Remi fixed the fleur de lis cufflinks he had decided on for his meeting with Veronica, staring down into the street, watching as Charlie followed Moira outside. He smirked when he found her wrapped up in his shirt and barefoot, hair mussed.

From behind him, Leon said, "You know Veronica's going to play hardball at first. She's—"

"Of course she will," Remi said smoothly. "The first woman to become head of the Casteglioni family? I wouldn't expect anything less. But her saving face won't matter if they start losing money."

"It doesn't always come down to cash with these people," Leon said.

Remi scoffed, watching as Charlie and Moira pulled away from the house. "It always comes down to cash, Leon. With everyone."

"Did it come down to cash with her?" Leon asked, tone just to the left of snide.

"Don't... don't start this with me again, man. I told you why I want her, I've made up my mind." He finally turned around, looking at Leon. Impeccable in a severely tailored grey suit, his second in command was frowning at him. Remi sighed in exasperation. "What, Leon? What's wrong here? She's a doctor, we need a doctor."

"No, she's a student. And are you sure that's the only reason you picked her?"

"A student who owes me," Remi pointed out, turning back to the mirror, giving himself one last critical once-over. "And who will continue owing me for the rest of her life. I know people like her, Leon. Hell, I am people like her. She signed the paper. What more do you want?"

Leon took out his phone, presumably to answer a text. Remi waited, straightening his dark blue tie. The silver cufflinks winked at him in the morning sun, and he smirked at the small slap in the face to the Italians. The small tapping sound of Leon answering whoever was texting him spanned the gaping space between them in the room.

His room. 

Feeling vaguely dissatisfied, he glared at the made bed, wishing he and Charlie had made it here, rather than him just throwing her onto the bed of the first room he came across. Then he shook his head at himself, turning back to the window.

What did it matter?

He tilted his head to the side when Leon cleared his throat to let him know he was listening. Leon sighed. "I just want to know that lines aren't getting blurred for you here."

Now Remi turned around, raising an eyebrow, his hands going into his pockets. Leon pursed his lips, shifting as he found himself under Remi's stare, but he just said, "She's a lovely woman. But you have already had a serious lapse of judgement where she is concerned."

"Oh?" Remi allowed his tone to deepen, letting Leon know he was treading on thin ice.

"You brought her here. She knows where you live."

"I'm aware," Remi said.

Leon sighed, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and index finger. "If she's more than—"

"That's your first mistake, Leon. No one is ever more than the money they're worth. I can afford to get her through school, and she will save us in hospital fees and awkward questions. No more visits to the hospital every time one of my guys gets shot means no more records potentially tying me to unsavory" there was a sarcastic lilt to the word, "behavior. Simple as that."

"Is it?" Leon asked, dubious.

"It is. So I brought her here, so what? She didn't believe me when I told her about what I am—"

"And how long do you think that will last?" Leon interrupted him. "Up until the first casualty comes bleeding all over her front door."

Remi's mouth tightened into an irritated line, and Leon grimaced his apology. Making his voice clear and level, he said, "I brought her here because she needed to see. She signed the papers. Though how well an NDA will stand up to any criminal investigation, you can't say." 

Leon sighed, a weary sound Remi had long become accustomed to. One that let him know he had won the argument for now. Straightening his own grey jacket once more, he strode past Leon and down the hall. 

"Who was on the phone?" he asked as they walked down the stairs.

Leon scowled. "Marlon says she brought a few hired guns. Not locals."

There was a small silence, anger bubbling up in his stomach. "And here I was thinkin' we had agreed to keep this friendly," he said, voice airy.

"I think you and the Italians have differing ideas of what friendly means," Leon said, opening the door to the garage. Remi walked in first, gaze sweeping over his cars.

"In that case," he said, "I think the Aston today."

He could practically hear Leon rolling his eyes, and grinned as he opened the door to his Vanquish. It was one of his favorites anyway. The copper paint glinted subtly in the overhead lights.

He flipped the visor down, catching the keys in midair. Before he started the engine, he looked at Leon. "Round up some of the boys. I'll call Moira. It's still supposed to be just me and you going in." He glanced down at Leon's feet. "Those shoes might get dirty."

Leon nodded curtly, already scrolling through his phone as he walked back into the house.

Remi hit the garage door opener and started the car, the Vanquish coming to life with a purr. Sedately, he guided the car out, taking a moment to make sure the door closed behind him. He opened the gates, pulling onto the main road and idled for a moment on the deserted street, making sure they closed as well.

Fingers tapping against the wheel, he shifted into a higher gear, frustrated by the goddamn Italians. They were better than the Cartel, slightly worse than the Russians and more predictable than either the Chinese or the Irish.

The street gangs were easily appeased, even if they did require a little strong-arming every now and then. Mostly they behaved as long as they remembered who was in charge. He drove out of the Garden District, using I-10 to jump on LA-39 to make his way to the Lower Ninth. 

