Lucien
He wanted to throttle the man at the other end.
The news was beginning to sink in slowly.
Dead.
The young Capo was dead.
The lover his eldest daughter adored was dead.
Schwartz was on the phone, frantically trying to contact people. He had even asked Aiyana’s old colleague, Bishop, for help. Now he turned, a defeated look on his face as he sank onto the large armchair, his strong shoulders slumping in defeat.
The Don turned as the door opened and his son, Piers, walked in. The blonde haired young man, a virtual replica of Lucien, except for his body, for Piers favored practicing martial arts and had already mastered the ancient art of Kalari Payattu, a deadly art that came all the way from India. He could disable a man and even kill, but he had never done so.
On the other hand, both Lucien and Claude were men who fought with their fists, their bodies well-muscled and bulging with corded sinews.
Wordlessly, Lucien met his oldest son’s eyes.
The young man did not say a word but his jaw was clenched as he said in a low voice,
‘Pappa…Philippe?’
The Boss gazed at his son, bitterly.
There was no need for words.
Lucien Delano turned away, feeling the cool air of the air conditioning on his hot body. He had shed his shirt sometime earlier, he could not remember when.
Now he reached for his tumbler and swore as he saw that the bottle was empty.
‘The f*ck!’ he roared and Gustav appeared, a carefully blank look on his face. He did not need to ask. He just walked to the bar and returned with another bottle and a fresh tumbler. The Don scowled as he poured himself a drink and drank it in one swallow. Piers watched his father; he knew when the Boss was upset and now, he was probably blaming himself for the death of Philippe…
*
Proserpina
Even as I called Schwartz to tell him that Paddy was on the road to recovery, for Lucien’s phone seemed to be unavailable, my call going to the answering machine, I felt a pang of unease. There had been no word about Philippe. What had happened?
Memories of the youth with the dark hair and the bright smile on his face, hovering in the kitchen door, his eyes lighting up when he saw Ria, all of it came flooding back to me.
He had been with me when we had been searching for Lucien; he had been the one to kill in order to save Lucien’s life…
He had become a Capo as well.
*
It was Schwartz who broke the news to me.
I was still in the formal living room, the evening having crept in unobtrusively at some time while I had been with the doctors
I realized that after I had given Rudi his last feed, I had not seen my children.
Now I waited as Schwartz answered. His voice was hoarse, unusually so and in a flash, I guessed what had happened.
“He’s…?’ I whispered, my voice breaking into a sob.
Schwartz grunted.
I could hear sounds in the background, the sound of glass smashing and the loud roar of my husband. He was furious, no doubt blaming himself, and in a rage. I shook my head, tears falling onto my lap. I was glad that I was alone, which was a rarity in my house with the children all over the place and a baby who demanded attention.
“Ah, leannen,’ he sighed, using the Scottish Gaelic word for sweetheart and I bit my lip to stop from crying.
He did not need to say anymore.
*
Ria
She stared at her younger sister, baffled and annoyed.
The girl was becoming incorrigible. To begin with, she had said something to Mumma and that had incensed her normally gentle and kind-hearted mother to such an extent that she had given the girl a slap. Ria had noted the red mark on her sister’s face but had not had the chance to ask about it.
Now, however, she began to think that she had missed the small signs which indicated how Tara was changing. From a dreamy, soft-spoken, rather trampled upon Delano, she was turning out to be a rebel, and a rebel without a cause. Like a stray cannon. And it was dangerous. Ria suspected that it had something to do with her new friend Madeline.
The girl had trouble written all over her.
Ria thought to herself fervently,
“I do so hope that Uncle James does not get hitched up with that Maja person.
She is such a defeated piece of sh*t. Always in tears, blubbering and whining.’
Her thoughts ceased as she felt Claude stomping up to her. Claude, she thought with a sigh, had the sensitivity of a bull in a china shop. Now he was glaring at Tara who was bawling as though she had been the wronged one and not poor Bea who looked frail and weary as she tried to comfort Tara.
Dear Bea, she thought, her heart going out to the old lady.
Snapping to attention Ria moved forward and gently but firmly, moved her sister’s clinging arms from around Beatrice.
And then, feeling her Mumma’s presence behind her, she turned. One look at her mother’s devastated face told her all that she had not asked.
Philippe was no more…
*
The loud keening sound of a woman howling, screaming with grief, alerted Claude who had been in the hall, talking to his younger siblings. Immediately, the three brothers tore in the direction of the sound. “Mumma?’ shouted Dom, panting as he ran.
But Claude knew, he had guessed that it was his elder sister. And when he entered the kitchen, he saw his sister on her knees, being held up by their Mumma who was also sobbing but struggling to stay calm.
Ria was like a crazed woman, screaming, shouting wildly.
Tara was staring, her mouth open and Camille had also rushed in and was trying to calm Ria.
Beatrice stood, her old body shaking with sobs.
Claude sagged against the door.
Dom stared, his eyes filling as he whispered,’ It’s Philippe, isn’t it? He is dead, isn’t he?’