by Nora Flite
I hated admitting it, but . . . “Amazing isn’t half the word.”
Scotch was watching me with her eyebrows hidden in her messy hair. “Say that again.”
“Say what?”
“Say that these men are amazing.”
Okay. Now she was pushing it. Curling her against me, I filled my nose with her comforting scent. “I know what you’re getting at. And you win.”
“I definitely win,” she agreed, snuggling against me.
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR -
SCOTCH
There were tons of cop cars waiting outside the warehouse.
Costello’s hand was wrapped around mine, firm and tight. I didn’t want him to let go. It was crazy to think that this mess could finally be over. I clung to the words my uncle had said earlier:
“The Valentines won’t keep chasing you if we can get clear evidence that you never attacked their son.”
“What about Darien himself?” I asked.
My uncle laughed. “Him? If we do this right, he’ll be in jail for a long, long time.”
“And there’ll be no war? No one will have to die?”
His eyes were shadowed under his thick brows. “I’ll be right outside. You’ll be fine, I promise.”
“This is about more than me.” Remembering my standoff with Maverick, I spoke as carefully, as seriously, as I could. “Costello and his family can’t suffer for this.”
“When this is over with,” he whispered, “they won’t.”
Breathing in the cool air, I laid my head on Costello’s shoulder. We’d stopped walking, lingering by the warehouse as the police ushered Horace and Darien and all the others out in cuffs. None of the men looked our way; I was glad. “Go on,” I chuckled. “Tell me I’m a genius for solving this.”
He smiled down on me indulgently. “You’re more than a genius. I can’t imagine what else you’re capable of. It’d be wonderful if I got to see it.”
A tickle of unease made my words catch in my mouth. “Ha, you make it sound like you won’t.”
Costello’s attention went over my shoulder, to the cop cars with their flashing lights. I followed his gaze and saw my uncle staring at us without even pretending to hide it. Suspicion turned my guts into snakes. “What’s going on? Costello . . .”
“He expects me to leave,” he said grimly. “He’s watching to make sure I do.”
“What? He can’t make you do that!”
“Your uncle is a stubborn man . . . stubborn and smart.” Costello’s smile was bleak. There was no warmth, only the eternal pain of a man who’d suffered and thought he was fated to suffer more. “He laid it out for me that night in your kitchen. He’d work with me to help you, but when that was over with, he wanted me gone. Everything he pointed out about me and my family putting you at risk was the truth.”
My hand fell from his like a dead branch in an ice storm. I couldn’t touch him, I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t believe him!
He knew he’d have to leave.
He’d known and still he’d held me . . . touched me . . . kissed me.
“Don’t give up on this,” I said, the words wet in my mouth as tears slid from my cheeks into the corners of my lips. “Don’t say goodbye. You fought tooth and nail to keep me alive, and I fought with you, and after all of that you want to say it was worth nothing?” My voice cracked as I came undone. “Look me in the eye and tell me you want us to end!”
I knew people had to be watching us. I was shrill in my disbelief. No one could be angrier in this world than me. It wasn’t possible.
Then Costello spun his fingers in my hair, facing me down—and I knew I was wrong. His eyes were furious, a sea no one could swim in and survive. “Of course I don’t want us to end! You make me feel like I’m enough. I’ve never felt that way, not once in my whole damn life. I can’t lose that.” All the ice in his eyes melted away, and through them I glimpsed his fragile soul. “I can’t lose you.”
He hung his head until his face was all shadow. “I love you. God help me, but I do.” His stare returned to me. There was no more anger; he had nothing to fight now that his secret was out. “I’m in love and I don’t want to give that up. Not for anyone.”
“Then don’t,” I said, smiling through my sobs. “I love you, too. I love you so much and I don’t care what anyone thinks about that.”
“Not even me?” Shoes crunched nearby. My uncle loomed over us where we huddled, his mustache hiding only some of his frown. I was sure he’d overheard everything. The distress in his eyes was scalding. “You’d really break your word?” he asked Costello. “I shook your damn hand. Guess that meant nothing.”
They shook hands? I couldn’t imagine that. Costello was frozen, but I felt the energy that burned in his core. He reluctantly let me go so he could stand toe to toe with my uncle. “I know what I agreed to. But I can’t do it. Scotch is too important to me. She means more than the most unbreakable promise I could ever commit to.”
The detective was a wall of rocks. I expected him to crumble on top of me and Costello, leaving us and our love in pieces. His knuckles glinted whiter than the snow around us.
He breathed in, he waited, and I waited with him. “Your whole family is a pack of liars. Don’t know why I expected any different from you.”
It was the most deflated insult I’d heard from his lips.
Uncle Jimmy turned away, storming toward the police and shouting orders. I was stunned. Could it really be that simple? No. It wasn’t simple at all. He’d hated the Badds for . . . well, forever. The disgust ran through his veins. For him to walk away from Costello and me, accepting our love, he had to truly believe in us.
Costello had proven his heart wasn’t stained.
Smiling in wonder, I whispered, “He finally realized what I already knew.”
“And what’s that?”
Casting a sly look up at Costello, I wove my fingers with his. I never wanted to let go of his hand. Not for a second. “That you’re a hero.”