He hated coming to this part of the city. It left a taste in his mouth that was all too familiar.

But this was about as neutral as he could get with Veronica. The Italians had their fingers in most of the major cities on the Gulf and down the east coast, but he'd for all intents and purposes cast and kept them out of New Orleans proper. He'd had to give a little around the edges, but that was merely a matter of biding his time rather than any strength on the part of his competition.

Besides, the Lower Ninth was what she wanted to discuss anyway. Remi just hoped to God that it wasn't going to be what he suspected.

Shaking his head, he grabbed his phone at a stoplight to call Moira. It rang four times, and he hung up. He called again. Still no answer. A small coil of concern knotted in his stomach. Moira always answered her phone.

He called a third time, steering with his knee for a second to shift into a higher gear. Finally he heard the small click of an accepted call and said, "Jesus Moira. Pick up the first time, otherwise I'll be forced to assume that you're dead in a ditch somewhere, and I'll need to find someone to take the place of your talented ass."

Immediately he winced at his choice of words, a memory of finding her bloody and unconscious in a frozen alley in London filling his thoughts.

"Um..."

His lip curled into a small snarl when he said, "Look, I know I told you to look after Charlie today and you were all pissed, but I can take care of myself. Veronica won't cause any problems. She and the Castiglionis can't afford to miss out on New Orleans, so she won't be that stupid." He sighed. He assumed that they couldn't afford it. "That being said..." Admitting this irritated him. "Maybe drop Charlie off at her new place and come meet me."

Remi waited for her mocking laugh to come through the line. He knew she wouldn't mean it, and that she would be there just as soon as he asked for her, but she would tease him mercilessly for it.

"About that." He froze when Charlie's voice came across the line. "Who asked you to set me up with a place to begin with."

Remi considered how difficult it would be to kill Moira, then set it aside as too much risk with too little reward. Taking a moment to compose himself, he blew out a short breath, then said, "Is Moira there?"

"No." The answer was a little snide. "She's grabbing me some clothes from my old place. Currently I'm wearing your shirt."

He smirked, wondering why she had told him that little detail. She couldn't have known he'd seen her leave that morning and already knew that, but it was still a nice visual, thinking about those legs of hers hidden by nothing but the tail of his shirt.

Just to play with her a little, he asked, "Anything else?"

Her only response was a snort, which bothered him, but he remembered he had more pressing matters at hand. Letting out a sigh that came out more irritated than he meant it to sound, he said, "Look, I'll be otherwise occupied today. Moira can get you settled and I'll come around later tonight to make sure everything's square."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he frowned, shaking his head. No, he wasn't going to go see her tonight.

"No!" Her response startled him—both her tone, and the denial. "I'll be fine. But I still want to come back around to who told you I needed you to find me a place."

I wonder if a little gratitude would actually kill her, he wondered idly. Dryly, he said, "Well to begin, it's actually my place. Lodging is a work benefit as far as your concerned, and it's only ten minutes from LSU's campus in New Orleans. That's the one you'll be going to, right?"

He knew she was, but decided it would be better to at least sound like he didn't know everything he did. With a smug little smile at the fact that she seemed to have been struck speechless, he said, "I told you. You sign the paper, you take care of my guys and I take care of you. Housing is part of that. Simple."

There was a small voice in the back of his head that whispered it really wasn't that simple, and he'd made it that way by taking her to his hotel that night. But he had learned a long time ago how to ignore that small voice and said, "Now, if you wouldn't mind telling Moira to give me a call when she gets back, that would be nice."

"I—"

"I have to go, Charlie. I'll see you tonight." He choked back a small growl and hung up, cutting off something she was trying to say. Why did he keep saying that?

With a fierce frown, he thought maybe Leon was right, then shook that off as ludicrous.

Charlie had just managed to catch his interest for the moment, that was all. There were lots of girls who caught his interest. It lasted maybe a week, then he was in the wind, like he needed to be.

Sure it was a bit different with her, considering what he had given her, but otherwise, he'd seen this song and dance before. He'd get bored, and that would be that. After that, she'd just be another employee in scores of them.

Just a name on payroll.

Much sooner than he would like, he found himself in the Lower Ninth, trying to ignore what Katrina was still doing to this place, and the people still suffering here. It wasn't his business to care.

He came to what had been an old shipping factory, parking near a few outbuildings that afforded him shelter from prying eyes watching him through rifle scopes. Ten minutes later, Leon showed up, his white Mercedes looking petulant as he navigated the pitted gravel road leading to the factory.

Remi got out of the car, buttoning his suit jacket.

Leon was talking to seemingly himself, but then he turned slightly and Remi caught sight of an earwig. Muttering under his breath, he briefly touched the small knife at his wrist, a concerning tingle of nerves running up his spine even though the heat pressed down on him relentlessly.

His second finally got out of the Mercedes. He looked at Remi grimly, and asked, "Where's Moira?"

