Chapter 45: Unexpected Brutality at the Noire

EVEET -

Flustered and feeling guilty about what she was about to do, her voice was clipped when she said, "Can it wait?"

"Uhhh." Was all he said.

Luca intervened, "What's the issue, Mikey? It's been a long day."

Mikey turned to Luca and said, "We caught a spy in the bookie den."

Luca's surprise lifted his eyebrows up his forehead, and he said, "From which family?"

"The Provenzanos."

At the name, Luca turned back to Eveet, and the look in his eyes once more sent desire spilling through her. Like that name alone announced a secret they kept hidden.

She swallowed, and the sound was loud in the quiet room. "I've had an extremely stressful day. Can it not wait until tomorrow?"

Mikey nodded. "It can, but I thought you'd want to know just in case. We stashed the spy in the back rooms of the den. He won't be goin nowhere anytime soon."

She nodded. "Good." Then she turned back to Luca. "I need to sleep. We'll leave at first light to handle this, so be ready."

Just like that, her walls were back up. She was the future Don, and he was the head of her security detail. Nothing more.

"Yes, Signora Eveet." With those familiar words, he grabbed Mikey by the arm, and they both left her alone.

Although she was sure she'd slept all night, when she woke up the next morning, she felt like she'd barely gotten any rest. Even her dreams had been empty, to which she was thankful.

By the time they'd made it to the bookie den, the sun had just risen, and the chill in the air puckered her skin in goosebumps.

The Den was in the middle of town for easier access to the people. The building sat squished between a grocery shop and the Matranga family butcher.

The streets were empty as they made their way up to the front door. Luca and Mikey flanked Eveet as she moved through the doorway. The smell of bourbon was strong, but like the streets, there wasn't a single person walking the dark interior.

She moved through the empty halls and passed the quiet rooms. Pieces of paper littered the floor from bets on previous races, and the smell of sweat grew in intensity the closer she got to the large back room where the race was played on the radio and bets were taken.

Most races were done on Tuesday and Thursday, with an occasional relay on the weekends. So, the only time it buzzed with people and energy was the nights and mornings just before the race. As it was Friday, and they had a relay planned tomorrow, there would be a few bookies and security. She knew people would start arriving to place bets around noon, though.

Her head bookie, Cyrile, was walking out of his room when she came into the large betting area. When he saw her, he lifted his steaming cup up and said, "Signora Eveet. I'm glad you came. They stashed the prick in here." His French accent surprised her. She'd known him for years, but after yesterday, she couldn't help but wonder if he was also somehow family.

Shoving aside her thoughts, she followed him to a storage room and waited for him to unlock the door.

The spy, a wiry Provenzano stooge in a cheap pinstripe suit, slumped in a chair, wrists bound, sweat soaking his collar. The big race at the Fair Grounds loomed, and the Matrangas’ name hung in the balance. Eveet felt the weight of her next move like a knife.

“You thought you could creep into my family’s joint?” Her voice was deep and smooth as honey, but lethal. The spy’s eyes darted, lips tight. She leaned closer, her shadow swallowing him. “The Provenzanos sent you, didn’t they? To make the Matrangas look like two-bit grifters."

His flinch betrayed him. The Provenzanos had grown bold. First yesterday's incident with Billy and now this? She thought.

Losing face now, with the city’s high rollers flocking to the track, would gut her family’s hold. Eveet’s fingers grazed the Gris Gris she had taken to always wearing. Its weight anchoring her.

“Talk,” she hissed, flicking open a switchblade and pressing it to his throat. A bead of blood welled. “Or I carve your secrets into the floorboards."

He swallowed hard before he squaked, “Ledgers faked.” he gulped again, trying hard not to move too much. “In the counting room. They show you’ve been skimming bets. The Provenzanos paid a loudmouth to find ’em during the race, call you crooks. And… nightshade in your horse’s oats. It’ll keel over before the finish.”

Eveet’s jaw tightened, but her face stayed stone. She eyed him hard as she thought through what he'd just told her.

Forged ledgers would make it seem like her family were cheats, and a doped horse would absolutely sink their bets. The Provenzanos wanted chaos, a public shaming to bleed the Matrangas’ trust.

She snapped her switchblade shut with a snap. “Clever, but careless. You’ve been busy.” She purred, mind racing. Time was tight, but after yesterday, this was exactly what Eveet needed. She thrived in the heat of a fix.

She turned to Cyrile, “Scour the counting room,” she ordered. “Every ledger, every page. Burn anything that stinks of Provenzano lies.” Cyrile nodded before slipping out.

To Mikey, she said, “Get someone to the stables. Check Blackthorn’s feed. Flush it, swap him if needed. That horse runs clean, or we’re fucked."

Eveet turned back to the spy, her smile cold. “You thought you’d break my family?” She crouched, meeting his eyes. “The Matrangas don’t fold.” His defiance wilted, fear pooling in his gaze. She’d deal with him when the time was right. His terror was a tool after all. Besides, it wasn't the Matrangas he should fear. Once the Provenzanos heard he broke easily, they'd kill him.

Hours later, the Den was buzzing with New Orleans’ elite, their fedoras and flapper dresses crowding in as they placed their bets.

Eveet moved through the crowd and stepped up onto the Bookie stand overlooking the crowd. Cyrile had torched the forged ledgers, and they'd gotten to the horse before it was drugged.

The Provenzanos’ scheme was dead, but Eveet wanted blood. She wanted to make someone hurt.

She waited as Luca dragged the spy from the backroom, his bloodied coat in hand. The crowd hushed as Luca handed it to her, and she raised it high,

“The Provenzanos thought they could cheat you!” she shouted, hurling the coat at one of their Enforcers. “This is their spy, caught defiling our dens. They tried to rig our race, to steal your dough, but the Matrangas stand tall!”

The crowd roared, some cursing, others cheering. The Provenzano Enforcers and men cleared the den, as the crowd hurled drink and food at them.

She smiled at the chaos and turned to Luca to say, "Take a finger before sending him back."

The Provenzanos would strike again, but she’d be ready.

Her blood ran hot, and even with the little sleep she'd gotten, she finally felt charged and ready to take on anything.