It didn’t.
However, today was a good day. In her hands, she held a series of 3D images printed on Kodak paper. Her baby. A healthy baby girl. She couldn’t stop looking at it. Twenty-four weeks and three days. Weight one pound. Length twelve inches. She had all her fingers and all her toes and everything else she needed to survive. Julius gloated, proud of himself for picking the right sex, as if he had one hundred choices and not two.
“Ready to go back home?” The grin on his face was permanent.
She sighed and wanted to say no. A prison was a prison regardless of the decoration. Stop being ungrateful. “Yeah.”
They returned to the Maybach, she huddled next to Julius, studying the pictures. There was one with an outline of her face. Calista could see a nose, one eye, and part of her lips. Who would she look like? Calista hoped for an even mix of her and Julius’ best qualities. Also more than a few genes from her mother whose transcendent beauty Calista didn’t inherit. Either way, her growing bump was lovely and loved. So loved. “Hands down, this is the best Christmas present ever.”
Julius kissed her forehead. “I agree.”
Heart full, she compared Julius to the 3D image, knowing it was futile, yet couldn’t help herself.
“What?” he asked after a few seconds.
“What’s your mother’s name?”
He frowned and shook his head. “We are not naming our daughter Evelyn.”
“Hmm. Evelyn Mavis Morgan isn’t horrible… But it’s not her. She’s not an Evelyn.”
The car stopped way too early for them to have returned home. She looked out the window and realized they were on East 59th Street, not far from the Queensboro Bridge. “Why are we parked here?” she asked in rapid fashion.
“Come on.” He helped her out of the car. That’s when she saw the store. All Things Baby. It was one of those high-end boutique stores where you peer through the pane of glass at all the pretty things and know there was no way in hell you could afford anything in there. Breathing the air-conditioned air cost money. As they approached, the door opened, and Virgil was on the other side.
Julius’ hand on the small of her back, she allowed herself to be guided into the business. The door locked behind them. That’s when she noticed they were the only people in the store. “What’s going on?” She demanded.
“I know you were holding off on purchasing anything because of a family superstition.”
She took offense. “It’s not superstitious to wait to buy stuff until after you know the baby is viable. Twenty-four weeks is the cutoff for…for if something bad happens. The baby…she can survive it. Buying something before isn’t practical.” Did he realize how hard it was not to buy anything, afraid of a miscarriage or something being terribly wrong she’d have to make a choice. No. They’d have to make a devastating choice, the choice she couldn’t previously make.
He tipped her chin up and pressed a kiss to her lips. “The store is yours. Anything you want for the baby. If they don’t have it, they can order it.”
Keys to the candy shop. She skipped deeper inside, took off her coat and made herself comfortable. Three hours later, her baby had a round crib with all the accoutrements, including drapery, wallpaper, rug, rocking chair, and mobile. This was the most fun she had shopping, ever.
“The furniture is in our warehouse and will be delivered in two days. The rest of the items by the end of the week, Mrs. Morgan.”
Calista didn’t correct her. “Thank you.” Julius didn’t correct the sales lady either. He sat beside her for moral support. He commented on every item, gave his approval and offered suggestions.
“Ready to go?”
“Yeah…” She hesitated. Since they were already down there and she had received the deed and keys to the property… “Can we stop by my house? I haven’t checked on it in a while. The renovations have started and I…um…” This was a bad idea. Plus, she was getting emotional about it. “Never mind. Let’s go back home.”
“Unplanned trip. We can do this.” Edwards volunteered. “I’ll send a few guys ahead to check it out.” He spoke into a microphone and one of their three car entourage peeled away from the curb and headed for the bridge.
Calista caught the unmistakable scent of roasted chestnuts on the cold breeze. Two food carts were on the corner. One whiff of the hot dogs marinating in salty water for god knows how long and she couldn’t live without it. She ate two hot dogs slathered with mustard, sauerkraut, and red onions, and bought a round for her future hubby and their entourage. She could tell he didn’t like it, but there’s something quintessential about a “dirty” sidewalk hot dog she loved. Judging by the rolling around in her uterus, so did her bump.
“What about Eva?” she asked once they were on their way to the house. Tucked to his side, she waited for his answer.
