Eulogy (Eagle Elite Book 9)

by Rachel Van Dyken

The wives scattered in between.

  But no kids.

  “Since when did Family dinner night turn into date night?” I asked aloud. I’d put Luc next to me for protective reasons only. I didn’t want the guys asking her questions, and the wives were even worse. God save us all from Italian families with the questions and food and questions and food.

  I refused to look at Trace.

  And she refused to look at me.

  Nixon was staring down at his plate as if it was speaking to him.

  And Phoenix was drinking wine as if it was water.

  He wasn’t a drinker.

  Then again, neither was I until I lost my shit.

  “Since we all had kids,” Nixon finally answered. “And speaking of kids?” He cleared his throat and nodded to Tex.

  Tex had a mouthful of pasta and grimaced. “What?”

  “Anything you want to tell me?”

  Mo stilled.

  Finally, the attention was away from me and on someone else.

  I still hadn’t touched my food.

  Trace and Mo had brought it so I didn’t have to cook; it was as if they knew that cooking for all of them only brought pain.

  So why the hell was I able to do it for Luc?

  I tried not to think about it.

  Tex coughed a few times and then elbowed Mo who elbowed him back.

  “They’re pregnant,” Bee blurted, then covered her mouth with her hands. “Sorry, it’s the wine.”

  Phoenix wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, whispering into her ear, causing her face to flush.

  God, even the worst of us could still get a woman and make her blush.

  Why did I get the rat?

  The one who betrayed this.

  These people.

  My blood.

  I stood.

  Tex leveled me with a glare.

  I sat back down.

  Not because I couldn’t go head-to-head with him, but because I couldn’t leave Luc to the wolves.

  “How far along?” Sergio asked.

  I rolled my eyes. “You would ask that.”

  “Bite me,” he snapped.

  “Mature.” I lifted my wine glass to him while he flipped me off.

  Dante put his gun on the table and pointed it toward Sergio who just burst out laughing like “Yeah, I’d like to see you try.”

  Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t even sure D had a conscience anymore, but Sergio had age and experience over the guy, plus, he knew what it was like to live with demons.

  Sergio and I had more in common than I wanted to admit.

  Both of us had lost our wives.

  His had been taken.

  Mine had made a choice.

  The wine went sour in my stomach.

  “Fifteen weeks.” Mo grinned at Nixon. “And stop looking so grumpy. Don’t you want to be an uncle?”

  Nixon tossed back the rest of his wine. “Yes, but that means you touched her!”

  He pointed at Tex, who gave him an incredulous look. “You’ve heard us having sex and this? This is what bothers you?”

  Phoenix covered Bee’s ears.

  While Dante suddenly choked on his wine, and El patted his back.

  Trace grinned at them then locked eyes with me over the table.

  Shi-i-it.

  I owed her an apology about as much as she owed me one.

  “Excuse me.” She stood and dropped her napkin on the table, then approached me.

  Everyone fell silent.

  Our drama was real.

  Our past was shitty.

  I exhaled and stood, but not before Luc touched my thigh and squeezed.

  I almost knocked over my wine.

  She had no reason to be nice to me.

  No reason to care.

  And yet there it was.

  A thigh squeeze.

  I wanted to direct the hate I felt toward her; I wanted her to feel the pain that constantly thrummed in my chest, but you can’t hate someone wearing a headband. You just can’t.

  I did a double-take when I saw her grab the small pearl necklace from beneath her white blouse.

  Fuck me, did she have nylons on, too?

  I didn’t have time to look without everyone wondering why I was staring her down, so I followed Trace down the hall and out the door.

  I shut it quietly behind me.

  It was bitter cold outside.

  Neither of us was wearing a jacket.

  It made me just as numb on the outside as I felt on the inside, this feeling, the cold seeping into my bones; it was an everyday thing for me. Torn between feeling something and then nothing. Not caring, just existing.

  “You were always on my side,” Trace whispered.

  I flexed my fingers, shoved them into my pockets, and listened.

  “Even when Nixon was a complete jackass to me, even when the rest of the guys were asses, when the world was against me, you weren’t.” She wiped at her cheeks. “I’ve always loved you.”

  Hell, not this again.

  I almost went back in the house.

  “But not in the way you deserved, Chase. And I know you know that. You’re not stupid.”

  I hung my head as the past rejection came back, stinging me in the ass. It had nothing to do with her being right, I just hated the reminder it brought.

  “I saw the way you looked at her and thought… this, this is how it was always supposed to be, and I think, for a few brief moments, you thought the same. Everything finally made sense.”

  “And then it didn’t,” I answered for her.

  She nodded. “And then it didn’t. And then I watched someone I love just… lose his light.”

  “Bullshit. I’ve never had a light.”

  “Like the freaking sun, Chase.”

  “Cute.” I rolled my eyes.

  “My point is this…” Trace turned to me. “I feel responsible for you the way you felt responsible for me a few years ago, because when you had Mil…”

  I flinched at the name.

  “…I wrongly assumed you were fine. I turned a blind eye. I justified not asking if things were okay, and I refuse to be the shitty friend again, the shitty person who says they love you but never asks you the hard question.”

