I couldn’t make the same mistake I did tonight. At least I didn’t stay longer than twenty minutes. I sighed, tapping my nails on the wine glass. The color on the tips matched the pinot noir.
Knight was going to be a major problem. But I’d give him the next forty-eight hours to grieve the loss of his father and finish the funeral services before he discovered what happened in the five years he had been gone. I could grant him that grace. It was the least I could do.
I didn’t want to sit close to anyone during the service. My presence caused enough of a stir. The Corbans didn’t need unnecessary commotion. Kimble performed a sweep of the church, just like every organizations’ security teams did before the procession began. He was satisfied with my seat.
I read the program, waiting for the priest to begin. The black gloves I wore made the pages rustle when I turned them. According to the inscription on the back, Raphael didn’t want the traditional funeral parade after the church service concluded. It was true, it didn’t suit him. But I was surprised the family wouldn’t carry on with what the original New Orleans families considered their life blood—tradition. Original families claimed they were steeped in roots so deep no one could compete with them inside the city.
The wooden benches creaked as more parishioners gathered. I nodded at Seton Hiram and his wife, Priscilla. We had recently negotiated a shipping contract. I was impressed with his operations.
Camille Longrie hobbled in, tapping the marble floor with her cane. She smiled at me before taking the pew a few rows ahead of mine. Her husband was home. I was sure of it. Gerald Longrie hated Raphael. Sending his wife was the weakest attempt he could make to pay his respects to Felicia.
I catalogued the people a
s they filed through the open church doors. I had secured profitable deals with almost everyone in attendance. The few faces I didn’t recognize I assumed were people within Raphael’s organization that were on the bottom rungs of the ladder. I spotted his attorney, Paul, speaking to the priest. The mass should start soon. The family began to gather at the back of the church.
I quickly looked away when I saw the fitted black suit come into view. Shit. The jacket covered athletic toned muscle. It couldn’t be disguised beneath mourning attire. He was still gorgeous and sexy. Finding him in the rain last night had cemented every memory I had of him. The sharp angle of his jaw. The darkness in his eyes. I hadn’t forgotten how warm his skin had been when I touched it. I never forgot the way my body was drawn to his. I reached in my clutch for a peppermint. My mouth had gone dry.
Suddenly, the organ music surged from the balcony behind our heads. Everyone rose to their feet, and I became a participant in the funeral mass of Raphael Corban, my greatest adversary.
There was a great hall attached to the cathedral where wedding receptions were held, celebrations for baptisms, and funeral luncheons. I always thought it was odd that the funerals were lumped into the same category. They should have their own dark room with chippy tables and hand-me-down church linens. They shouldn’t be allowed to dampen the happier life events.
I stepped into the hall, searching for Felicia Corban. Once my condolences to her were extended I could exit quickly and make the rest of today’s meetings.
The problem was there was one person standing between Felicia and me—Knight.
It was as if he felt my eyes studying the broad length of his shoulders. He turned. But unlike last night, the soft smile wasn’t there.
I saw hard lines around his eyes. Obsidian irises glaring at me. His sexy jaw fixed.
I didn’t know whether to turn and run, but instinct kicked in. A mafia queen doesn’t run. I slowly let my gaze drift to the doorway. Kimble was scanning the crowd. He always was.
I held my ground, throwing my shoulders back, jutting my breasts forward. I removed the glove from my left hand to offer it to Felicia. I continued to make my approach. As I moved closer, Knight blocked my next movement. He wouldn’t let me in the receiving line.
“We need to talk,” he hissed.
“I’m here to offer my sympathies to your mother and your sister,” I whispered, desperately trying not to make a scene.
“No.” He gritted his teeth. “You’re coming with me.”
I squeezed my eyes tightly. “Knight, this isn’t the place.”
“I’m making it the place. I insist.”
I thought I was quicker than him, but he wound his hand through mine. My body reacted to the contact, when it shouldn’t have. He tugged me away from the line. Kimble instantly reached inside his jacket. I put my hand up to stop him from following us.
I wasn’t familiar with the maze of back offices in the church. Knight shoved open a door. I realized it was one of the confessional rooms. He locked the dark mahogany door behind us. It smelled like incense and velvet. The wall was lit with red votive candles.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” he growled.
“This isn’t the place to discuss business.” I realized my mistake when his eyes clouded with venom and fury. We should be kneeling. Praying. Begging for forgiveness in this room.
“Business?” he huffed.
“Look, Knight. You’ve been gone a long time.” He wasn’t the first angry organization member I’d had to settle, but he was the first one that made me want to beg to erase the last five years of our lives. To undo the hurt. To lace it back together like it was never ripped.
I kept my voice steady. “We could set up a meeting once you’ve had a chance to finalize all of the funeral plans and events. I’ll give you as much time as you need.” Forty-eight hours was ungenerous. I could extend the grace period.
His hand extended toward me and my breath caught. I didn’t know if he was going to grab me and pull me toward him or strike me. The fire in his eyes was a mix of hate and lust. Instead he turned with little space to move in the confessional.