Chapter Thirty-Four
Josh
Let me have my assistant send you my address. Spoken as though he were some kind of legit businessman, not a mafia boss with blood on his hands.
Vincent isn’t in Nesovia like I expected.
He’s actually enjoying himself in La Jolla.
I hate it that he’s here, in the same state, although it does make it easier to go see him.
I resent that I have to go at all, when I could’ve spent a lazy Sunday with Klein, naked in bed.
Instead, I’m in La Jolla in one of my best power suits and a wine-colored tie.
Silver cuff links in the shape of the Huxley wolf glint at my wrists.
They remind me that no matter what, I’m a Huxley, not a Dunkel.
I’m Prescott Huxley’s son, and nothing of Zoe Dunkel can affect me.
I climb out of the rental car and squint at the beautiful beachfront property, built of blindingly white stones and with an immaculate garden.
Doesn’t surprise me. Mafiosos like to spend money on nice things.
Besides, being in SoCal gives him the best position to watch his children fight to the death for control of the family empire.
He claims he disapproves of family hurting each other.
But I don’t buy it. Vincent should’ve selected an heir already—he’s far from young at this point—but he’s been keeping it to himself, letting Mom and Harvey battle it out, with me and my brothers as pawns to be moved around, even sacrificed, as necessary.
Harvey mentioned to Bryce that Roland—the youngest—is Vincent’s favorite.
It’s possible he already knew about the truth behind Roland’s death and wanted to exact some sort of revenge on Mom and punish Harvey for failing to protect his baby brother.
What better way to torment them than silently taunting them: Neither of you is good enough, so fight it out for my amusement.
Still, I wonder… Am I doing the right thing by being here?
I plan to propose a solution to ensure his misbegotten asshole children don’t involve us in their war.
I’m sick of it. With Mom’s escalation—going after Klein directly, undoubtedly to use her to try to manipulate me—it could get deadly.
The Dunkels can rip each other apart all they want, but they aren’t allowed to hurt us Huxleys.
I don’t want Mom trying to drag Klein into the fight, either.
My focus is on building a stronger relationship with her, without the Dunkels’ civil war hanging over us.
I hit the big wooden door hard with the bronze knocker.
A few minutes later, the entrance cracks open.
A nondescript man in a crisp black suit comes out.
A butler? A fake bodyguard? Hard to tell.
The man’s thin, but wiry. His looks are as average as you can get: medium brown hair and eyes in an unimpressive face that’s seen just enough sun to avoid being pale.
A great companion to keep around if you don’t want to be noticed.
“Mr. Huxley?” he says in precise English.
“Yes. Who are you?”
“My name is Mick. This way, please.” He steps aside and gestures me in.
The interior of the mansion is cool. Thick curtains keep much of the sun out, giving it an odd, gloomy feel. At night, this would be a perfect spot to film a vampire movie. It takes talent to turn a La Jolla property this dreary.
Mick leads me through the dimly lit hall until we reach double doors at the end.
He pushes them open to a grand suite with a balcony that would overlook the Pacific if someone would just part the blackout curtains.
A shiny Steinway baby grand stands to my left.
Doubt it’s for Vincent, since he’s only used his hands to kill, not create anything beautiful. Certainly not his monstrous children.
I scan the room, pausing when my eyes land on an elderly man in a plush leather armchair in the shadowy sitting section. I almost don’t recognize him—he’s so…small. And thin. My memory of him is from when I was seven. Back then, he towered over me like an unshakable oak.
The years haven’t been kind to him. Thin skin hangs off his bony face and slim shoulders, mottled with liver spots. If he hadn’t spent decades solidifying his position, somebody probably would have eliminated him a while ago.
“Josh.” His voice is slightly reedy, but there’s still some steel underneath that says, Don’t fuck with me.
“Hello,” I respond, hiding my surprise with a cool facade.
“Come closer.” He gestures. “Let me see you.”
The decades-old resentment bubbles up, but I paste on a smile, the kind I wear when I’m about to face opposing counsel. “Yes, Grandfather.”
