Redemption (15 page)

“Don’t you understand? Stephan believes he
is
Victor. That anything he wants he can buy. He tried to buy dual citizenship.” Again with the evil grin.

“You stopped him.”

Nestor waved a dismissive hand. “I may have offered a clerk a bonus to lose certain paperwork and block any further filings.”

“Why?”

“Because the little
pendejo
doesn’t deserve Victor’s wealth. Stephan is the reason for Victor’s arrest before… Well, whatever happened to Victor in his cell, Stephan planned. The little weasel orchestrated his uncle’s downfall.”

Lucky pushed his wine glass away. His head spun enough without help. Had Nestor drugged the wine? Or the food?

Oh hell, if Nestor wanted him dead he’d be dead. He wanted Lucky alive for a reason. Victor’s fate had rested in Stephan’s hands. Not Lucky’s. And Nestor had ways of getting information, and might even have details Walter lacked.

Now wasn’t the time to process the info. Get Bo back across the border first. “You’ve got all the answers. But tell me this, what do you want from me?”

“Why do I have to want anything from you?” “Innocent” wasn’t a good look for Nestor.

Lucky scowled. “You’ve been yanking my strings like a puppet ever since I came to Mexico. Probably before.” He narrowed his eyes. “It was you who sent me the picture of Victor and Walter, wasn’t it?”

“I might have given you a keepsake. Did you like it?”

“Why?”

“Would you have come to Mexico, free of your keeper, if I hadn’t driven a wedge between you?”

“Good point.” Best not to mention he’d have come anyway to find Bo. “But I didn’t come on my own. Stephan had me whapped over the head and hauled down here.”

“My apologies for that. I had nothing to do with his actions, but wasn’t above using them to my advantage.” Nestor lifted his glass toward Lucky. “I’d intended to issue an invitation and needed to deal with the Lucky I remembered, not whoever Walter Smith turned you into.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wanted to see for myself what kind of man you’ve become.”

Killing the motherfucker made perfect sense right now to end his head-spinning games. “Why?”

Nestor sipped his wine, showing the same reserve he’d probably shown before shooting people. “To see if you fit into my plans.”

Okay. Enough was enough. Lucky grabbed Nestor by the collar and yanked. “Stop manipulating me you old son of a bitch! If you want Victor’s stuff, take it! I don’t want it.” No telling how much money Victor left behind. Enough to buy Bo the home of his dreams. Enough for the Harley Davidson of Lucky’s dreams. Enough to put his nephews through college and even buy back his parent’s love. “I don’t want nothing. Not the money, not the land, not the house, not the factory.”

“But it’s yours.” Nestor nodded to the papers.

“How many copies of this will are there?”

“Enough.”

“Too bad it’s not the old days when I could just rip it to shreds.” But then, would Stephan get it all? The slippery eel might still plea bargain and be out one day. Over Lucky’s dead body.

“Lucky.” Nestor bowed his head, putting himself eye to eye with Lucky. “I have a long reach, and can be swayed given the right circumstances.”

Lucky released his hold on Nestor and leaned back. If Nestor’s watchdogs had been here he’d be spitting lead by now. “What happens to everything if I don’t want it?”

“Then we revert to the previous will.”

“What’s it say?”

“Victor bequeathed all his Mexican holdings to Graciela Flores and her children.”

Graciela. The woman who’d been nothing but kind to Lucky and Bo. She deserved her home back. “Swear to me it goes to her.”

“I swear.”

“I’d ask for proof, but how can I believe anything you say?”

“I am a man of my word. Yes, I’ve manipulated you, but have I lied? Have I deserted you? Have I not helped you?”

“Because of Victor,” Lucky groused.

“In part.” Nestor settled back in his chair. “I like you, Lucky. You’re an honest man. You do what you have to, but you keep true to yourself. As God is my witness, Graciela will return to the home she shared with Victor’s father. The place where she raised her children.”

Lucky locked gazes with Nestor, but saw no lies there. Not that the man couldn’t keep them well hidden. “I want one thing.”

“Oh, and what is that? Money? Or perhaps that fancy car of Stephan’s. I seem to recall you have an eye for flashy cars.”

