In the Blood [ON HOLD]

"You're a Daisy if You Do"

Veronica's ruby-colored lips parted in surprise, the skin around her dark eyes growing white with fury as what he'd just said sunk in. From behind him, he heard Leon sigh. The Castiglioni second, who had stayed quietly a few yards behind Veronica, now stepped forward, his chest puffing like some ridiculous rooster.

Remi didn't say anything more. He didn't need to.

"I'm... not quite sure what you mean, Mr. Robicheaux," she said, sitting up straighter.

The nail was stopped between his index finger and thumb, the point aimed at Veronica. He affected a slightly pained expression. "Please don't insult me."

Eyes narrowing now, she stiffly replied, "If I have offended you it was not—"

"Yes it was," Remi cut in, his tone easy and amused. Like he was having fun here. He set the nail down, the chinking sound making Veronica look down. He tapped his fingers against the metal and sat back a little. "But that's all right."

Her eyes flicked back up to his, and he smiled, knowing that this time, it wasn't a very nice sort of smile.

"What're you runnin'?" he asked again.

She pursed her lips, her long lashes sweeping down. Her body tensed, twisting slightly at the waist before she stopped, like she had wanted to look over her shoulder, then changed her mind. The indecision showed clearly on her face.

Silence was a tool most others in his world simply refused to employ. So they found it incredibly unnerving when he did use it. He could see it working now, in the way her fingers twisted into her skirt and her shoulders bunched ever so slightly.

Eyes never leaving his, she said, "We've come into a recent arrangement with the Chinese."

"Mm." He let a silent laugh lift his chest, then shook his head with a small tsking sound. "You know I'm working on a deal with the Cartel."

It wasn't a question.

"Our deal with the Chinese is not your deal," she protested.

"Yes, but if you buy from the Chinese, then sell their product in New Orleans—which everyone knows you've got to deal with me to get into—then by proxy I am dealing with the Chinese." He picked up the nail again, tapping it against the table so that his fingers slid down it with every strike until he got to the end, then flipped it over and started the process again.

Really, he was dealing with the Chinese anyway. But neither Veronica nor the Cartel needed to know that.

Veronica's hands were fists in her lap, the skin stretched thinly over her knuckles. She shook her head. "No," she said, "that is not how this business works, Mr. Robicheaux. I understand that you're... new to this, but—"

"Don't patronize me," he interrupted. "Just 'cause I don't come from some family with a name, doesn't mean I don't know how to play this game. The mafia didn't invent organized crime, dear, it just got good at it." 

She batted those long, dark eyelashes at him again.

"That is, in actuality, exactly how this works, Miss Castiglioni." He smiled slightly, like he had found himself saying something amusing. "Don't try to sucker me. My mother wasn't in the business of raisin' fools. Now, if you would like to treat this professionally, as an actual discussion, then I'm more than happy to talk numbers with you. If not..." He stood up. "Good day."

He turned and got two steps before she said, "Wait!"

Not turning, he smiled, then winked at Leon, whose face didn't move a millimeter.