Remi's fingers wiggled a little, a nervous tic he had never fully been able to squelch, and something he usually passed off as a warning that he was keeping his fingers nimble for a reason. Tersely, he answered, "Couldn't reach her."

Leon swore, then said, "Our guys—"

He stopped when Remi shook his head violently. He tapped his ear, indicating that others could always be listening. Leon nodded, looking put out, like this was all an annoying waste of his time, rather than something that could end up with both of them dead.

Which was exactly why Remi had taken Leon with him on his rise to the top. You could never have enough people with ice water rather than blood in their veins.

His fingers twitched again, tapping against his leg. Briefly he wondered if he really needed to meet Veronica, then decided that he didn't want to deal with the Italians and their ridiculous creeds and codes of honor and offendable sensibilities.

He snorted. Honor.

That word didn't mean anything in his world.

Shaking his head, he said, "Come on. Let's get it done."

Leon put a finger to his ear. Softly, he said, "Marlon says there are four people besides Veronica in there."

Remi rubbed a hand down his jaw and grimaced. He needed a shave. His fingers did their little dance at his side and he said, "Doesn't matter. She wouldn't be that stupid. She kills me and there would be hell to pay, not to mention she doesn't have the hardware to keep everyone else in line. She needs me to do that for her."

"That's what you're trusting here?" Leon hissed, their voices still so low as to be indiscernible even to each other.

Remi gave Leon his most charming smile. "I never trust anything."

With that, he took off toward the factory, eyes keen and alert as he approached the door. He kept his shoulders relaxed, adding a cocky swagger to his walk.

He had quickly learned that half of his job was simply presentation. How he presented himself, his people, his ideas and his power. His shoes crunched in the gravel, the blade in his sleeve warm against his skin.

Spending time on the riverboats in his youth had payed off with an uncanny dexterity in his fingers and an ease of movement with something literally up his sleeve, whether that thing was an extra spade or a blade. 

Part of him almost wanted an excuse to use it.

The door opened as soon as he touched it, and he lingered in the door for a second, partially obscured by the frame as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior.

Veronica sat at what appeared to be an abandoned workbench, rusted tools still scattered across the top. She stood as soon as she heard him step onto the concrete, smoothing a hand down the skirt of her white dress.

Leon left the door partially open behind them, and Remi strode forward, eyes on Veronica, sure Leon was scanning every square inch of the dark interior of the factory. 

"Mr. Robicheaux," she greeted, extending a perfectly manicured hand when he drew near enough.

Remi took it, squeezing lightly. "Miss Castiglioni."

He mouth twisted slightly when he didn't kiss the back of her hand. Her dark hair was severely coiffed, and Remi wondered if someone did it for her, or if she merely had to threaten her hair into obedience in the mornings. 

Before she could move, he gestured for her to sit, effectively saying that he was the one controlling this venue. He helped her back into her chair, then sat at the other end of the workbench, eyes scanning over a few pairs of pliers, three different hammers, and a box of rusty nails. 

Her deep red lips pulled up into a tight smile. Voice tinged with the slightest of accents from the old country, she said, "Thank you for meeting with me. For a while I was unsure if you would see beyond your past... stubborness."

He very nearly laughed at that. She said it as if Americans were the only ones capable of being hard-headed. Instead, he offered her a smile he was sure looked very genuine, and said, "I'm always willin' to work with you, Veronica. It's just a matter of how long you believe you've got me fooled."

"Sorry?" she asked, shifting in her seat.

"Don't come to me with crumbs and try to sell it as a feast," he said, still pleasant. Before she could retort, he said, "Now, you had let it be known you were looking into some business ventures here in the Ninth. What kind of venture?"

She stared at him, obviously angry about him calling her out. But all she did was cross her legs and say, "We would like to look into a few construction projects set to begin here. We know you consider the Ninth part of your territory, so in a show of good faith we thought we would let you know of our plans before building begins."

That surprised him. He had expected something a little more... chemical.

Remi plucked one of the nails out of the box, twirling it between his fingers, watching rust flake off and smear on his skin. Movement just behind Veronica caught his eye, and he smiled slightly. 

"The Ninth is mine," he said softly.

"Pardon?" she asked, watching the nail travel back and forth across his knuckles as he flipped it between his fingers.

"I don't consider it part of my territory. It is my territory." That smile stayed in place, though his tone became just a tad colder.

Give these people an inch and they'll take a mile, he thought as her mouth twisted. Again not giving her the chance to argue, he said, "What are you looking to build?"

Veronica blinked once, her dark eyes beginning to grow furious. Stiffly, she said, "Hotels, mostly. Perhaps apartments."

His mouth twisted into it's own expression of cold amusement. 

Then he asked, "What are you intending to run through those hotels?"

Fun Fact: Some of you probably know that I adore cars. So here's what Remi was driving today: 2014 Aston Martin Vanquish.