Yeah, and hot car weakness led Lucky to a life of crime. He’d developed simpler tastes since then—like a paid for, falling apart, barely drivable piece of shit. “No. It’s something small.” Lucky held up his hand, spacing his thumb and forefinger apart about an inch. “It’s a hummingbird on a silver chain. Stephan took it from Bo… Cyrus. I want it back.” Ah, hell. Who was he fooling? Nestor knew who’d eaten at his table, and quite possibly what they’d had for lunch.

“A necklace? I offer anything and you want a necklace?”

More than a necklace, the trinket was Lucky’s contribution to Bo’s collection of protective charms, though the damned thing didn’t work too good if the man wound up in Stephan’s clutches. The spirit totem had been a gift from Lucky to Bo, and Stephan used it to buy Lucky’s cooperation.

“No, I want to return someone else’s property.”

A staring match ensued. Nestor blinked first. “Where is it?”

“Stephan had it. I also want the laptop Bo used to conduct business. Stephan kept it with him.”

“I’m afraid the laptop ties too much into my own affairs. But the jewelry I can give.” Nestor nodded, punched buttons on his cell phone, and murmured in Spanish.

Oh. Right. Lucky sent a text to his boss,
Still breathing.

They sat in silence. For something to do, Lucky drained the last few drips from his glass and glanced around the room. The china was old, and likely prized for more than its monetary value. Tonight he’d eaten with Victor’s family, family that accepted him. As badly as the legitimate Mangiardis had shunned Lucky, Graciela and her kids fared worse. They deserved better.

The candle in front of Lucky melted into a puddle, wax dripping down the side and onto the tablecloth. He thumbed through the paperwork, found a page with his name, and ripped it out of the stack. Staring Nestor in the eyes, he held the paper over the flame. The edges blackened and curled, then the center caught fire. Lucky dropped the fireball into an empty bowl. Liquid at the bottom extinguished the blaze. He repeated the process with the Spanish copy.

Nestor smiled with no traces of evil now. “Victor always said you were a good man. And that your heart overrode your brain. You could be wealthy beyond your dreams.”

“I’ve seen what wealthy gets you. Besides, poor people raised me, my sister is poor, and I’m poor but honest.” Somewhat. Lucky made an “I’m thinking” face. “I see a pattern there.”

“You will never regret your decision, I can assure you. Now come, Graciela is waiting for you.”

“For what?”

“To thank you, I’d imagine.”

“How did y’all know what I’d do?”

“We knew. Come, it’s getting late.”

Lucky took one last look at the room around him. Bo had been here, Cruz, who might not be the little shit Lucky once thought he was, Graciela, Nestor. For the first holiday in years Lucky had been surrounded by the closest thing to family he might have left. Victor’s family. “Let’s go.”

They stepped out of the cantina to a chill evening, or as chilly as it got at night in Tamaulipas, Mexico. Two of Nestor’s men waited by the door and fell into step behind them. “It’s not far. Why don’t we walk?”

A million stars filled the night sky, when Lucky strayed far enough from streetlights to see, reminding him of the cabin by the lake where he’d stayed with Bo. Victor’s money could have made life good. But if Lucky accepted he’d have failed a test—not only Nestor’s, but his own.

Being a man of his word, Nestor would’ve made sure Lucky inherited, and not guaranteed how long he’d enjoy the wealth.

Sooner or later, Graciela got everything. As she should. As Victor intended.

They lumbered down the street in the near darkness until house lights beckoned.

Nestor knocked and Graciela opened the door with a beaming smile. She took Lucky by the hand and led him past assorted family members, and Bo. Bo raised his eyebrows but said nothing, just continued his conversation with Cruz.

Graciela guided Lucky into a small sitting room and closed the door. Damn. She lived here in this small house. A far cry from the home Stephan had stolen from her. And yet she appeared to hold no grudges against Lucky. Did she have any idea what he’d done?

The door opened and Cruz stepped in, nodded to Lucky, and took a seat on an upholstered chair that appeared every bit as old as the lady. She perched on a couch opposite, tugging Lucky’s hand until he sat beside her. She spoke, her voice soft, her lips upturned.

Cruz said, “Graciela wants to thank you for being so good to her son. He often spoke of you.”

“He did?”

The lady smiled and continued. “Boy” and “happy” Lucky got. Given time he might work out part of the rest if she spoke more slowly. Later he’d ask Bo to help him brush up on his Spanish.

“She says you made her boy happy, made him want to do better in life.”