His eyes strained with how big they got. I’d never witnessed him so shocked.
“Oh my gosh,” I said. “Are you blushing?”
“Of course not!”
“You are!” Sweeping me up in his arms, Costello marched me toward the cars. “Hey! What are you doing?” I squealed.
He kissed me deeply and said into my ear, “Making you blush.”
I promptly did, but I also snuggled into his chest. This was safe and warm, and I’d endure the humiliation of multiple officers gawking at me. For Costello Badd, I think I would have endured anything.
His arms wove tighter around me, then set me in the passenger seat of his car; he’d parked it out of view of the warehouse, behind a small hill. It wasn’t until we were alone, his hands on the wheel and the tires rolling over the asphalt, that he spoke again. “What you said earlier, it meant more to me than you could know.”
“What did I say?”
I could only see his right side, one perfect blue eye as round as the moon, his scar a mountain range from high above. It made me feel so very far away.
“You called me a hero. And for the first time in my life . . . I believed it.”
- EPILOGUE -
COSTELLO
I checked my phone again. My thumb caressed the edge impatiently.
“Hey,” Thorne said behind me.
I’d been sitting among the gardens in our backyard. Many of the roses were sequestered in the greenhouse, but somehow a few white ones were still blooming along the fence. Glancing over my shoulder, I faced him. “Are they all here?”
“Yeah. Every single one of the bastards, it looks like.” His smile didn’t have the usual strength to it. Eyeing me, he let it fall away entirely. “Listen, about what happened.”
“You were just doing what you had to.”
“I should have told you where she was. Fuck, since when do I care about being such a good little son?” he asked, shaking his head.
My hand clapped down on his rig
ht shoulder. “You were watching out for our family. I can’t blame you for that.”
“You can, and it’s okay if you do.” Grabbing my forearms, he pulled me into a fierce hug. “I need to ask one thing.”
“What?”
“Is it genetic? This whole becoming an irrational idiot because of some woman?” Holding me at a distance, he dropped his eyebrows seriously. “First Kain, now you. I need to know if I’m doomed. Just give it to me straight.”
Laughing, I broke away and strode toward the house. “Come on. We’ve got guests to attend to.”
The outside of the estate was filled with fancy cars. We passed by them as we circled to the front, then went through the doors. Our father was waiting for us in the hallway outside the ballroom we’d chosen for this meeting.
I couldn’t see inside, but the soft buzz promised a large gathering. I knew most would be bodyguards—we had arranged for ten, just for ourselves—but none of them had weapons. No one was allowed such things here. This was supposed to be a safe space. As much as I itched to shed the blood of every Valentine, I wouldn’t. Everything Scotch had gone through would have been wasted if I went rogue.
Maverick lifted his nose as we approached. “I assume you’re both unarmed?”
“Of course,” I said.
A short man with wide shoulders waved us toward the far wall. I didn’t know him by his face, so he clearly worked for the Valentines. Each of us had set up someone to pat people down as they entered the room.
I let the stranger check me, then watched as he did the same to my brother. Finished, he moved away, giving us some privacy. Our father leaned close to us. “Everyone is inside. Do you remember what I told you?”
Thorne gave me a pointed look. “Something about not going haywire and slicing people into ribbons. Right? Am I paraphrasing?”
I stared at Maverick, unflinching. “I’m not going to do anything you don’t approve of. As much as you think I acted selfishly these past weeks, I still put our family’s safety at top priority.”
He considered me for a long while. The man was steady as a castle and even so, I thought—just for a second—that he was about to say something to me. Something out of character. Something . . . kind.
But he didn’t. And I knew I’d imagined it all.
“Come,” he said, motioning with his head. “Let’s begin.”
The ballroom was bigger than a basketball court. A domed ceiling arched above, glittering with overlapping segments of crystal and bronze. It was a gorgeous room that we hadn’t used at all this winter.
My mother adored parties; she’d insisted on using the space and going all out on the catering. As much as she loathed what the Valentines had put us through recently—and, as I’d informed her and my father in our debriefing, in the past—she insisted on being a gracious host.
Or maybe she just wanted to show off.
A single long table shone on the reflective floors. On one side sat Kain, Sammy, and Francesca. It was no shocker that Lulabelle wasn’t present. She’d forgiven our father to the point that she was okay being around our family again, but no number of centuries could be enough for her to want to be involved in any aspect of our business.
My mother waited near the head beside a chair meant for Maverick. The walls were lined with silent guards, some ours, some theirs.
Rush stood as tall as any of them, but he winked at me as I passed. He could have been the only human among a display of mannequins. After he’d helped save my life, we’d promoted him to be a personal bodyguard. The Deep Shots were beyond fractured; some had scattered with no allegiance, many had joined our crew, but even more had sworn loyalty to the Valentines.
“It’s because they think you’ll kill them,” Rush had explained to me days ago. He’d shrugged, not quite apologetically. “You’re scary. They saw it in action. Didn’t take much for Donnie to convince them their only choice was joining the Valentines.”
It was a relief not to see any of the defectors here.