  “Oh yeah, and what’s that?”

  “Was it anything other than sex? Was there a soul connection? Because what I feel for Nixon, it’s in my soul. What I feel for you, well, that’s just my heart telling me that you’re one of the best people I’ve ever known, and if the woman you’re with can’t see that, then she deserves to die.”

  “A bit bloodthirsty, Trace.”

  “Mafia changes people.” That was her answer?

  Warmth spread around me as I stared at her, really stared at her, I wasn’t attracted to her anymore, not in that way, but I did love her, I loved her so fucking much it was ridiculous.

  But she was right.

  She’d always been right about the way we felt for each other.

  Kissing her had felt like… cheating on my best friend, and if I was being completely honest, cheating on the woman who would one day own me the way Nixon owned her.

  Sadness came then.

  Anger followed closely after.

  “Trace…” I clenched my teeth. “…I’m not…” God how did I even say this? “If I don’t get approval from the commission—”

  “Don’t say it,” she snapped as tears filled her eyes.

  I pulled her in for a hug. “They’ll have no choice.” I grit my teeth against the cold. “I’d make the same one if I was in their position. Just make sure Nixon gives me a clean shot. Suffering sucks. I’ve been doing it for the last six months.”

  “Chase!” She beat at my chest with her hands.

  I held her close.

  She hit me harder.

  I clutched her tighter as she burst into angry tears. “You can’t just stand there and tell me that you’re going to give up!”

  “I’m not giving up,” I whispered hoarsely. �
��I’m just being honest with you, maybe for the first time in my life. I swore an oath I mean to see through however I can, and nobody, not even a girl from Wyoming who took down the great Nixon Abandonato, is going to stop me.”

  She wiped her tears and shoved me one last time. “I didn’t take him down.”

  “You own his heart and his dick. Be honest, Trace.”

  She shoved me again, this time more playful.

  “Promise me one thing.” Her big eyes filled with more tears.

  I nodded.

  “Just think about what you’re really gaining by all of this and what exactly…” She opened the door as laughter hit me in the ears and chest. “…you’ll be losing.”

  “I’ve already lost it all,” I whispered.

  More laughter trickled from in the house, feminine laughter. “Hmm, doesn’t sound like it, does it?”

  She patted me on the chest and walked back into the kitchen, leaving me leaning against the door wondering what the hell had just happened and why I actually felt better, rather than worse.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “There’s nothing better than when plans finally come to fruition. Send someone else. It’s time.”

  — Ex-FBI Agent P

  Chase

  “She’s wearing a headband,” Dante said between bites of cake. “You saw it, right?”

  “And pearls,” I added as I watched her laugh with the girls. I narrowed my eyes as she tugged at the necklace again. She hadn’t been wearing it before dinner. Had she put it on so she would look nice? Why the hell did I care?

  “You’re staring again,” Dante mused.

  I rolled my eyes. “Just trying to figure her out.”

  “Ah, so he’s curious?”

  “No, he’s just…” I grit my teeth. “I don’t need to explain myself to you. Say one more thing, and you’re going to end up missing a tooth.”

  He shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “Or the last,” I grumbled.

  “You seem… different,” he said a few seconds later, just as Tex and Sergio approached arguing, because that was just how they lived their day-to-day lives.

  I shrugged.

  Tex jerked his head toward Luc. “You guys catch the pearls on that girl?”

  I groaned.

  Sergio crossed his arms. “Nikolai says she’s the best.”

  My body froze as a bit of trepidation ran down my spine. I’d forgotten about that part. “Nikolai Blazik.” I said his name out loud, wondering why it bothered me that he’d sent her.

  Sergio snorted. “She graduated with honors and has been working as a junior associate for the last two years, stays late, arrives early, has literally no life, not even a cat.”

  “Parents?” I asked, curiously.

  “Adopted. They may as well be her grandparents.”

  “Hmmm.” I frowned. “Is her last name really Smith?”

  Sergio gave me a pointed look.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  “But we can trust her?” Dante piped up as Nixon and Frank approached with a bottle of wine.

  “Nikolai is very… specific.” Sergio took the wine from Nixon. “If she had dirt on her, I’d know it, and I’m guessing she’d have at least a dozen guns pointed at her head.”

  I changed the subject. “I told her we’re gardeners.”

  Sergio spit out his wine while D burst out laughing.

  Frank grimaced. “Perhaps you should tell her what we really do.”

  “Hey, she saw me shoot people. I joked that I was a paid assassin. Why correct her? Plus, I want her to figure it out all on her own. We’ll see how good she is or how smart she is when she broaches the subject.”

  Tex sighed. “Just don’t shoot her, okay? She’s actually nice.”

  I made a face. “It’s been at least two days since I’ve threatened her life.”

  Phoenix started a slow clap, while the guys grumbled to themselves.

  I stared across at her again; she met my gaze, her fingers teasing the pearls. I licked my lips and stared at her red mouth. Her and that damn red lipstick.

  I refused to think about the kiss.

  It had been necessary.

