In the Age of Love and Chocolate (Birthright #3)(33)

“I’d like to tell you that I definitely would have investigated, but that isn’t true,” Mr. Delacroix said after a beat. “The decision would have depended on what else was happening in the city at the time.”

“What about me? If I died, would anyone bother to investigate?”

“Anya, you’re important now. You own a business and you bring a lot of money into this city. Your death would not go unnoticed.”

I felt a little better.

“For the city, the problem is not your cousin’s death, but who will succeed him. We like to know with whom we’ll be dealing. Did your friend have any thoughts about that?”

I shrugged.

“Well, someone will run the Family and it would probably be wise of you to take an interest. You don’t want them to choose someone whose interests run counter to your own.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way.

“Anya,” Mr. Delacroix said, “if Mouse is right and the attack was meant as a warning to you, perhaps you should reconsider getting personal security—”

“Mr. Delacroix, we have discussed this matter before, and my position hasn’t changed. I would rather die and know I walked this city and this planet as a free person. I have nothing to hide, and I don’t require security.”

Mr. Delacroix smiled at me. “This seems noble but wrongheaded to me. You are indeed a free person, as you say. I certainly cannot control what you do. I can only offer you my advice. I don’t think hiring security would take anything away from you or your accomplishments. But let’s not discuss it any further.” He clinked his glass to mine. “Brooklyn came out rather well, don’t you think?”

* * *

The next day, I was summoned to a meeting at the Pool, which was the Balanchine Family’s headquarters. I knew it was a sign of respect that I had been asked as I was not technically Family anymore. I had tried to avoid interacting with the Family in the years since I had opened my club. However, this would no longer be an option with Fats dead. Mr. Delacroix was right when he said I should take an interest in the person who would be installed as the head of the Balanchine Family.

When I got to the Pool, Mouse was waiting in the lobby. “Everyone’s downstairs.”

“Am I late?” I asked. “Your message said four.”

“No. You’re right on time,” she said. “Let’s go.”

The place seemed unnaturally quiet to me, and I began to wonder if I should have brought security. In the past, Mr. Kipling had usually accompanied me to important Family meetings. Maybe it had been foolhardy to go alone, and without telling anyone where I would be either. I stopped at the top of the flight of stairs.

“Mouse, I’m not about to be ambushed, am I?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Don’t you think I have your back?”

In the swimming pool, the Balanchines were seated around the table. I recognized perhaps half of them. There were always new faces, though. Turnover was high among the Balanchines—someone was always dying or going to prison.

Everyone stood when I walked in, and I noticed that the only place left was at the head of the table. I looked at the empty chair and wondered what was meant by it.

What else was there to do? I sat down.

A third or fourth cousin of mine named Pip Balanchine was designated the Family’s spokesperson. (I had many cousins, but I remembered Pip because he was the one with the mustache.) “Thank you for coming, Anya. Two years ago, you gave your approval to Fats Medovukha to run the Family. At that time, many of us felt you should be made head of the Family. As you may remember, I was one of those people.”

“Yes,” I said.

“We are deeply saddened by Fats’s passing. At the time of his death, he was having an argument with Ivan Balanchiadze. We believe this is why he was killed. The dispute involved the Dark Room.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Fats Medovukha believed in you and your cause, and he was willing to die for both. Since Fats’s murder, we’ve been discussing the situation. What we believe is that Ivan Balanchiadze and the Russian side of the Family is the past. You, Anya, are our future. We believe that nothing short of legalization is the key to our survival.”

A man in a purple suit spoke: “Many of us have wives and children, and we’re tired of having to look over our shoulders and of wondering when the law is going to catch up with us.”

Pip Balanchine continued. “We ask you today what we should have asked you two years ago. Anya, will you lead the Balanchine Family into the twenty-second century?”

I did not want to lead this Family.

And yet …

As I looked down the long stone table at the pasty complexions and light eyes that recalled my father’s, my brother’s, and my own, an unfamiliar feeling began to stir within me.

Obligation.

I felt an obligation to these men (and women, though mainly there were men). That I had been born a Balanchine had been the defining circumstance of my life. The name Balanchine had attached to me and defined me as violent, wild, bad, lazy, angry, and difficult. These Family men were as blameless as I had been in the face of this birthright. I knew I had to help them. If it was within my power to help them, I could not say no.

I looked over my shoulder at Mouse, who stood behind me like a loyal consigliere. Her eyes looked hopeful and expectant.