The table was stocked with fancy finger foods and glittering glasses full of champagne. Some people pretended to be interested in eating, others didn’t bother with the ruse, but no matter how you sliced it, all the Valentines studied our trio as we approached.
One man who looked to be close to my age hadn’t stopped smiling at me since I’d entered the ballroom. It was a smug smile, as if he knew something no one else in the world did. He had pale gold eyes and rich tan skin. I scanned the group, realizing most of them had that healthy bronze tone—like they often vacationed somewhere hot.
These weren’t flighty posh billionaires, though. These were deadly people. I didn’t know how many of them had been involved in the attempted murder of Lula and me, or in the complacency of Darien’s misdirected revenge, so I assumed all of them were equally guilty.
Faces blurred together as I tried to record them in my mind. I was also smart enough . . . informed enough . . . to identify the patriarch himself.
Kurtis Valentine was a lean man. He’d worn a loose sweater the same shade as the snow outside, as if it could make him seem more innocent—hide his terrible sins. Even so, I spotted the powerful muscles under the material when he shifted to whisper to the woman next to him.
By her position opposite my mother, this had to be Valencia Valentine, his wife.
There were a few other women, too, no doubt daughters of the family. One young woman with cinnamon-colored eyes glanced at me, then let her attention glide toward Hawthorne. She stiffened, ducking her head and pretending to be invested in her chocolate strawberries.
“Do you know her?” I whispered to him as we sat near my father at the head.
Thorne shrugged, rocking back in his chair with a vague smirk. “Don’t think so. Maybe I’ll have to get her number. Unless we aren’t allowed to sleep with the enemy?”
Kain elbowed him. “Fucking hell, man.”
Maverick arrived at his chair. At every meeting I’d been to, our guests had risen at the sight of my father. Here, not a single chair scraped backward. I felt the air vibrate with anticipation: Would my father say something? Would Kurtis buckle?
Lifting his eyes slowly, the head of the Valentines smiled sweetly, cleared his throat, and stood. The rest of his kin copied him instantly, well-trained monkeys. “Maverick Badd,” Kurtis said smoothly. “Thanks for hosting us.”
“Sit,” he said, settling at the head of the table. “There’s no need for pretense here.”
Kurtis’s smile twitched, and he and the others sat again. It was a power move to make them all stand and then pretend it wasn’t needed. “I appreciate pretense. Keeps things peaceful.”
“Peaceful!” I snapped, unable to stop myself. “That’s what you’d call letting Darien run around like a rabid animal because he was humiliated by his mistakes?”
Across from me, the gold-eyed stranger covered his mouth and chuckled. Kurtis glared at him, hissing a quick, “Larchmont.” Then he faced me with that fucking smile. “Costello, correct?”
“You know who I am,” I replied coolly.
Kurtis linked his hands. Everyone was watching us. “You say that with some accusation.”
“Are you daring me to formally accuse you?”
His eyebrows inched upward. “We believe in evidence here, hm? I admit that we’re very embarrassed by the lie Darien spread that caused so much fuss for you all.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Thorne mumbled.
“But,” Kurtis went on, not slowing down, “the recording graciously obtained by your local PD has cleared things up. So maybe you should speak plainly and tell us what you can factually say I’ve done to wrong you?”
I started to lean forward. From the corner of my eye, I caught Maverick’s warning glare. With great control I pulled myself into my chair and straightened up. “I ran into several men at that warehouse. One of them attacked me when I was nineteen. The other was a cop who claimed to be working for you.”
“Which cop?” Kurtis
asked politely.
His smile was turning my stomach. Maverick spoke first. “Horace Max.” My father glanced from me to Kurtis, then to the rest of the table, as if forcing them to be included. “We looked into him once he was booked into the Boston jail for questioning. He’s the same man that tricked my daughter into falling into a trap set by a man named Romeo Frisk.”
My knuckles ached from how I was gripping my knees under the table. The longer I sat across from the same people who were responsible for so much of the strife in my life and my family’s lives, the harder it was not to leap across the table and dig a fork into their skulls.
It wasn’t Kurtis who spoke, but his wife. Valencia’s eyes were hooded, as if she were fighting sleep. She slid them my way. “This man, Horace, do you have any proof he was being paid by us?”
“He told me—”
“Proof,” she said, cutting me off. Her tone was low and soft, making me strain to hear her. “You could be lying. He could be lying. How do any of us know?”
Heat washed up my neck. “I wouldn’t lie.”
Across from me, the gold-eyed man—Larchmont?—chuckled. “Sorry, but didn’t you lie to your whole family for weeks about that girl? What was her name again, Whiskey?”
“Scotch,” I hissed.
“Same difference.” He picked at a finger sandwich, slowly dissecting it on his plate. “Your own family can’t trust your word. Why would we?”
I was boiling with hate, working at my tongue with my molars as I thought over my response. Hands came down loudly on the table, jostling the silverware. Francesca was half standing, her eyes wild. “If he says this Horace guy was working for you, then it’s the truth!”
Disbelief left me speechless. She looked at me, then away quickly, sitting with her nose in the air. Larchmont eyed her with a twisted smirk, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Such certainty!”