When I stop two feet away from him, he looks me up and down, then stares into my unblinking eyes. I arch an eyebrow and meet his gaze. I won’t let an old, dying lion of a man intimidate me.
A moment later, a corner of his mouth tips upward. “As I expected. Sharp. Ruthless. A true Dunkel.” He practically purrs with pride.
My stomach churns. Fuck you, asshole. I’m a Huxley. I swallow the words—they won’t help me get what I want—but can’t stop my mouth from twisting into a sarcastic line.
Either Vincent doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “It’s good to see you again, Josh. I missed you.”
“I hope you understand that I can’t say the same.”
He chuckles, then gestures at me to take the armchair to his left. “Something to drink?”
I sit back and cross my legs. “No thanks.” If I could, I wouldn’t even breathe the air in this house.
“Suit yourself.” He pours himself some Yamazaki 55.
I’d love a glass, but then, it’s Vincent Dunkel, and who knows what he might add to the whiskey.
I bet he’s doing this on purpose, which makes me even more irritated and determined to turn down anything edible he offers.
“You’re still in a snit because I didn’t toss her in jail. ”
A snit? “Don’t minimize my life experience. Jail is the least she deserves.”
“She’s your mother, Josh. Her blood—the family’s blood—flows in your veins.”
“I’m not a Dunkel.”
“You keep telling yourself that. Just because you bear your father’s name doesn’t mean you’re really a Huxley deep down. There’s a great potential for ruthless violence in you.” He puts the bottle back. “I like that.”
I clench my teeth. It’s almost like he and Mom had a conference and conspired to call me a monster. “We can agree to disagree.”
He takes a sip of the Yamazaki. “I’m surprised you haven’t killed Zoe yet. I thought you were going to. You absolutely despised her.”
I narrow my eyes slightly. How much does he know about my past indiscretion?
“Even now I can see the murderous intent in your eyes. It’s too bad your father got custody of you. I could’ve honed you into a weapon, unrestrained by anything as cumbersome as the law or morality.”
“The law is my weapon, morality my guiding principle,” I say flatly.
“See?” Vincent lifts his glass toward me and sighs. Your father ruined you. “Although…I do wonder why you decided to give yourself a weakness.”
“Weakness?”
“Your fiancée.”
A muscle near my eyebrow twitches. The urge to leap over and strangle him explodes in my mind, but I pull myself together.
“A very nice girl. Too sweet, though. As fluffy as cotton candy. Tug at her a little, and she rips apart.” He tsks. “You like her, don’t you?”
I pin him with an icy stare.
He smirks. “I’m not the only one who’s noticed.”
“If you are such an observant man, why don’t you stop your children from fighting and creating so much collateral damage?”
“Can’t stop the rule of nature—survival of the fittest. I will not let someone weak control the empire. Speaking of which…” A hint of true affection warms his smile. “There’s a person I want you to meet.”
A man steps out of the shadows behind Vincent. He stands tall, like a century-old oak—very much reminiscent of Vincent in his prime. A jagged white scar by his left eye mars his otherwise flawless, tanned face. Other than that, he’s a carbon copy of Vincent.
The man smiles. “Hello, nephew.”
“Hello, Roland.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “You know me?”
“You’re pretty famous.”
He smiles, then perches on the armrest on Vincent’s seat and places his hand on the back of the chair like a knight guarding his king from danger. The old man pats Roland’s hand, the favoritism obvious. “You’re such a good child. I can’t believe I almost lost you.”
“You’ll never lose me, Father.”
Vincent pats Roland’s hand again, then rises to his feet. “I’ll leave you two alone so you can speak freely.”
Vincent tries to place his hand on my forearm, but I shift away. A flash of hurt cuts through his otherwise self-satisfied mask, but almost immediately, his expression smooths back to impassivity. “Enjoy, children.” Mick trails behind him.
Roland takes the seat Vincent occupied just moments ago, and the symbolism isn’t lost on me. “You sure you don’t want anything?” He knocks back the whiskey Vincent left as well.
