28. Dante
28
DANTE
T he house in the woods is not often used, a mansion that my father decided to offload to me the moment I turned 21. In all honesty, I think he didn’t have the heart to part with it by selling it, but he also didn’t have the inclination to maintain the vast property. So instead, he gave it to me, knowing I’d also never have the heart to sell a property which held such fond memories for me. For most of the year, the house remains closed, the staff sent to other properties to help maintain those while the house stands empty. Every New Years, I would make the hours long drive to the house, gather my memories, and pay homage to all our loved ones, past and present. I’d spend three days alone in a drunken stupor before Marco would come to fetch me, scolding me for my recklessness and telling me I had to rid myself of my ghosts. Rinse and repeat. Each year, at the stroke of midnight, I would find myself in this house, perpetuating the nightmare once again. Like I said, fond memories. But likewise, horrific memories that refused to die.
And then, the rest of the year, the house remained sealed. It had become a shrine. Shrouded in the past, bad memories mixed with laughing childhoods. The echoes of years past, laughter and tears and pain filtered through the massive rooms across each and every wing. I knew every inch of this house, and every corner held a precious memory. No matter how painfully useless the house had become, I would never let it go.
My feet tap on the hardwood floors as I cross from one wing to another, then make my way out the huge French doors that lead to the immaculately manicured gardens. No matter how little we now enjoyed this home, I would not allow it to be overgrown by weeds and debris. It would forever remain the way it had back then, locked in the past where it belonged. I approach the pool, stand at the edge, look down at the crystal waters as they shimmer in the sun. Helga and Shafin had done an amazing job of preparing the house before our arrival in the limited time they had. To an outsider, the house out in the middle of nowhere would look well loved and definitely lived in.
I hear the crunch of feet behind me and turn slowly, coming face to face with Moneybags. Her footfalls are soft enough to alert me, even before I turn, that it is she who’s approaching. The men scattered around the various posts on the estate would never walk so gently – they’d thump.
I wonder if it is a coincidence that she has stumbled out here, or if she has seen me from her window which looks out at the gardens and followed me out here.
“The house – what I’ve seen of it – is beautiful. But the garden… it’s magical,” she breathes.
“The best part of the house, I would say.”
I give her a quick top to bottom glance then turn back to the pool. I don’t mind the company – I just don’t relish looking at her when she is so close to me. Everything about her affects me in ways I don’t understand or like.
“Everything about this situation seems a little off.”
Her voice, soft and melodic, dances on the air between us. Not a recrimination. Not an accusation. She is just trying to make small talk. And what do we two have to talk about other than the strange circumstance in which we find ourselves in? I puff out a breath and turn to face her, my hands on my hips. There is only so far a conversation can go when you are talking to someone’s back.
“You’re not a prisoner here. If you so wish, you can leave at any time. I would highly suggest that you don’t, but I can’t keep you here if you don’t want to be here.”
“So I can just go?” She turns halfway toward the house and lifts a hand in question. “I can just walk out of here and you won’t stop me?” She looks at me skeptically. Everything I’ve told her contradicts the way in which I’ve ferried her through the night in handcuffs out to the middle of nowhere.
I shrug. Like I don’t care if she leaves or stays. I don’t. If she leaves, I’ll have one less headache. But then I’ll also have to contend with my father. He’ll lose his shit. No doubt about that.
“I’ll even supply you with a car to drive you wherever you want to go,” I offer. A little reverse psychology never hurt anybody.
“But…?” she prompts.
“Like I said, I would advise against you leaving. I don’t want you thinking I’m keeping you here with some calculated ulterior motive. You do not have anything that I don’t already possess,” I lie. There is the waterfront. But she doesn’t need to know that.
“Then what?”
“No one would ever dare make a move on us like they did yesterday. Never in a million years. No one. The fact that the Savages did tells me two things.” I waggle two fingers in front of her to demonstrate my points. “That one, they came for you, meaning they knew where you were. And two, they have some serious backing; they would never have dared breach our territory unless it was on someone’s authority.”
“Who?”
Moneybags looks just as perplexed as I feel. I am missing something, I can feel it. I just don’t know what that something is. But I am determined to get the answers I need.
“That’s what I’m going to find out.”
“Tate can protect me,” she claims, lifting her chin in nonchalance. She is determined to play that card.
“No, he can’t. If he could, he would’ve protected you from me. If he could, he would’ve found you before the Savages did.”
She cocks her head in question then squints, looking at me with accusation in her eyes.
“You never did tell me,” she starts, and it’s as though she is spearing me with her suspicious eyes, “Why you crashed my father’s burial and took me.”
“That was on my order…”
I turn at the sound of my father’s voice as he rounds the house and comes to join us. I should have known he’d be listening. He throws a furious glance my way, disagreeing with the way that I’ve approached the situation, then softens his gaze when he turns to Murray’s daughter. It would seem he has a soft spot for his old friend’s offspring.
“I’m Durian,” my father says, extending his hand toward Moneybags. She flicks her eyes down to his hand then takes a step back and stands to her full height. She almost puffs out her chest. My father tucks his hand away, giving her a sad half smile instead.
“It would seem my son got ahead of himself somewhat, telling you that you could leave. Of course, that is your right if you so wish. But for the sake of transparency, you should have full disclosure.”
“I know all about your feud with my father. I trust you no more than I trust your son.”
“In your position, you should trust no one,” my father warns her. “No one. Now your father is gone, all eyes are on the Murray dynasty.”
“Including yours?” she spits.
“I’ll quickly follow your father. As for my son, he has more than he’ll ever need. It’s the ambitious upstarts you should be worried about.”
“Then why are you protecting me?”
“Despite our differences, whatever they may be, your father saved my life on more than one occasion. I will not return his good deeds by allowing the demise of his only child.”
“You needn’t trouble yourself.”
“Come, you have much to learn,” my father tells her, turning toward the house. Moneybags follows his retreating body with disbelieving eyes then turns to look at me, a question in her eyes.
“For some reason, my father has sworn to protect you, no matter the cost. I didn’t understand it at first. And you’ve been an infuriating pain in my ass ever since we crossed paths. But what I do know is that he does have a point – three attacks on you is not a coincidence, Moneybags.”