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To anyone else, it might not seem a far stretch from the schemes I’ve spent years cultivating. And maybe drug distribution, money laundering, racketeering and extortion—to name a few—aren’t all that distant from the brutality of women, but to me, they’re fucking worlds apart.
Extortion is about exuding power and claiming money. The distribution of drugs, again, is about power and money. Everything I do holds the same values.
I never target those who are fragile and i
I’m not weak.
Yet my father holds entirely different views, or so it seems. The man who I thought was beyond strength and power is nothing but a pitiful, spineless fool.
He preys on those who can’t protect themselves while succumbing to perversions ninety percent of the population can keep in check.
There’s no power in that. Only deficiency.
The thought of being associated with those activities makes my skin crawl.
Luca inches closer. “They’re here.”
I glance toward the narrow road leading through the cemetery and find Hunter’s black Suburban pulling into the only remaining parking space reserved for family.
Decker rides shotgun. The women must be behind the back tinted windows.
Two doors open and Hunter and Sarah make their way toward the crowd, while my sister remains in the car, taunting my impatience.
“Want me to get them to hurry up?”
I pretend not to hear yet another one of Luca’s questions and breathe deep to find some calm.
Despite my diminishing tolerance, I know Keira doesn’t deserve to be rushed. She loathes Richard more than I do. She has every reason to.
My struggle is centered on something entirely different.
Something more brutal.
I fear what I will become once I condemn my father.
I grew up worlds apart from my sisters. I didn’t have my mother’s guidance. The kindness. The nurturing. The fucking morals that have begun to drive me bat-shit crazy. I remained tightly guided under my father’s influence.
He molded me into a resilient warrior.
His spitting image.
The perfect protégé.
I learned about the drug trade while kids my age were getting beat up in middle school. There was no gentle upbringing. I shuffled through crime-scene photos like other teens flicked through Playboy. I was born to live in my father’s footsteps. Taught to lead. To control. To conquer.
The only softness I knew was my predecessor’s greatest lesson, the one that continues to ring in my ears to this very day, haunting me—money is power, but family is everything.
Family. Is. Everything.
Giving him what he deserves means I’m spitting in the face of the only warmth I know.
My reputation for ruthlessness will be cemented—the horrors etched in stone.
But maybe the lesson was strategic on my father’s behalf.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he taught me the highest value of family because he knew the day would come when I would question if he deserved his next breath.
And I am questioning it.
I’m questioning every thought. Every feeling. Every twinge of consciousness.
I guess the moral crisis is a blessing in disguise. It means I haven’t reached his level of savagery.
Not yet.
“Here they come,” Luca mutters.
“I can fucking see that.” I don’t need a blow-by-blow update. Jesus. I’m not blind.
Layla glares at me. “Watch your mouth in front of Stella.”
I roll my eyes and hold in a sigh. Her parenting isn’t a battle I’m willing to fight. We need to be strong. To be unified. I’ll release my thread-bare frustration soon enough, and God help the poor motherfucker who has to deal with the nuclear detonation.
“I apologize.” I grind the words through gritted teeth as Keira slides from the car.
Surprise, surprise, Decker meets her at the side of the vehicle with an outstretched hand.
That guy never ceases to piss me off.
I hate how she submits to him too easily. And maybe I envy it a little, too.
She’s happy with this asshole. Despite the reasons for her being here today, beyond the weary eyes and wearier expression, she’s at peace. And that solace can’t be easy to find when you know your father is responsible for the death of your boyfriend’s sister.
Yep. My father led Pe
Last I heard, her DNA was found in a mass grave.
What a great foundation for a flourishing relationship.
I drag my attention from the smitten couple who choose to stand away from our family gathered beneath the gazebo, and focus past the crowd, staring into the distance. I ignore the pound of a building headache. I block out the increased chatter from friends and strangers alike. I try to clear my head of the noise even though my mind pummels me with a million unanswered questions regarding my father’s whereabouts.
Fucking hell.
He’s not coming.
Which means Keira is going to crumple. Momentarily. Then bounce back even harder with a vengeance.
She will nag and nag at me to finish this. And if I don’t act quick enough, she will revert to making threats to take the matter into her own hands.
I don’t know what’s worse—the thought of the guilt that could consume me once I deal with my own father or the fear Keira will attempt an attack before I have the chance.
I can’t allow her the opportunity.
I’ve already failed her many times before. I won’t let her be in harm’s way again.
“You can start.” I jerk my head toward the funeral officiant murmuring with mourners. “The last of our family has arrived.”
Layla shoots me a look of concern. “You’re not going to wait?”
My pulse is triggered by her panic, the frantic beats ratcheting up another notch. “There’s no need. If he’s not here already, he’s not going to show.”
The admission should bring relief. I wanted more time, right? This was what I’d been praying for. So why do I feel defeated?
The officiant steps forward, a leather-bound book clutched in his hands. He greets the crowd of people I barely recognize and speaks scripted lies, his showmanship engaging everyone in attendance as he weaves something closer to a fairy-tale than reality.
I watch Keira as the funeral drags on. I don’t know how to make this right. To ease her burden. But maybe this is for the best.
I need to keep her safe. All of us safe.
Delaying the drama with my father will afford me the opportunity to build more loyalties. To cultivate a better plan.
As if hearing my thoughts, she freezes in place and grabs the crook of Decker’s arm. She stares blankly ahead, her lips parted, her eyes wide.
She could be lost in past nightmares or predicting the horrors of the future for all I know, but I follow her gaze across the open expanse of the cemetery only to find the devil stalking toward me.
“Shit.” The curse brushes past my clenched teeth.
Layla shoots me another glare, then quickly mimics my line of sight.
“Oh, God,” she whispers.
My father strides toward us, passing angel statues and monuments to lives lost, his shoulders stiff beneath his expensive suit. It’s been many months since I’ve seen him. Not enough to lessen the sense of authority he brings. Or the gut-wrenching animosity I feel.
I’ve never battled with such vastly conflicting emotions as I do right now.
The anger. The resentment.
The fucking brutal pain.
He used to be a storm of power and hostility, the attributes intimately entwined to make him a force to be reckoned with. At least that was what I’d thought, until he started delving in things only a weak man would entertain.