  Completely necessary.

  No other way.

  Right?

  My body was dead anyway.

  If I couldn’t even conjure up a little sexual enthusiasm out of a kiss, then I really was like The Walking Dead. But I couldn’t blame my dick for not wanting to jump on board with another woman who held my heart in one hand and a knife in the other.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “First I end him, then I end them all.”

  — Ex-FBI Agent P

  Luciana

  I placed my mom’s pearls, the only thing that was left with me at the orphanage, into the box and hid it away in my suitcase. Maybe it was stupid, but whenever I was nervous, I wore them and told myself that they were magic.

  It had been my only solace through foster care.

  But because they were real, I always had to keep them hidden.

  And for the most part, I never wore them, just touched them when I would cry myself to sleep and dream about a different life with parents who loved me, a big house, maybe even a dog.

  A loving family.

  A smile.

  I squeezed my eyes shut.

  My adoptive parents said there was no background information on my biological parents; it was as if they’d never even existed.

  Maybe it was better that way. It just fueled the fantasy I had about them being royalty, or rich, or maybe just alive and waiting for me.

  I stripped out of my skirt and blouse and carefully hung them up in the large, empty closet, then grabbed a pair of pajama bottoms and a tank top.

  Time to sing.

  I knocked on his door twice before he rasped for me to come in.

  I’d been singing to him for two nights.

  And both nights he’d fallen asleep within minutes, as if my voice was magic, which I knew was the furthest thing from the truth; it was passably pretty, but I wasn’t going to be getting any record deals anytime soon.

  “Hey.” I inwardly groaned. Could I be any more awkward with him? During the day I at least had something to do with my hands. I was working myself to the bone, but at night? At night my thoughts were scattered. “You ready?”

  Chase walked around the corner, the fireplace was on, the bath water running on the other side in the bathroom. I’d never really seen his room with the lights on.

  It wasn’t small by any means, but it didn’t seem like a master bedroom, even with the walk-in bathroom.

  He had a towel wrapped around his waist, giving me an insane view of his abs and all the ink taking over his skin.

  “Hey.” Chase typed something out on his phone as if it was normal for him to walk around half-naked in front of all his employees. “I ran the bath for you.”

  I tilted my head at him. “I’m sorry?”

  “Bath. You.” He pointed at me, then behind me. “I’m gonna go shower in the other room, figured you could use some time to relax. Oh, and there’s champagne.”

  “What?” My jaw almost fell to the floor.

  “Hearing problems?” His eyebrows shot up. “There. Is. A. Bath. Running. For. You. In. The—”

  I held up my hand. “Can you not ruin a nice thing by being an asshole? Please?”

  His lips twitched and then fell into a full-on grin that had my clothes ready to just fall off my body in wonder. Seriously, I even held onto my tank top to make sure it didn’t disintegrate into a puddle at my feet.

  He sauntered by me, his deep V distracting every molecule in my body, and then he stopped once we were shoulder to shoulder. “You blushing because you called your employer an asshole or because of the towel?”

  I swallowed and met his gaze. “A bit of both, I guess.”

  He nodded. “When it comes to sex, trust me, you’re safe.”

  “You said safe w
asn’t a reality.”

  He just shrugged and walked by me.

  That wasn’t helpful. Not at all.

  “Thank you!” I called.

  He turned and leaned a muscled arm against the doorframe. “It was a long night, always is during family dinners. You looked exhausted.”

  I felt exhausted. I self-consciously tugged at my tank top. “I was adopted so, I don’t… I’m not really used to all of that.”

  “I know,” he whispered.

  Of course he did.

  We stared at each other for a few more seconds before he pointed. “You should probably make sure that it doesn’t overflow.”

  I nodded, a bit breathless, then turned around and made my way toward the bath.

  The bastard had even lit candles.

  I wanted to throw them. How dare he go from threatening to kill me to drawing me a freaking bubble bath?

  I clenched my teeth.

  It was impossible to stay mad at someone that attractive.

  Add the whole bath thing on top of it…

  And I was seriously the girl I never thought I’d be, the one that made justifications for his horrible actions every time he did something nice.

  With a huff, I peeled my shirt over my head and dropped my pajamas then hopped in.

  “SHIT!” I yelled and stood then bumped my head on the low chandelier causing me to stumble a bit against the wall, which naturally led to me pressing my hand against the fireplace and slipping onto my ass as hot water sloshed all over the sides.

  I quickly stood again, just as Chase rounded the corner, an amused expression on his face. “You gonna make it?”

  I covered my breasts.

  He didn’t seem to care.

  Was he gay?

  There was literally no reaction at all. He stepped forward and examined my head then, very slowly, leaned down, inches away from my belly button and then lower, and flicked on the cold water, his eyes never leaving my face.

  My breathing picked up as he felt the water then stirred it around my ankles, never once looking away from my face.

  One minute felt like an hour. He stood again, so close to me I could almost feel his towel brushing against my thighs. “You should be fine now. Should I stay just in case?”

  “I think I got it,” I croaked.

  He winked and walked off.

  Winked.

  He. Winked.