“No.”
“I don’t drug people, Joshua.”
“Of course not.” I flash him a blank smile.
“I’m nothing like your mother or Harvey.”
“Maybe not. But I don’t know enough about you to make that judgment.”
“Yet here we are.” He pours more whiskey. “If you were going to side with your mother, you wouldn’t be here.”
“She inserted herself into a situation where she shouldn’t have. You wouldn’t forgive her if she messed with Kenna, would you?”
Roland’s gaze sharpens. “No, I wouldn’t.
But you should know I have no plans to hurt your girl.
I’ve been keeping an eye on her to keep her safe from Zoe.
” He reaches up and scratches the back of his head, elaborately casual.
His suit sleeve bulges. “You received the photos and text when her apartment burned down, didn’t you? Zoe’s handiwork, by the way.”
That was him? “Should I thank you? You didn’t stop Mom.”
“My men’s instructions were to keep your girl safe, not ‘stop Mom.’” He gives me a nice-guy smile.
If he thinks this puts me in his debt, he’s sorely mistaken. “I don’t care about this war between the three of you, but I don’t want the Huxleys, or my fiancée and me, to be dragged into it. I want my family to be left alone, no matter who takes over the organization.”
“That’s going to be me—count on it.”
“Out of the three, you’re the least objectionable. At least you didn’t try to drug us, kidnap us or leave us to die. And you haven’t tried to get to our women. Things like that matter.”
He laughs. Hope he doesn’t think I was being complimentary. That’s setting the bar pretty low. “You take your family motto too seriously.”
“Because only people who are worthy of loyalty and unity get to be part of the family. But then, you wouldn’t understand. The Dunkels never made the cut.”
“Like we want to be bound by something as ridiculous as your motto,” Roland sneers.
“Zoe was an idiot to marry Prescott, and even a bigger idiot to fall for him and you boys.” His eyes flick in my direction.
“No offense, but you and I both know she can’t play by the rules, especially something as rigid as pietas et unitas. ”
“None taken.” I share his opinion about Mom’s feelings. I steeple my fingers. “Anyway, you aren’t stupid. Harvey’s no match.” I believe that. Even without Vincent putting his weight behind him, Roland is capable enough. Near-death experiences can change a man, and he didn’t return to play nice.
“So. What would you give me in return?” he asks.
I’m not foolish enough to make the first offer. “What are you thinking?”
His eyes brighten. “I have a proposal.” He leans forward. “Zoe loves her children very much.” He sees my look. “Oh, but it’s true.”
“Uh-huh.” If kidnapping and drugging is love, I don’t want to know what Roland considers hate.
“I want to see her get backstabbed by the child she’s most partial to.” His eyes meet and hold mine.
Every instinct in my body screams that it’s a lie. She doesn’t care for me at all.
He shakes his head, reading me perfectly.
“It’s not a lie. She’s also the most proud of you.
Every time she speaks of you, she glows.
It’s a bit sickening, actually. Doesn’t mean she lacks feelings for Ares and Bryce, but you hold a special place in her heart.
And I don’t care how you do it, but I want to see you betray her.
I want her to know what it’s like to be backstabbed by someone she admired and trusted. ” His words end on a bitter note.
“Sounds personal.”
Roland’s mouth twists. “I worshipped Zoe. I thought she was like a goddess because she was always so capable and strong, and she never let anything get in the way of her goal. I just didn’t realize that to her, I was one of those obstacles.
What she doesn’t know is that if she’d just asked, I would’ve sided with her to take Harvey out.
Unlike her, I don’t backstab people who do me favors.
” His eyes swing back to me. “I want to see her suffer. If you can deliver that for me, I’ll leave you and your family alone. ”
I hold his stare. “Define ‘leaving us alone.’”
“Nobody bearing the Dunkel name or belonging to the family empire will go near anybody bearing the Huxley name or contact you. We will disavow any connection between your family and ours. It’ll be as though we’re strangers.
” He doesn’t break eye contact the entire speech.
Then he adds: “Forever. You have my word.”