So Lucien wasn’t surprised when Trace said, “I’m good,” and then changed the subject, gesturing to the building. “You think he’ll see you?”
“Yeah, sure.” Lucien knew he didn’t sound very confident, but then, a lot of time had passed since he’d last seen the man.
It was dark and loud inside the club as they made their way through the crowd toward the back, where Lucien knew there were not only offices, but where the man kept a small residence. Once they hit the checkpoint, some men approached, forcing them to come to a halt.
“Your business?” the largest of the group asked. Trace stood silently at Lucien’s side, but he felt the air rippling around him, like he was just looking for an excuse to come out swinging.
“I’m here to see your boss. Tell him Lucien Black’s here.”
Recognition flashed in the man’s eyes as he reached for his walkie-talkie.
“Lucien Black to see the boss.”
Seconds later the reply came. “Bring him back.”
The contrast between the front of the club and the back was like night and day. The walls were painted a muted gold and Lucien noticed that some of the furnishings were antiques. Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons, a personal favorite of the man they had come to see, pumped over the speakers. They were brought to a sitting room, where a man awaited them by a mantel that Lucien knew to be hand-carved, because it was Rafe who had done it.
At the sound of their approach, the man turned. Looks were definitely deceiving when it came to this slight, elderly man, someone who had run his family’s business for close to forty years. Despite his age, Lucien knew he had no intention of retiring any time soon. This was the man who had reached out to Lucien when he’d been a kid and offered him a job.
“Lucien Black, what a pleasant surprise.”
Lucien walked over to the other man, who pulled him in for a hug, kissing both his cheeks in greeting.
“Nice to see you again. Trace, I’d like to introduce you to Pasquale—”
“Grimaldi,” Trace finished and reached his hand out to the older man. “Nice to meet you.”
“Trace Montgomery. A pleasure.”
Pasquale gestured toward the small sitting area. “Please, let’s sit. That will be all, Frank.” After Lucien and Trace had taken a seat, Pasquale said, “So you are here to find out why I asked Nick to pay that visit to St. Agnes.” He paused for a moment before he continued, “It was at the request of a business associate.”
As much as Lucien liked the man across from him, he was contemplating grabbing him by the throat.
“Who?”
“I know him as Johnny, but you know him as the honorable Judge Jonathan Carmichael.”
It took Lucien a minute to let the name sink in, and when it did, rage practically lifted him from his chair.
“The judge asked you to send Nick to Darcy?”
“Yes.”
“What the hell for?”
“He wanted to hurt you. It wasn’t hard for Nick to say the words that your girl was already thinking. She was young, scared, and trying to do the right thing.”
“And if you agreed, what?”
Pasquale didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. It was very clear the judge threw cases to keep Pasquale in his pocket.
Lucien practically bellowed, “That smug son of a bitch always ranting about integrity—he’s a fucking dirty judge!” He looked back at Pasquale. “So all the shit Nick told Darcy about helping me if she stayed away was a lie.”
“It was supposed to be. She wouldn’t have stayed away if he hadn’t given her a good enough incentive, but I had an attack of conscience and sent Dominic to offer you a job. It probably wasn’t necessary since you already had a few people watching your back.”
“Sister Margaret.”
“Yes.”
“Why the hell would the judge care about me when I was younger? He didn’t know me from Adam.”
“From what I was able to gather, you were the product of a union that he did not approve of.”
Lucien felt numb as Pasquale’s words slowly penetrated. “Are you saying the judge knows who my parents are?”
The gangster looked almost solemn when he said, “I’m afraid so.”
Lucien had just gotten home when Trace called about some box of Sister Anne’s that Ember had brought home from St. Agnes for him.
A half hour later Lucien stood in Trace’s living room looking at the contents of the box. It wasn’t much, just some of Sister Anne’s clothes and keepsakes.
“It’s weird seeing her street clothes. I only ever remember her in her habit.”