Chapter 2
LOUIS
Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go. — T.S. Eliot
They buried me a traitor.
My twin got the funeral, the flowers, the fucking praise.
I got a tux, a fake smile, and a bride who hadn’t smiled since she’d learned to lie.
My name was Louis De Lange. And today I’d marry the sister of the girl I loved.
Only one of us would be walking away from this marriage alive.
And I really hoped it was her.
I stared at myself in the mirror, all cufflinks and black silk, like dressing up a corpse makes it presentable. They say weddings are the start of something new. For me, it felt like the final nail in my coffin.
The whispers started the second the ink dried on the marriage contract. That I wasn’t really dead. That I switched places with my brother. That I was loyal to no one.
Let them whisper.
I was a ghost in this house. A monster in designer clothing, pretty to look at on the outside, a mess of tangled lies, deceit, and darkness within.
And she was the one who summoned me.
I said yes before I thought it through. Before I even considered what it would cost. Then the thoughts came—and all I saw was red.
Not anger.
Not hatred.
Just that damn dot. Solid. Steady. Trained on my little brother’s forehead.
I imagined her face on the other side of that trigger, imagined it was her pointing the gun, and if not her, the families she was aligned with.
They offered protection but what they really meant was let’s paint over our sins with justification and call it goodness.
They made excuses for the trails of blood and said it was for the blood—their blood.
But what about his? What about our family?
I’d been so close to falling for it too, falling for her sister not realizing what she was really involved in and then it was better, better she find Ace, her bodyguard and think I was gone because I wasn’t quite sure what I would have done in the end.
Would I have been able to take her life in payment for my little brother’s?
That’s the thing about loss, it doesn’t break you instantly, it breaks you in this weird sick slow motion over time until the voices in your head say you’re in the right for seeking damages for what was done.
I promised myself I’d never forgive the people who did it. Now I’m marrying into their bloodline. I have a plan, though. One that I won’t come back from. Forget rising from the ashes—I'll burn the Family into them.
She’s going to use me, just like I plan to use her. I’m sure of it.
But what’s my life even worth at this point if I don’t get the answers I deserve, and why the fuck is it so complicated to just be honest?
Why can’t I just ask and be done with it?
But does a guilty person really just own up to their bullshit?
Negative. They tend to lie and save their own asses despite any sort of guilt they may still harbor.
Tempest hasn’t laid all her cards out. Not yet.
But I’ll get an earful soon, I’m sure. Since her ridiculous proposal a week ago, things have moved fast. A blur of shouting, of bosses telling her she can’t do what she’s doing—wrapped up with her throwing me under the bus, saying she’d rather die than marry anyone else.
That I volunteered to pull the trigger if they didn’t support us.
Brutal that she really gave me no choice. In another life I would have loved a woman like that. At least in this short one, I could respect her for it.
She was lethal, Tempest.
I’m not sure if her parents had a premonition when they named her, or if she’s just spent her life living up to it. Either way, I was walking straight into the storm I just escaped.
It’s going to be worth it. It has to be.
It must.
Mainly so I didn’t use this damn bowtie to hang myself before the ceremony even started, my fingers itched to jerk it right off and run toward the nearest exit.
I didn’t.
I know I wouldn’t.
I’d just toy with the idea of it.
Yeah, that sounds sane.
I was fully stuck and for good reason.
The sudden knock at the door was soft. Barely there. Not the kind of entrance I expected from a woman like Tempest, and yet I knew it had to be her, nobody else would dare disturb me right now after I yelled at the Alfero boss my future father-in-law and then trapped myself in the room.
I had no groomsmen.
No friends — I refused to count the ones I used to blindly toss that label at when it meant something in this world. The only person I really knew was now married to the same guy who I helped take over the syndicate and probably hated me as much as I hated him.
How that even worked out the way it did with him winning and me losing still pisses me off. I was there for her, but not for the times he was.
Fucking De Langes.
I turned around expecting barely repressed fury.
A possible storm in heels.
A hurricane in soft billowy silk with a sign splashed across the front that said open at your own risk. Instead, Tempest walked in like a forbidden secret set in an ancient spell.
Quiet. Regal. Untouchable.
I didn’t need the reminder that this was nothing more than each of us getting what we wanted on top of a shiny little business proposal with possible death in the end. Yay.
I even signed a contract with her.
No romance was involved, which also meant the only action I would be getting would be via my possible death by simply being involved with her and the family and prying for answers.
She didn’t meet my eyes, just closed the door behind her and crossed the room like it was hers. Like I was already hers.
I should’ve hated her. I should’ve felt the heat of rage clawing its way through my chest. But all I felt was… hollow. The echo of something I didn’t recognize. Disappointment?
I wasn’t sure.
She was wearing a long white silk gown; it had no adornments—then again with her stunning face and red lipstick I had half a mind to think any extra would take away from what was already in front of me. She was the type of person that looked worse when you tried to add more makeup and trinkets.
It ruined the beauty of her face and made her look awkward like she was trying too hard.
Maybe that was my inner artist speaking, but if I had to paint her, the only way to bring about her true colors would be to add a smile—a real one—not the ones she used on her family and myself but a genuine smile born out of her soul.
"Smile.” I let out a sigh. “It is your wedding day after all.”
"I was trying to match your scowl.” She eyed me up and down. “At least you clean up well.”
My lips quirked. "I find showers invigorating, yes.”
"You know what I mean.” She crossed her arms.
“Yeah.” I leaned against the couch. “Isn’t this bad luck?”
"If I was a real bride and you a real groom, yes, maybe. Anyway, the point is we both have something we want and now we’ll get it. Nobody gets hurt. Everyone’s happy.”
Annoyance clawed at the back of my head. I kept my face impassive. “How perfectly tied up. I loathe loose little annoying ends.”
"Same.” She walked over to the small table. It had a crystal decanter on it filled with whiskey and two short glasses. “Besides, whenever you have loose ends you have to burn the frayed edges in order to thread the needle again and who wants to take the time to do that?”
"People who like to sew, I imagine,” I deadpanned. “Was there anything you needed or did you just want to make sure I don’t bolt and go back on our little agreement?”
"Terms.” Tempest’s jet-black hair was pulled into a low ponytail, large curls danced across her right shoulder. “Do you understand them, and do you think you can fulfill them?”
She pressed it into my hand and slipped a folded note against my fingers. Then, without a word, she stepped back. Watching. Waiting.
I unfolded the slip.
To loyalty. Drink it all.
—T.
I raised the glass in mock salute. “To loyalty,” I echoed.
It tasted sharp. Sweet. Like betrayal dressed in perfume.
I swallowed it anyway.
She didn’t smile. She just turned and walked out, leaving the door open behind her like an invitation—or a trap.
The burn in my throat wasn’t from the alcohol.
And for the first time since I came back from the dead…
I wondered if I’d just walked into a new kind of grave.
What game was she really playing? She had her reasons.
I assumed it was in order to pave her own way and marry who she wanted in order to gain power.
It didn’t matter, I’d figure it out and as long as she stayed out of my way we’d be fine.
Besides, we all have our secrets.
Let her have hers because mine were big enough to burn the world with both of us in it.
I poured another glass of whiskey and lifted the glass. “To John. I vow to find who took you from us and when I do—I'll repay them in kindness even if it’s the face of my wife, even if it’s somehow related to me. The trigger will be pulled, blood will be spilled, amen.”