Jean-Paul gives me a droll look. "You are not making a very good case for having let her live."
"I'm not trying to. I made the choice and I stand by it. She was innocent. Killing her was wrong. I had absolutely no compunctions for any other hit, Jean-Paul. Not one. But an innocent woman just trying to live her life and keep out of her father's shit?" I shake my head. "I'm here. In front of you. I accept the responsibility and the consequences of my decision. You want to execute me for it?" I spread my hands. "I'm unarmed. But that's not why I'm here."
Jean-Paul nods, sips. "Very well. Continue, then—why are you here?"
"Because I believe I have a solution that meets my needs, yours, and Camilla’s. Without bloodshed." I tip my head. "Well, mostly. See, I want to be left alone. I want to go back to Club Sin with Terra, live my life, and put my Cabal days behind me. I don't regret them, Jean-Paul. I have issues with the human trafficking, but I realize there's not a goddamn thing I can do about it."
"I find it distasteful as well, as a matter of fact. I am making inroads toward ending our involvement in that arena. It is not entirely my choice, but my word has sway."
"It's risky, too. Government agencies really get a hard-on for taking out traffickers.”
Jean-Paul smiles. "My argument exactly."
"Anyway. That's my need—just leave me the fuck alone."
"Jarrod being the obstacle to this."
I sip—fucking hell, it's good whiskey. "You have a problem with Jarrod, too, I believe. He's overstepped his boundaries. The attempts on my life, okay, fine. But endangering innocent civilians like Terra, Emily, Tom, Yates, and Kaleigh? No good. Plus, his goons threatened and roughed up hotel employees. Not a good look."
"No, indeed. But he's a favorite of certain factions in the hierarchy. Not me, obviously. He gets results, but messily. I can't unilaterally eliminate him, however, without risking blowback on me. I have some additional room, now, due to the messes he's made in his failed attempts to bring you in."
I laugh. "Bring me in? He's trying to kill me, Jean-Paul. If the order is to bring me in alive, he missed that fuckin' memo."
"So it seems." Jean-Paul cups the glass in his up-turned palm, rotating the tumbler with his fingers, idly watching the golden liquid slosh. "I'm not a patient man, Saxon. The solution?"
"Getting there. Now, obviously, Camilla Marccionne’s needs and desires are not, I don't expect, very high on your list of considerations. But when they overlap with yours? That's a ripe business opportunity. See, after I shot our way of the clean-up attempt, she was injured. I put her in a cab and sent her to a hospital. Or so I thought. The cab, however, was owned and driven by a lackey of her father's, assigned to watch her. He took her to her father. She suffered. Horrendously. He tortured her. Her brothers tortured her. They allowed their men to rape her repeatedly. And then they leaked her location to Cabal men, who did the same."
Jean-Paul's expression turns stormy. "Oh?" His voice takes on that soft, seductive, razor-sharp quality. "I was not aware of this."
"Camilla, understandably, did not take this well. She murdered her father, her brothers, and all of the Marccione men who were part of the event, as well as all of the Cabal men. Except one, who she hasn't been able to catch up to."
"Jarrod."
"Bingo."
"That makes sense. Several of my men turned up dead around that time, and it seemed targeted, personal. We were never able to lay it at her feet specifically, so I was never able to countenance the order to move on her. I suspected it was her, due to the intensely brutal nature of their deaths. I had nothing to do with the actions of the men, however." He gazes into middle distance, fury on his features. "I do not, and have never, countenanced rape. Only weak, pathetic men engage in rape. Our business may be criminal, but that does not mean we should be monsters. We kill our enemies—those who seek to kill us. We are professionals. We have fucking standards." He looks at me. "Camilla can take care of my Jarrod problem, you're saying."
"Yes. But my solution doesn't stop there. I propose an alliance. Cabal and Marccione. Work together to eliminate the Morenos—they're the heaviest movers in the sex trafficking industry—Camilla, for obvious reasons, is against it. You're against it." I lift my glass, sip, swallow, and keep talking. "I'm talking about trafficking. Forced prostitution, sexual slavery. Voluntary sex work that profits everyone? Fine. Camilla has girls of her own."
"Her reputation in that field has been a problem for us. Girls leave us to work for her." Jean-Paul taps the glass against his front teeth. "An alliance. Hmm. Eliminate the Morenos. Get out of trafficking." He stares at nothing, talking out loud. “She could run the brothels and escorts and we could provide the muscle and business fronts. Our shells and shelters are far superior to hers. Divvy up the east coast, once we've taken over Moreno territory." He looks at me. "And she's open to this?"
I shrug. "I brought it to you first. But I think she will be, as long as the negotiations are fair. You both want the Moreno cartel off the map. Neither of you wants conflict with the other—the Morenos would step in and clean you both up—Terra was right on that score."
Jean-Paul stares at me, expression opaque. Finally, after a long silence, he nods. "Set it up."
I fish my burner from my pocket and dial Camilla. She answers on the third ring. "Saxon. You've captured Jarrod?"
"Not quite. But I can deliver him to you."
"What's the hold up? I expected faster results from you, honestly."
"Remember when I told you that you'd have to trust me? This is where that trust happens. I have a proposal."
"I'm listening."
"I'm sitting in a private room with Jean-Paul DuPlessis."
A sharp intake of breath greets this pronouncement. "You're selling me out, you bastard."