What could Lucky say? Before he formed a reply, Graciela kissed his cheek. She murmured to Cruz, who relayed the message in English. Lucky understood enough of the Spanish to believe Cruz translated true.

“Victor was a good boy. A son to her. He was five when his mother died, and his father hired Graciela as a nanny. Whenever he was here she spoiled him with sweets and stories of her family.”

If Victor still lived he’d be fifty-six. This woman must have been in her late teens when Victor first came into her care.

“He didn’t tell her how he made his living, but a mother knows. He kept other secrets.” Graciela gave Lucky a tired smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “But she knew those too. He never brought a man to the house because of his younger brothers and sisters at first, and later, nephews and nieces.

“Before the end, Victor told her everything. Said he’d bring someone soon for her to meet and asked if he could store some things at the house until he settled.” Cruz stopped speaking and Graciela patted Lucky’s cheek with the same weathered hand that likely patted out tortillas for a young Victor.

The woman chatted with Cruz a moment, making gestures with her hands. Cruz nodded and resumed interpreting. “She says you were special. For you he’d give up his lawless ways. He even considered building a house nearby, so he’d be able to visit regularly.” Her sunny expression wouldn’t have been out of place on Charlotte’s face during a Todd and Ty brag session.

Graciela’s smile became a grimace, along with Cruz’s. “The other two, they didn’t like her taking their mama’s place. They never came here, pretended Graciela and her children didn’t exist. Until…”

She spoke in hushed tones to Cruz. “When Victor… died… they didn’t claim the body and told everyone he wasn’t dead.” Lucky glanced at Graciela. A tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek; she brushed away the moisture with the back of her hand.

Lucky gripped the woman’s fingers. Her skin was hard and callused from work. Not the life befitting the woman of a wealthy man, legally wed or otherwise. “What happened to Victor?” He directed his question to Graciela, not Cruz.

Cruz answered. “No one claimed him but her. She told the authorities she was his stepmother and brought him home. He’d asked to be cremated, which Vincent used to further his claim of his brother still living. No one knew at the time why he lied, but he came to Valle Hermoso, kicked Graciela out, and took the house as his own.”

Sounded just like pompous ass Vincent. Stephan too.

“Would you like to see him?” Cruz translated.

“What?” Oh dear God.

“Would you like to see him? See Victor?”

What game were they playing? He studied Cruz’s face. No surprise. No expression. He’d known Graciela would ask.

Graciela and Cruz both rose. Cruz slipped out the door, Graciela crossed the floor to a wooden roll top desk, cracked and pitted with age. She lifted the cover to reveal an alabaster box.

A box. Of ashes. Of Victor’s ashes. Graciela hugged Lucky, then followed Cruz into the hallway, leaving Lucky alone. With Victor. No, not alone. One quick shout and Bo would come, Lucky’s present and future helping him confront his past.

Lucky stared at the box. A heavy weight threatened to burst his chest. Dead. Victor was dead after all. That he hadn’t caused Victor’s death didn’t deaden the pain, especially in light of these past few months, learning all Victor had done for him. “I guess I should start by saying I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve to die in a jail cell. Whether you did it, or Stephan, you shouldn’t have died like that.”

Lucky paced the room, running a hand through his hair. “What can I say? Thanks for showing me things I’d never have seen? Thanks for making a deal with Walter for a lighter sentence?”

All these years later, he still couldn’t rightly say if his feelings for Victor were love. Maybe on some level, but they’d never been equals. Victor had been a mentor, someone to look up to, while Lucky saw himself too much as a temporary plaything to love the man. But the lengths Victor had gone to for Lucky…

With all his wealth and power, Victor Mangiardi never needed Lucky, never made him feel like a part of something good.

Bo did.

Lucky flopped down into Cruz’s chair. “Should I thank you for leaving me your money? Jeez, what do you want from me?”

Hot tears burned the back of his eyes, and the pressure in his chest threatened to steal his breath. After all this “is he or isn’t he?” business, there were the man’s ashes.

Dead. Dead and burned. And yet…

Lucky stood and crossed the floor, the box pulling him like a magnet drawing steel, and placed his hand on the cover. He imagined his mother whacking him upside the head. “
Don’t disrespect the dead!
”

Yes, Mama.

It took a moment to locate the latches and release the top. Millimeter by millimeter he slid the top aside and stared into… an empty box.