“No.”
Ugh! After letting her have her way with everything else, he chose picking the baby’s name as his Bunker Hill. Fine. She threw out random names to annoy him. “Matilda. Gladys. Claudine. Mabel. Harriet.”
He threw some back. “Prudence. Chastity. Erma. Blanche. Jewel.”
Calista stopped laughing. “Jewel?” There was a precedent for J names in the family. It started with Calista’s grandmother, Jemina. It wouldn’t be horrible to continue the unannounced tradition with her firstborn.
Julius paused in deep concentration. “Jewel Morgan?”
“Jewel Evelyn Mavis Morgan.” Saying the name out loud gave it permanence.
“That’s a lot of J’s in one family. Shit. That’s a lot of J’s in my family.”
“Wow. I hadn’t realized that until now. You’re right. We can change it.” She pouted.
“Julius, Joshua… Jewel.” He seemed to savor the name, then studied the 3D images and nodded. “Jewel Morgan. It fits.”
It was settled. Sometime around May seventh, Jewel Morgan would arrive in the world. Calista couldn’t wait.
T he house was gutted. It was a hollow brick shell all the way down to the foundation. To say it was eerie seeing clear through to the backyard without a single obstacle blocking the view would be an understatement. Guilt assailed her. Everything that made it her home had been tossed. What came next would be new, without history or personality. Nothing of the house her mother had purchased would remain. God, she’d made a mistake.
“Ms. Coleman.” The architect approached from the rear of the house with the contractor, both Julius had recommended after her first guy didn’t pan out. “Mr. Morgan.”
“Thank you, Neal, for making time for us on short notice.” Julius greeted both men with a handshake after they shook Calista’s hand.
“No problem. I’ve made a few tweaks to the blueprints.” He pointed out the open floorplan with the double-sided fireplace between the living room and dining room. The kitchen with the center island and breakfast bar. The mudroom changed into a half bath. The second floor went from three bedrooms to a larger master with a jacuzzi, separate shower, and walk-in closet. Plus, a second bedroom with a bathroom. The attic was now a bonus room instead of an unused space. And finally, the basement, which was a dumping ground, was now an apartment with a separate entrance. Barring the weather, everything would be done in three months.
“The backyard is big enough to give you a sunroom and a small deck along with a small shed on the property.”
Everyone waited for her approval. She could envision all of it and loved it. While she doubted she would ever live here again, the home would remain in the family to be used by whomever needed it. Her mother would be pleased. “Let’s do this!”
&nbs
p; Sirens in the neighborhood weren’t unusual. Things happened and this was New York. Sirens and flashing lights drawing nearer, turning onto her street and screeching to a halt across the street in front of the Connell’s house, that was unusual.
Sunny headed over while Edwards ushered them back to the car. “What’s happened?” The elderly couple had owned their house for forty years. They were staples in the community until Mr. Connell had died five years ago from a heart attack, leaving his wife on her own.
Sunny returned after a few words with the police. He waited until his ass was in the passenger seat to angle his big body around and say, “The granddaughter found the grandmother unconscious at the bottom of the stairs. Both are on the way to the hospital. It’s a standard response for the police to arrive with an ambulance on a scene.”
“I remember the daughter being so pretty and full of life. She died in 9/11 when tower two came down. They never recovered her body. Mrs. Connell was babysitting,” Calista murmured and couldn’t help crying. There went the joy out of the day. “One week before Christmas and this happens.” Calista didn’t wait. She was out of the car and moving across the street before anyone could stop her. About to get in the ambulance, the granddaughter stopped when Calista called out. “Excuse me.”
The girl was average height, about five four, on the lean side with pale skin, deep ocean blue eyes, and dark close-cropped hair. Dressed in black baggy clothes and combat boots, a bike chain dangling from her pants and a smaller version around her neck, she had the “rage against the establishment” thing going on mixed with gender fluidity that had recently come to society’s forefront. Even with the dramatic makeup, Calista guessed her to be no more than twenty, twenty-two at the most. Her coloring must’ve come from her father because the Connells were a family of freckled redheads.
Plain and the Billionaire's Seduction (Plain Jane Series Book 3) Page 20